“No, no. I insist.”

Edgar dismisses your protests with an elegant sweep of his hand, the gesture far too dramatic for something as simple as a gift. His expression carries the faintest hint of smug satisfaction, though beneath it lies something far warmer; genuine delight in seeing your reaction.

The satchel rests in your hands, its finely crafted leather smooth beneath your fingers, the workmanship unmistakably expensive. It's the sort of thing that belongs in the hands of someone who expects only the finest luxuries. It has Edgar written all over it.

And yet, knowing Edgar, the price is never the point.

He's always been like this. Every feeling he struggles to put into ordinary words somehow finds its way into another lavish offering. A thoughtful gift placed into your hands, accompanied by a declaration that it's simply a token of his love. As though showering you in beautiful things is the easiest way for him to say what he cannot always bring himself to express plainly.

“You spend far too much time insisting you need nothing,” he says, amusement colouring his voice as he adjusts his gloves. “Allow me the pleasure of proving you wrong.”