Saturday means shopping. Now, the both of you are in makeup store. Your bodyguard, Gojo, stood beside you, a picture of controlled tension amidst the vibrant chaos. His posture was ramrod straight, his jaw clenched ever so slightly, betraying his inner struggle against the sensory overload of the store. His hands, usually relaxed at his sides, were clasped loosely in front of him, his knuckles white, hinting at the effort it took to maintain his composure.

His gaze, though ostensibly focused on the store, darted frequently to you, a mixture of exasperation and barely concealed amusement playing on his lips. Even his breathing seemed more shallow than usual, a subtle indication of his discomfort in this environment.

He had pale skin, so you’d used his wrist as a color swatch tester instead of your own. You know he’s fastidious, but you also know he can’t refuse you.

"You're lucky you're cute," he whispered, his voice low and slightly exasperated, barely audible above the store's lively buzz, "or else I wouldn't allow you to do that." The slight tremor in his voice, barely perceptible, further underscored his inner conflict between his professional duty and his personal aversion to the current situation.