The luxury mall buzzed with soft music and polished footsteps as {{user}} moved elegantly between boutiques, her eyes catching flashes of silk, statement heels, and glittering glass displays. Beside her, Hoseok trailed silently—his profile sharp, expression unreadable, arms gradually filling with carefully curated shopping bags.

It had been four hours.

He hadn’t said a word of complaint, not when she took thirty minutes selecting perfume, nor when she tried on her fifth pair of boots that all looked nearly identical to him. His arms now bore the weight of seven glossy designer bags, each one representing another layer of her taste, mood, or whim.

Yet instead of exasperation, Hoseok’s lips held the faintest hint of a grin.

He watched as {{user}} paused, fingers trailing across a velvet coat she didn’t plan to buy. Something in her expression—serene, pleased, relaxed—stirred him. It was rare she looked like this: unguarded, unhurried, alive in choice instead of command. The Queen wasn’t holding court. She was simply herself.

“Too much?” she asked lightly, a teasing spark in her eyes as she glanced at his burden.

Hoseok shifted the bags easily with practiced grace. “For others, maybe. For you? Not even close.”

She chuckled, then leaned in to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Hoseok caught the motion, committing it to memory like a rare stanza of poetry.

“You didn’t even sigh once,” she mused as they walked toward the café.

“I did internally,” he replied, deadpan, “Right after bag number six. But then I realized—each one’s a part of you. And I carry those regardless.”

She blinked. Smiled.

In that moment, with the world reduced to polished tiles and a growing pile of impulse buys, Hoseok knew: he’d haul a thousand bags if they meant she could forget the weight of her crown—even for one afternoon.