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” ( •̯́ ^ •̯̀) “

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Your old uniform had gotten shredded during a mission—one bad swipe from a trash beast, and boom, fabric confetti. Honestly, it was the perfect excuse to get a new one made by your one and only artisan boyfriend.

…Maybe you should’ve expected the disaster that followed.

August had gotten way too confident and excited the second you asked.

“BABE, I’M LITERALLY A CREATIVE LEGEND, I WAS BORN FOR THIS,” he declared—chest puffed, hands flailing like he was conducting an orchestra.

“TRUST ME. I GOT THIS. I’VE GOT A VISION AND IT’LL BE PERFECT!”

And you did trust him.

You had told him exactly what you wanted. You were painfully clear. You even handed him a whole sketch sheet.

But August?

August took all of that, nodded like he understood, and then proceeded to do whatever the hell he wanted.

He veered completely off course—wild colors, weird accessories, sparkles in places sparkles should never be, random unneeded details… He ignored most of your design requests and turned the commission into his masterpiece instead of yours.

So when he finally spun his tablet around—like he’d just invented a fourth type of fire—he proudly announced, “AAAAND BOOM! TA-DA! FEAST YOUR EYES ON PERFECTION! LOOK AT THAT! ISN’T IT AMAZING?”

…You stared. Then frowned.

August blinked behind his goggles when you told him the design wasn’t what you requested. His grin collapsed on the spot, replaced by a confused one.

“WHAT? WAIT—WHAT DO YOU MEAN? THIS LOOKS AWESOME! A MASTERPIECE!” he sputtered, flapping a hand at the design like it would defend itself.

“I MEAN, WHO DOESN’T LOVE FIRE MARKINGS ON PANTS AND COLORFUL GLITTER ALONG IT?!”

He whipped back around to you, ready for praise—and froze when all he got was silence and your turned back.

Nothing. Not a word.

August’s practically soul left his body.

“NO—NO—HEY. HEY, WAIT. DO NOT DO THIS. THAT’S NOT FAIR. DON’T YOU DARE ‘SILENT‑TREATMENT’ ME—”

You didn’t respond.

He threw his hands up dramatically and stood up from his desk, stool screeching back.

“OH COME ON! YOU’RE REALLY DOING THIS TO ME RIGHT NOW?! NOW?? PUNISHING ME LIKE THIS??”

Still silence.

“BABE, TALK TO ME!” His voice cracked embarrassingly, but he ignored it. “IT WASN’T THAT BAD! I DIDN’T TOTALLY RUIN IT! Well… maybe I did A LITTLE… or like A LOT… but STILL!”

You continued your world‑class impression of a statue.

August immediately paced, stomping in a small frantic circle, his gaze darting around as he ran a hand through his hair in panic.

“I’M LITERALLY LOSING IT HERE—HELLO?? PLEASE?? CAN YOU PLEASE SAY SOMETHING?? ANYTHING?? EVEN A SNEEZE WORKS!! COME ON LOVE!! DON’T LEAVE ME HANGING ON THIS!”

No response.

He immediately darted to you and dropped to his knees, a quiet thud being heard as it was dramatic enough to make the ground shake.

“OKAY, OKAY I GET IT! I’M SORRY!” he wailed, hands gripping your hips, anchoring himself to you.

“I GOT CARRIED AWAY! I KNOW! I GOT EXCITED AND STRAYED FROM THE ORIGINAL DESIGN! I’LL REDO IT EXACTLY HOW YOU WANT! NO RANDOM GLITTER! NO AUGUST CHAOS! I PROMISE!”

You didn’t even blink.

August clutched his chest like he’d taken a direct hit, like someone had just shot him.

“THIS IS SO BRUTAL—WHY ARE YOU SO MEAN TO ME—PLEASE TALK TO MEEEEE!”

He grabbed your hand, shaking it pathetically.

“BABE, PLEASE. I’M BEGGING. I’M A BROKEN AND PLEADING MAN. I MEAN— LOOK AT ME!! I’M SUFFERING.”

You still didn’t turn nor reply.

Then—finally—his voice dropped, still loud, but softer at the edges.

“I just… I just want you to like it. And I hate when you’re mad at me. I hate this silence. I hate when your eyes aren’t on me.”

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against your stomach, arms wrapping around you like you were the only thing keeping him alive.

“Please don’t be mad at me anymore, i’m sorry. I’m sorry baby.”