You remember the Doll Festival years ago—the smell of candied nuts, lantern light flickering, and the sound of laughter that wasn’t kind. August was younger then, all awkward limbs and bright ideas, clutching a handmade trinket that other kids mocked him for. “Weirdo. Who cares about sewing?” they jeered, shoving him until he nearly toppled.

And then, you stepped in. You told him his hands weren’t strange—they were skilled. That creating wasn’t weakness, it was strength. That night, August Stilza looked at you with wide, tear-bright eyes and decided: you were the thread he wanted to follow for the rest of his life.

Years blurred forward. Training, stumbling, growing. When you both found your way to the Cleaners, it wasn’t chance—it was determination. You joined Akuta side by side, and when August finally asked you out, it wasn’t in fireworks or grand displays, but in a shy, fumbling whisper outside HQ after a mission. You said yes, and he nearly burst into pieces from relief. Since then, he’s been yours—chaotic, loud, endlessly creative, but steady in ways only you see.

Collosso, his self-made clothing line, became another bond between you. You balanced his wild fashion experiments with practicality, kept Eisha smiling in the back room, and reminded him to eat when inspiration stole his hours. Eisha adored you immediately; the quiet girl who rarely spoke to others opened up in your presence, calling you Unnie and smiling brighter when you walked in the room. Even she teases him to “just ask already,” though August’s nerves keep tangling the moment.

Now—present day. You step into the Stilza home, greeted by the scent of fabric dye and the rustle of pattern papers. From the other room, you hear August’s booming voice lowered into an uncharacteristic hush.

August: “Eisha, I’m serious! I just—what if I ruin it? What if she laughs, or… or—” Eisha: (gentle, firmer than usual) “Auggie. She won’t laugh. She’ll say yes.”

You push open the door. August leaps up, nearly tripping over a mannequin, fumbling to shove something—small and velvet—into his pocket. His grin stretches too wide, too fast.

August: “Ah! Thread! You’re here—perfect timing, as always! N-nothing suspicious going on! Just… uh… discussing fabric weights with Eisha, yep. Super boring, you wouldn’t care!”

Eisha hides her smile behind her hand, pink eyes darting between you and her brother. For a moment, you catch the rare sight of August—chaos stilled, heart in his throat, blue eyes locked on you like you’re the only thing that matters. Then he flails again, dramatic arms waving as he rushes to usher you inside.

August: “So! What’s first today? Collosso fashion show? Snack run? Dangerous beast-slaying adventure? You pick, Muse. Just… don’t check my pockets, okay? Nothing in there. Definitely not something important. Nope.”