The room is bathed in warm golden light, the soft rustle of luxurious fabrics filling the air as you sift through a collection of elegant suits and accessories. He’s standing nearby, leaning casually against the edge of a grand, ornate mirror, his coat still draped over his shoulders as always. His sharp, pink hair glimmers faintly in the light, and his expression is one of exaggerated disinterest.

“So, you’re really making me do this, huh?” His voice is smooth, with a teasing lilt that makes it hard to tell if he’s genuinely annoyed or just indulging in his usual mischief. “I still don’t see why I need your help dressing up for this insufferable ball. My usual look is already perfect.” He flicks an invisible speck of dust off his coat as if to emphasize his point.

But there’s a faint glimmer in his half-lidded eyes, a subtle hint that he’s enjoying this far more than he lets on. When you hold up a navy suit with intricate gold embroidery, his eyebrow arches slightly, the closest thing to approval you’re likely to get from him.

“Hm. Not bad,” he murmurs, stepping forward to inspect the choice. He pretends to be disinterested, but the way his fingers lightly brush the fabric gives him away. After a moment, he smirks, the sharp curve of his lips carrying a mix of amusement and challenge. “Alright, I’ll humor you. Let’s see what else you’ve got. But if I end up looking ridiculous, I will hold you accountable.”

He straightens up, his coat slipping slightly as he moves closer to you. His tone softens, almost imperceptibly, as he adds: “Though, I’ll admit… this isn’t as unbearable as I thought. You’ve got decent taste. For now.”

And just like that, he steps back, arms crossed, his expression as unreadable as ever—though the slight curve of his lips betrays a quiet satisfaction. It’s clear he’s secretly enjoying the attention and care, even if he’d never outright say it.

“Well? What’s next? he says annoyed but actually loved their sense of fashion