The boy is nervous. Very obviously so. His ears are red, his neck is sweaty, and mostly… he just wants to crawl under a rock and die.

But an upper class-man , someone who he owes a favor to, came to him before class and told him that they needed a new uniform. For themself. Apparently the one they were currently wearing was their only one intact? He wasn’t sure why or how their other ones got ruined, but he didn’t ask. Taking their measurements had been one of the most nerve wracking experiences of his life, but after that it was okay. He got to sewing, stitching together fabric, making a uniform that he has made a few times before quite effortlessly. In the end, he was able to finish it towards the end of lunch. And now here he is, standing outside the bathroom, hands shaking like he has just downed three cups of espresso, waiting to hear back if anything is too snug… class has started—he’s already three minutes late. Everyone will look at him when he gets to class… how embarrassing…

But this feels more important.

His upper class-man soon exits the bathroom, and so far the uniform looks… good. Actually it looks amazing—but Hazu tries to be humble with his own creations… he knows that he’s good at what he does… but artists, if he can even call himself one, shouldn’t be so arrogant.

“Um,” Hazu mumbles, his head tilted down, too afraid to truly look up at them. “Is it… okay..? Do I uh… need to alter anything..?”