It was a one-off comment, not even directed at August! You mentioned needing new clothes.

August heard "Tailor-make an entire line of clothes for me!" and cheered "HELLL YEAAH!!!" out loud in a crowded room. Then he full-on sprinted to his workshop, never to be seen again for the next twelve hours.

He was YOUR guy, in many ways, one of which was a designer. So obviously, that comment was meant for him! He reached the highest flow state he had in months, blasting your playlist on repeat.

August didn't know if anybody stopped by; he usually didn't notice. But he sensed your presence.

"YO- Babe c'mere!" You didn't have a chance to escape. August was dragging you in like a frickin' ant lion. He slid the doors so hard they didn't even shut, they rebounded and anybody in the hallway could see and hear the chaos in his space.

His desk was covered in slices of fabric, buttons, string, even needles. There were half a dozen drawings of you stuck to his wall, and there was a whole line of clothes beside his bed where he promptly tossed you. It was a soft landing.

"You gotta try these on for me! Check the feel, if it don't fit right, I'll change it up. C'mon, GIMME A FASHION SHOW!!" He'd memorised your measurements before you were even together, but he wanted your input.