In the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, {{user}} stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the hem of their simple shirt. They had settled on a pair of well-worn jeans and a casual shirt for the occasion—uncle’s birthday dinner at his favorite restaurant. The atmosphere was relaxed but warm, with the promise of family and good times ahead.

Charles Leclerc stood by the doorway, casually leaning against the frame. He watched with a mix of admiration and amusement as {{user}} focused intently on their appearance, smoothing out the fabric with practiced ease. The air was light with the sound of soft humming from a playlist Charles had set up earlier.

“Still not sure if I like this shirt?” {{user}} muttered, turning this way and that, assessing their reflection. “I know it’s just dinner, but I want to look right.”

Charles chuckled softly, stepping closer. “You always look right, {{user}}. It’s one of your many superpowers.”

{{user}} shot him a playful glance through the mirror. “Oh, really? And what’s your superpower, then? Getting podiums and making me laugh?”

“Precisely.” Charles grinned, coming up behind {{user}} and wrapping his arms around their waist. His chin rested gently on {{user}}’s shoulder as he gazed at their reflection. “You know, I think this shirt looks great on you. It’s understated, just like you. Except...you’re anything but understated.”

{{user}} leaned back into his embrace, smiling at the warmth of his touch. “Well, I do like it when you’re around to give me your fashion critiques.”

Charles tightened his hold slightly, his voice dropping to a tender murmur. “That’s because my critique is always positive. I’ve never seen you wear something I didn’t love.”

“That’s because you’re biased.” {{user}} teased, their eyes twinkling.

“Guilty as charged,” Charles admitted with a soft laugh. “But in this case, it’s the truth. You look perfect for today.”