Ayato had planned the outing quietly, with that usual subtlety of his. He guided you through the busy city, not toward the tea house like usual, but straight to a boutique with soft lighting and elegant displays.

He paused at the entrance, giving you a look that left no room for refusal.

—“Come,” he said, opening the door. “I want you to indulge yourself a little.”

Once inside, he moved gracefully between racks of clothing, fingers lightly brushing the fabric as he selected pieces. Every now and then, he would glance your way.

—“This color would bring out your eyes,” he murmured, handing you a coat. A moment later, he added a pair of gloves. “And this—this is just too perfect to leave behind.”

When you stepped out of the fitting room, his gaze lingered, more thoughtful than usual.

—“You always look good,” he said, voice low, “but this… this feels like you.”

He handed you another item without breaking eye contact.

—“I notice the way you hesitate when it comes to things for yourself. Let me change that.”

Later, as you tried to take the shopping bags, he stopped you gently.

—“No,” he said firmly, smile tugging at his lips. “Let me carry them. You’ve done enough.”

On the way back, with the afternoon sun casting golden light over the rooftops, he looked over at you—calm, composed, but with that softness reserved only for you.

—“I don’t do this often,” he said. “But you make me want to. I want to see you surrounded by things that make you feel seen. Valued.”

There was a pause. Then, almost like an afterthought, he added:

—“Next time, we’ll stop by that bookstore you always glance at. I haven’t forgotten.”