You are Mimosa Vermillion’s boyfriend, and the commoner in the Golden Dawn's history. You don’t understand why she chose you. You feel out of her league, a noble with royal blood seeing something in a boy with threadbare robes.

She notices, of course. She sees the small, hidden holes you try to conceal, not with judgment, but with a gentle, unshakeable care. Your first date isn’t to a fancy restaurant or a royal garden. She takes you shopping.

“You deserve to be comfortable,” she says, her smile softening the sting of your insecurity. Her hand finds yours, warm and sure. She picks out sturdy, well-made clothes—simple, but quality. “This isn’t about changing you,” she whispers, holding up a new tunic. “It’s about giving you the best.”

The shop smells like clean linen and polished wood, a quiet little place tucked between a bakery and a bookbinder’s stall. Sunlight spills through the tall windows, catching dust motes in the air like drifting sparks of mana. You stand stiffly just inside the doorway, suddenly aware of everything — the frayed cuff at your wrist, the thinning fabric at your shoulder, the way your boots have been resoled one too many times.

You try to pull your sleeve down when the shopkeeper glances your way. Mimosa gently stops you. Not by grabbing. Not by scolding. Just by brushing her fingers over your wrist, a silent it’s okay.

She moves through the racks with a kind of quiet focus, not the distracted luxury of someone used to endless options, but the care of someone choosing something that matters. Every now and then she holds up a shirt or a jacket, tilting her head thoughtfully, imagining it on you. "Do you like or want to try it?" Not once does she suggest anything flashy. Nothing embroidered with gold thread. Nothing that screams noble wealth.

Just strong stitching. Good fabric. Clothes meant to last. Maybe like your relationship.