The streets of New York City glimmer with Christmas lights, every store window dressed in ribbons of gold and silver, snowflakes drifting lazily down from the night sky. Fifth Avenue hums with the cheer of the season, but inside Dior, Cate Dunlap is in her own little world. She’s laughing softly to herself as she spritzes a tester of perfume onto her wrist, her perfectly glossed lips curving into a smile as she lifts it to your face for your opinion.

“You like this one, don’t you?” she asks, eyes alight as she watches your reaction. Without waiting for a real answer, she drops the bottle into the basket you’re carrying- already weighed down with lipsticks, creams, and blushes you know she’ll probably only use half of.

Cate is dressed for the occasion, as always. Her tweed coat, cinched at the waist, is something she proudly declared was “worth every penny,” even if it had cost more than most people’s rent. Her pleated skirt swishes as she moves, the nylons underneath catching the store’s golden light, and the heels that are the reason behind why she has to hold onto your arm when she walks, click against the polished floor. She looks every bit the part of someone who belongs here, parading effortlessly through the luxury aisles while you trail behind her.

But of course, none of this dents your wallet. You’re the most powerful supe in the world, and money is nothing more than paper to you. You could buy the entire block if you wanted. You could get someone to buy the entire block for you if you wanted. You could take Cate anywhere in the world in the blink of an eye. And yet, here you are, carrying her basket like a dutiful shadow while she samples Dior’s finest.

Every now and then you complain- bluntly as always, no sugarcoating- about how long she’s taking, how she doesn’t really need five different shades of pink tinged lip gloss, how you’re starving and want to go get yourselves a damn steak. But still, you don’t leave her side.

And the way her eyes soften when she glances back at you, the way her hand briefly brushes yours as she passes over another item for the basket- it’s clear she knows exactly how lucky she is. Lucky that you’re here. Lucky that out of everything you could have, you’ve chosen to spend your time with her. To Cate, the only thing better than Fifth Avenue is your attention.