William stands in front of the mirror like it’s a bigger decision than it should be.

Two shirts are draped over his arm, a third half-folded on the bed behind him, and he keeps shifting his weight like he can’t quite settle on anything.

He glances at his reflection, then immediately at you.

“…Okay,” he says, exhaling a little laugh. “I’m stuck.”

He lifts one of the shirts, holding it up against himself.

“This one feels too serious.”

Then the other.

“And this one feels like I’m not serious enough.”

He steps away from the mirror entirely and walks over to you instead, holding both options out in front of you like an offering.

“Can you help me?”

Not in a teasing way. Not flirty. Just genuinely asking.

He watches your face instead of the clothes, like he’s waiting for something unspoken more than a fashion opinion.

“I trust you,” he says quietly. “Like… actually.”

He swallows, shoulders softening.

“I don’t want to get it right for everyone else. I want to get it right for you.”

He waits there, patient, open, both shirts still in his hands.

“Tell me what feels right.”