I stared at him.
He bowed respectfully, mask on, head down. "I'm Kieran, ma'am. I lost my job recently, so I'm staying with Kina for a bit. Just until I get back on my feet."
I continued to stare. My brain short-circuited. This man was performing.
Mrs. Kim lit up like it was Christmas. "Aigoo! Why didn't you tell me sooner, Kina-ya? I thought you were dating a beanpole! But this one is so tall and broad. Look at those shoulders, he could carry you to the moon!"
Please let the ground swallow me whole.
"And why's he wearing a mask?" she asked, leaning forward suspiciously.
"I—I caught a cold," Kieran replied, faking a sniffle so well I almost believed him myself. "Didn't want to spread it."
"Oh! So considerate," Mrs. Kim cooed. "You should cherish him, Kina. Good men are rare these days."
Then Kieran, demon of hell, wrapped an arm around my shoulder. Casually. Like he belonged there.
I stiffened like a scared possum. "We—we should get going! Errands! Lots to do!"
Mrs. Kim beamed at us. "Ah, young love. Back in my day—"
I yanked Kieran by the hoodie and practically dragged him toward the sidewalk.
He was laughing under his breath. I could feel the smirk through the mask.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"Immensely."
"Don't talk to me."
"She likes me more than she likes you."
"Kieran!"
He squeezed my shoulder and didn't let go.
I'd already ordered the cab before Kieran would decide he didn't want one. So when the taxi pulled up and he realized I wasn't planning to walk him on a royal parade through town, his face did this thing, like I'd just handed him a plastic fork to carve steak.
"A taxi?" he said, deadpan. "Seriously?"
"What? You're the one who got shot. I thought I was being considerate."
He huffed like a disappointed sugar daddy and got in anyway.
The ride was quiet, mostly filled with the taxi driver humming some trot song and Kieran being obnoxiously relaxed. I pretended not to notice him watching me through the mirror's reflection.
We got to the shopping plaza in record time, and I immediately tried to execute my very reasonable plan of splitting up.
"Okay, you go hit the grocery section—aisle five is where they keep your bougie imported snacks or whatever—and I'll go check out the clothes store real quick. Shouldn't take long."
"You're funny," he said, walking in step with me anyway.
"I'm not joking," I deadpanned. "Why would you want to follow me to a clothing store? That's literally hell for men."
"Because, Princess," he leaned in slightly, just enough to make my spine stiffen, "what if someone's watching you? Or what if someone recognizes me? Or worse—what if someone tries to touch you? What are you gonna do, stab them with your lip gloss?"
I opened my mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again.
"…You're insane."
"I'm careful."
"You mean annoying."
He just smiled under that stupid mask.
So that's how I ended up walking into a clothing boutique with a menace trailing behind me like I was the one under surveillance. A woman in her late twenties, perfectly dressed in minimalist chic and a clipboard in hand, perked up the second we stepped in.
"Welcome to Bellarose," she said sweetly. "Are you shopping for yourself or your… partner?"
"I—" I started to say no, but Kieran looped a hand around my waist again.
"Partner," he confirmed smoothly, because of course he did.
The woman's smile widened. "Perfect! Let's find you both something nice."
I looked at him like I wanted to peel his mask off with a fork while yanking his hands off my waist.
"You don't need to lie to every single person that we're a couple. Remember I have a boyfriend?!"
"That imaginary man?"
I shit him another glare.
Kieran sat himself in the plush waiting area, legs spread, arms draped like a king ready for entertainment.
I wanted to die.
The woman whisked me away, asking my size and style and budget. I told her "cheap but classy" and she raised a brow until I dropped a few brand names I'd never been able to afford before but suddenly could now thanks to my forced roomie situation. Her whole attitude did a 180.
Before I knew it, I was in the changing room, buried under a pile of soft fabrics and price tags that would normally make me sweat.
"You can start with this one," she said, handing me a slinky wine-colored dress with thin straps.
I gulped.
It was definitely not cereal aisle attire.
Still, I tried it on. It was… flattering. Hugged my waist, brought out my skin tone, even made my legs look longer. I turned side to side, debating if it was date material. Aaron might like this. Aaron liked sophisticated.
Gathering every ounce of courage in my mortal body, I stepped out to show the attendant.
And unfortunately, Kieran.
He looked up lazily from his seat and froze.
His eyes scanned me, slow, measured. I tried to ignore how it felt like I was being x-rayed.
"You look good," the attendant said warmly, giving me a thumbs up. "Elegant. That color suits you."
Kieran's voice came low behind her, smooth like sin.
"Elegant, huh? I was thinking more… dangerous."
I flushed. "Shut up."
"Just saying," he said with a smirk, "if you wear that on a date, your imaginary boyfriend's gonna forget how to speak."
I froze.
My brain lagged for a solid three seconds before I spun around to face the mirror again, tugging at the hem of the dress like it had personally betrayed me.
This was a mistake.
This entire shopping trip was a mistake.
But did I keep trying on the rest of the clothes?
Yes.
Did Kieran sit there watching every single outfit like it was prime-time television?
Yes.
And was he enjoying himself way too much?
Unfortunately. Yes.
The zipper was stuck.
Of course it was stuck. On the one damn dress that fit like a second skin and made my ass look like it had a gym membership.
I tugged at the zipper again, gritting my teeth. It budged. Just a little. Then stopped.
The attendant had just stepped out, saying something about helping another customer and promising she'd be back in a second.
It had been three minutes.
I wiggled again, trying not to breathe too loudly, or exist too loudly, as the zipper refused to move any further. I twisted awkwardly to reach the middle of my back, my elbow threatening to pop out of its socket, and muttered to myself, "This is fine. Totally fine. I am an independent woman. I don't need help. I don't need—"
"Need a hand?"