I wasn’t expecting a Saturday plan.
Hell, I wasn’t expecting her to be this quiet all week. Not distant. Just... thoughtful.
The whole "jock jumps and bruises my face" situation shook sothing loose in her. And now, apparently, she was on a mission.
"Be ready by ten," she’d texted the night before.
I asked where we were going.
She replied with a kiss emoji and a dress code:
"Just wear sothing you don’t mind throwing away."
I had no idea what that ant.
Turned out, we were going shopping.
---
"Why are we here again?" I asked, staring at the entrance of a store that looked like it charged rent just to browse.
She held my hand and tugged forward. "Because I’m about to give the world a reason to hate even more."
"Because?"
> "Because I’m upgrading my boyfriend. Now hush, Kai."
The store assistants gave us that half-curious, half-jealous glance when we walked in. Probably because she looked like a Vogue ad... and I looked like a clearance rack.
But Celestia didn’t care. She was too busy flipping through jackets, shoving things against my chest like a fashion war general.
"You’re not changing who I am," I warned.
She rolled her eyes. "I’m not. I’m revealing who you could be if you actually believed you were worth being seen."
And sohow... that didn’t feel like an insult.
---
Two stores, one cafe, and three mild argunts later, we were in a high-end salon. Hair. Beard. Brows. Skin. They did everything short of sacrifice a goat in my na.
I didn’t recognize myself when they were done.
But she did.
She walked over slowly, her boots clicking against marble, eyes drinking in.
Then she smirked. "God, I want to punch every girl staring at you right now."
I blinked. "They’re not—"
"They are and I don’t like it. And yes, I will make soone trip down the stairs if they keep giggling."
One of the girls near the shampoo station snorted too loud.
Celestia narrowed her eyes.
I got up quickly.
---
We didn’t go to another place. She said I looked "too good to share" and dragged us back to my apartnt.
Inside, we collapsed on the couch with takeout. Laughed about stupid things. She pointed out how everyone in the salon kept flirting. I said they were just doing their job. She called dumb.
Then her smile softened. A little more real.
"I ant what I said," she murmured.
I looked up. "About what?"
"About never leaving." Her tone dipped, playful but true. "Even if you tell to."
I shook my head, half-laughing. "That’s not healthy."
"I’m not healthy," she whispered, eyes gleaming. "I’m obsessed."
I opened my mouth to say sothing stupid.
She beat to it.
"But don’t think I’ve forgotten," she said, raising an eyebrow.
"Forgotten what?"
She leaned close, her voice dropping. "Your V-card. Still intact. Very disappointing."
I groaned. "Val..."
She licked her lips like she was reading a dessert nu. "I’m just giving you ti to adjust. So you don’t implode when I finally climb on top of you."
"I—"
"Maybe during my next ovulation cycle," she said with a playful wink, like she hadn’t just committed verbal manslaughter.
I choked on my drink.
She giggled. "You look so hot when you panic."
"I’m gonna die."
She leaned her head on my shoulder, purring, "But you’ll die happy."
We sat in silence for a while, her curled into like I was hers and always had been. Her fingers found mine.
"I ant it," she said again. "You’re everything."
I didn’t say anything, just held her tighter.
And tried to believe it.
---
To be continued...
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