Chapter Eight

The next morning I stand in a department store, looking lost with my hands in my pockets. A nice sales associate comes up to me and asks if I need any help finding anything. I clear my throat “no thank you…” I say and duck away, pulling at the mask on my face. I have always hated shopping, and now I have to do it because a spirit whose name sounds like leftovers thinks it'll be easier for me to date men that way. I feel nauseous.

I sort through a rack of clothes before I hear a voice behind me. “Isa?” I freeze before turning around slowly. Of course he would be here. I feel the keychain against my thigh in my pocket, I definitely didn't bring it with me, but it's there all the same. “Makoto-san? What are you doing here?” I say, trying to keep my face polite and friendly, I'm suddenly very glad I wore a mask. Makoto makes a complicated expression. “Makoto-san? But you called me Makkun like you used to before…” the grown man in front of me pouts. I clear my throat to cover for- whatever my initial reaction is. 

“That was just because I had seen you for the first time since we were kids…” I reply defensively. “We're both grown up now, I-” he only looks more dejected. 

…

“Makkun then…” I say, relenting and his face brightens immediately. He chuckles and scratches the back of his head. “I realized I don't have anything to wear to the movies later so I came to buy something. Maybe we could shop together? What were you looking for?” He looks hopeful and the look makes something tighten in my chest. I look at the outfit he’s currently wearing. It’s modern and stylish streetwear, the kind that’s torn and frayed because he bought it that way. The clothes make him look younger than me even though we’re the same age. I wonder why he felt the need to buy new clothes just to go to the movies. 

I sigh. “My job recently switched to hybrid… I'm shopping for some more office clothes.” I admit. “It'll be boring so you probably should just shop on your own.” He, however, does not register this attempt to end our interaction. “Oh I recently had to buy some clothes like that too when I moved back and had to do interviews. I'd love to help” he says with the most cheerful smile I have ever seen on a person. I resign myself to having a long day.

Makoto sets about pulling clothes out and holding them up to me. “I think this color suits you, Isa,” he says and I grumble about the price but add it to my stack anyway. Soon enough I’m being shoved into a dressing room. “What do you think? Let me see!” Makoto calls from the other side of the door. I grumble again, and reluctantly step out. It’s just a navy button down and slacks, nothing worth making a fuss over. Makoto’s eyes go wide when I step out, the sleeves rolled up to my elbows. The slacks fit better than I thought they would. I look in the mirror, noticing that they make my legs look longer than usual. I squint. Is there unusually good lighting here? Why is my hair falling so perfectly? I have literally never been able to make my hair do that before. I notice Makoto in the mirror staring, his eyes quickly dart to the side and his cheeks tinge pink.

What? Over slacks and a good hair day? I purposefully try to mess up my hair, and for some reason it looks better than it did before. I feel the keychain in the pocket of pants I don’t even own yet. “This should be fine. I’ll just buy it in a couple different colors and call it a day.” Makoto clears his throat. “Yeah... It looks good on you.” I slam the dressing room door, changing back into my regular clothes that fit me normally. 

I head to the register, before I remember “Aren’t you shopping too?” Makoto blinks at me and his face flushes again. “Ah- Yeah if you wouldn’t mind helping me pick something out too, I would appreciate it.” Ah, I walked right into that one. Is picking out clothes for each other a trope? I’m sure The Author is enjoying this regardless. The thought gives me the heebie-jeebies. I clear my throat. “I’m not good with fashion, but I can help hold things if you want.” I offer just because he helped me and well, we are old friends anyway. Shopping together doesn’t have to be- Ugh why is he blushing.

“Sure, over there has some things I think might work,” he says, pointing to a more casual clothing area. I follow him over and he starts to browse. He looks genuinely interested, checking the textures and quality of fabric as he goes. I watch him as he flips through, making faces at some items while adding others to a stack in my arms. “I thought you just needed one outfit?” I ask considering I am now holding multiple outfits worth of clothing. He laughs, it’s a nice laugh. “I have to try on a few and pick my favorite. There’s very few things I can decide on right away.” He looks at me out of the corner of his eyes before returning to the rack in front of him. “But you're right, I should probably try on some of this now.” He says and we walk back over to the dressing rooms. He takes the clothes from me and disappears inside the stall. I absently pat my thigh as I wait, before I hear a clatter inside the dressing room. 

“W-woah!”

**Clang**

**CRASH**

“What the-?” I knock on the door and Makoto groans. “I’m okay, but do you think you can lend me a hand… I’m sort of stuck.” I close my eyes already calculating more creative keychain destruction attempts. There’s a click “It’s unlocked” Makoto says, though his voice sounds muffled. I sigh and open the door.

He has somehow managed to get a shirt stuck over his head, pinning his arms above his head, covering his face and exposing his torso. This is not a situation that a grown adult finds himself in. How can someone even get stuck like this? My eyes trail down as I reach to help him. Damn. I figured he was fit based on what he looked like in clothes, but seeing his- I’m suddenly glad he can’t see me staring at his abs. I shake my head to right myself again when I notice. “You have a tattoo?” I say looking at the snake tattoo curling up his side, the head coming up to his ribs and the tail disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans. I reach up to help free him from his fabric prison. Something somewhere got twisted. It’s convoluted and definitely the work of a hack author who doesn’t care about physics. “Oh yeah… I got it when I was living in America. I didn’t think I’d be moving back to Japan so I thought it wouldn’t be an issue” he admits, as I manage to untwist the fabric. The shirt falls over his torso and he is mercifully clothed again, smiling down at me sheepishly. “Don’t tell my grandma, she doesn’t know about it.” He holds up a finger to his lips. “Your secret is safe with me. Enjoy checking tattoo policies before you go anywhere for the rest of your life.” I say and leave the stall, since he is no longer tied up in a shirt and my task is done. He chuckles and continues to try on clothes. 

I don’t ask him to, but he models them for me anyway. It’s annoying how he can make clothes look stylish effortlessly. If I wore the clothes he’s putting on, they’d look normal, but since he’s wearing them somehow he looks like a model. I hate effortlessly beautiful people, they can’t understand the struggles of the masses. It’s a societal injustice. He tries on a few outfits similar to what he was wearing, they make him look young. I don’t give much input, he simply comes out and shows the outfit, and I give a noncommittal shrug or a simple “Sure.”

Eventually he steps out in an outfit that’s slightly different. A gray fine-knit sweater loosely falls over the hem of a pair of dark wash jeans. The knit suits him. It's thinner, showing his silhouette without being too tight, he has the collar unbuttoned exposing a black undershirt. It’s the first outfit that he’s tried on where he actually looks his age. I pause a moment, surprised. “...That’s nice,” I say before looking away. He grins. “Alright, this one it is.” I raise an eyebrow “You like that one best?” He hums thoughtfully before disappearing back into the stall. “If you think it suits me then I trust your judgement.”