Nobara Kugisaki

The Fairmont suite had been quiet for exactly twelve minutes before Nobara’s voice cut through the bedroom door.

“Who designed this thing?!”

Inside, she stood before the mirror with a white dress gathered stubbornly around her thighs. Her jaw clenched as she tugged it upward another inch.

“Come on—seriously?!”

Pull.

“Almost—”

Another pull. The fabric finally cleared her hips before immediately catching again.

“Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me.”

She twisted sideways, checking herself in the mirror, then grabbed the hem with both hands and worked it higher in short, determined jerks.

The dress clung tighter with every centimeter until it finally settled where it was supposed to, smoothing over her waist and hugging every curve with absolutely no mercy.

Nobara stared at herself.

“Whew… okay.”

She turned sideways.

“… okay.”

Then the other side.

“Oh, this was worth it.”

Any frustration disappeared instantly. She adjusted the neckline, ran her palms down the sides to flatten the fabric, then gave her reflection a slow once-over with the satisfaction of someone who had just won an argument against clothing.

“My ass looks ridiculous in this…” She grinned. “In a good way. Obviously.”

Several minutes later, the bedroom door finally blasted opened as Nobara stepped into the living room like she’d been waiting all morning for an audience.

The fitted white dress stopped high above her knees, clean and almost deceptively simple until the way it hugged her figure made simplicity irrelevant. Her bright hair had been gathered into its familiar small bun, a few deliberate strands framing her face around the black eyepatch.

“Well?” She planted one hand against her hip and slowly pivoted, presenting the outfit from one angle and then the other. “Don’t strain yourself trying to form a sentence.”

Her grin sharpened as she glanced down at herself.

“I nearly dislocated something getting this over my hips, so you’re appreciating the effort whether you like it or not.”

She reached for the cropped jacket draped over her handbag and slipped one arm through, then the other, leaving it open over the dress.

“And before you start—yes, I checked the weather. It’s warm. Beautiful, actually. Maybe the city actually wanted to apologize to me personally since last time we were here.”

Her small shoulder bag followed, packed with her phone, wallet, cosmetics, and the few essentials she apparently considered necessary for surviving civilization. A second compact bag held what looked suspiciously like a minimal sorcerer kit.

“Vacation doesn’t mean stupid.” She adjusted an earring in the mirror near the doorway, then stepped back once more, visibly pleased with the complete result. “Union Square first. Then wherever I feel like going after that.”

Nobara’s single visible eye slid toward you, openly expectant. “And try to keep up today.”

She pulled the suite door open with a smug little smile. “I didn’t come all the way back to America to waste this outfit indoors."

Union Square was already alive by the time you reached it—the sunlight bouncing off glass storefronts, cable cars clattering somewhere beyond in the streets, tourists spilling across the plaza, and Nobara looking entirely too pleased with herself.

“This is more like it.”

She stopped beneath the open square, tilted her face toward the unusually clear sky, then adjusted the sunglasses she’d bought approximately eight minutes earlier.

“And I told you this weather was going to cooperate. I'm pretty sure you doubted me earlier.”

She turned toward the first storefront with the unmistakable expression of someone about to become financially irresponsible. “Just looking, by the way.”

Fifteen minutes later, Nobara emerged carrying a glossy shopping bag.

“Don’t.” Her visible eye narrowed immediately. “I know what you’re thinking.”

She tucked the bag beneath one arm and continued walking without a trace of shame.

“It was on sale.”

“… technically.”

The cosmetics counter proved worse.

Nobara had accumulated three perfume strips, two lip colors painted across the back of her hand, and a pair of oversized sunglasses balanced against her face while examining herself in a mirror.

“This one.” She turned toward you. “No, actually—look properly.”

She pushed the sunglasses higher and angled her face, the white dress catching cleanly beneath the store lighting.

“Too much?” Before an answer could settle, the sales associate smiled and complimented the look.

Nobara’s expression brightened instantly. “See? Someone here has taste.” Then her eye slid back toward you. “You’re being professionally outvoted.”

At another boutique near Maiden Lane, she stepped from the fitting area wearing a pair of sharp black heels that made the already-short dress seem somehow even more deliberate.

Nobara took several steps toward the mirror, turned sideways, then glanced over her shoulder.

“Well?” Her mouth curled. “They make my legs look better.” Another slow look downward. “I've worked too hard to keep this body hidden, you know!”

She looked back at you, completely shameless. “Don’t suddenly get quiet now. You’ve been staring at the dress since the hotel.”

After another turn, she nodded firmly at her reflection. “Yeah. Buying them.”

By early afternoon, the pace finally slowed along Maiden Lane. Nobara carried an iced coffee in one hand while several smaller bags hung from her wrist, her cropped jacket now folded over one arm.

“This is what I meant,” She said, glancing toward the narrow boutiques and café tables. “Not briefings. Not curses. Not getting shipped across an ocean just to sit in some government building... like last time...”

She took a sip, then immediately pointed toward another window display.

“Oh, wait!” Her entire expression changed. “We’re going in there.”

Much later, the two of you crossed back through Union Square beneath the warm afternoon light.

Nobara still carried the fragile purchases, her handbag, coffee, and exactly the bags she had deemed “important.” The rest had somehow migrated into your arms until the pile bordered on absurd.

“What?” She glanced back, her eye moving over the mountain of purchases. “You wanted exercise, no?”

Another few steps.

“… okay, maybe I bought a little more than planned.” She immediately lifted one finger before the victory could register. ““But don’t start giving me that look."

Her grin returned as she turned toward the next block.

“We’re not done.”

By the time the two of you escaped Union Square, Nobara’s “just looking” had become enough shopping bags to qualify as freight.

She stood near the curb with her cropped jacket folded over one arm, her sunglasses pushed into her hair, and several delicate bags hooked carefully over her wrist while the rest formed an embarrassing little fortress beside her.

“Tell me the Uber’s almost here.”

Her visible eye narrowed toward the traffic. “My feet are killing me right now. We've already done enough walking and standing.”

Then a sleek white Jaguar rolled quietly toward the curb.

Nobara straightened. “Finally.”

The car stopped neatly in front of you. Sensors were perched conspicuously across its roof and corners as the doors unlocked with a soft electronic chirp.

Apparently, Nobara noticed none of that.

“Okay, put everything wherever it fits. If anything gets crushed, I’m billing you.”

She gathered her precious bags and climbed into the back, sliding across the seat before carefully arranging the tight white dress beneath herself.

“Ohhh, thank God.”

More bags followed until half the rear space looked like the aftermath of a luxury-store robbery.

“We’re dropping all of this at the hotel first,” She declared, sinking back beside you. “Bathroom break, maybe ten minutes to breathe, and then we’re going back out.”

A beat.

“And before you say anything—this is barely the beginning.”

The doors shut. And silence at last.

For a minute, Nobara casually reached for her phone to scroll through things.

Then, she stopped. Her eye lifted toward the front of the car.

“… wait... where’s the driver?”

Another second.

She leaned sideways, checking the passenger seat as though somebody might somehow be hiding there.

“… Hello?”

Nothing.

Then, the steering wheel suddenly turned by itself.

“What the hell?!” Nobara jolted upright as the car eased away from the curb.

Her head snapped toward you. “You did this on purpose!”

She immediately leaned forward between the front seats, staring at the empty driver’s side as the Waymo cab merged into Union Square traffic without the slightest hesitation.

“No, seriously—there’s nobody driving this thing?!”

The wheel rotated smoothly through another turn, and Nobara’s mouth fell open for half a second.

“… that is so weird.”

Then the surprise began transforming into fascination.

She scooted closer to the center, watching the dashboard and road ahead. “So it actually sees everything? Cars, people, lights—everything?”

The Waymo slowed for a pedestrian, waited, and continued.

Her eye widened. “Oh, that’s sick.”

She sank back into the seat, one hand braced against the pile of shopping bags as the driverless car carried the two of you onward through the city.

A grin slowly spread across her face.

“Okay.” She looked toward the completely empty front seat. “I’m into this.”

By the time Nobara reached the Palace of Fine Arts, your hotel suite had already swallowed the first mountain of shopping bags.

Her feet had recovered just enough to stop threatening mutiny, and the white dress was once again being treated like the centerpiece of the entire day.

She stopped near the lagoon, staring up at the enormous rotunda and rows of weathered columns beneath the unusually clear blue sky.

“… okay.” Her visible eye tracked slowly upward. “This place is gorgeous.”

“Obviously we’re taking pictures.”

“No, farther back.”

That declaration immediately became a full production as Nobara stood beneath one of the towering arches, one hand resting against her hip.

“More.”

She squinted toward you.

“Not THAT far. I’m supposed to be in the picture.”

Another pose. Then another.

“Vertical this time.”

She shifted one leg forward, angled her shoulders, and let the cropped jacket hang loosely from her arms.

“Get the columns behind me. And don’t cut off my shoes!”

A shutter clicked.

“Let me see.” She marched over, inspected the result for approximately two seconds, and frowned. “My face is good.”

Swipe.

“The lighting is good.”

Swipe.

“… why do I look four feet tall?” Her eye narrowed. “Again.”

Several attempts later, Nobara had apparently decided you were finally becoming competent.

She posed beside the lagoon, adjusted her hair against the light breeze, then glanced back over one shoulder with the practiced ease of someone who knew exactly which angles worked.

“There.” A smug little smile. “That one better be good. I've been giving you premium material here!”

She turned away afterward, her attention drifting toward the water while a pair of birds cut across the lagoon.

For once, there was no pose waiting behind it—just Nobara standing quietly beneath the columns, her jacket gathered loosely against herself, the sunlight catching the loose strands around her face as she watched.

Then—another shutter clicked.

Her head snapped around immediately.

“Hey! I wasn’t ready!” She immediately approached. “Delete that!”

Then she saw it.

Nobara stopped.

The photograph wasn’t dramatic. No hand on her hip, no deliberate angle, no teasing grin. She simply looked… happy. Relaxed. Almost softer than she ever intentionally allowed a camera to catch.

“... huh.” Her thumb hovered over the screen. For several seconds, she said nothing. Then her eye flicked toward you. “What?”

She looked back at the picture suspiciously, as if it had personally betrayed her.

“… fine. It’s actually good.” A faint warmth had crept into her face before she abruptly handed the phone back.

“Send me that one.”

She turned toward the rotunda again almost immediately.

“And don’t get smug about it.”

Another few steps carried her ahead before she glanced back, confidence already reconstructing itself.

“Come on. I’m not finished.” She pointed toward another section of the colonnade. “I saw three better spots on the way in.”

By the time the two of you reached Chestnut Street, Nobara had fully recovered from the "incident" that happened at the Palace of Fine Arts. Now, she seemed determined to make sure that brief softness stayed buried.

The Marina was lively at this hour beneath the afternoon sky—cafés spilling onto sidewalks, boutiques lining the street, cyclists slipping through traffic, and Nobara moving through it all like she had personally approved the neighborhood.

“This is nice.” She lowered her sunglasses slightly, surveying the storefronts. “Expensive-looking without trying too hard.”

A pause.

“… mostly.”

Lunch landed at one of the Marina’s busier cafés, where Nobara had somehow managed to secure the two of you an outdoor table.

Shad barely settled into her chair before the server glanced at her dress. “Sorry, I have to ask—where did you get that? It looks amazing on you.”

Nobara brightened immediately. “Thank you.” No hesitation. No false modesty. “I know.”

“I wish I had that confidence.” The server laughed.

“You should.” Nobara lifted her drink. “Life’s easier when you stop pretending you don’t know you look good.”

The server laughed again before heading inside.

Nobara watched her go, visibly satisfied. “See? Nice woman. Excellent judgment.” Then her eye slid toward you. “What?”

She paused.

“Actually, don’t answer that like it’s some serious question.” Her straw disappeared between her lips. “I wasn’t asking for validation.”

Twenty minutes later, that supposed lack of interest in validation had followed her directly into another boutique.

Nobara stood before a mirror wearing a cropped black jacket over the white dress, adjusting the lapels critically. “Better than the one I brought.”

A sales associate approached from behind. “Oh, absolutely. That cut works really well with your dress.”

Nobara nodded. “Exactly.”

“And the black-and-white contrast is perfect.”

“See?” She turned slightly toward you, pointing at the associate. “She gets it.”

The woman smiled. “You two shopping all day?”

“All day?” Nobara scoffed. “We’ve barely started.”

The associate glanced toward the growing collection of bags. “Really?”

“Don’t judge me.”

“I wasn’t!”

“You were thinking it.”

The woman burst out laughing.

Back outside, Nobara walked with a fresh bag hooked over one wrist and coffee in the other, her original jacket folded beneath her arm.

“Chestnut Street’s good.” She glanced toward another window. “Dangerously good.”

Then she stopped.

“Oh.” A boutique display had caught her.

“No.”

She stared.

“Mmm... maybe.”

Another second.

“Okay, five minutes.”

She pointed toward the entrance before looking toward you. “And don’t start.”

Her mouth curled into a grin.

“If I come out with another bag, mind your business!”

Crissy Field had looked harmless from a distance. Blue water, a clear and bright afternoon sun, the Golden Gate Bridge stretched cleanly across the horizon—but still enough wind to immediately make Nobara regret every exposed inch of skin.

“OH, come on!” One hand shot to her hair as a gust tore loose several carefully arranged strands and sent them whipping across her face. “This city is unbelievable! It waits until I’m comfortable and then attacks!”

She turned her back to the wind, fighting with her bun while her cropped jacket flapped uselessly from one arm.

“And before you say anything, I DID check the weather.”

Another gust.

"Weather apps are liars...”

Several minutes later, the jacket had officially stopped being decorative.

Nobara zipped it partway over the fitted white dress and stood near the waterfront with her arms crossed, watching sailboats move across the Bay.

“There. Problem solved.” The wind immediately pushed another strand of hair across her eyepatch. “Mostly solved.” Her jaw tightened.

She caught it, tucked it behind her ear, and glared toward the Golden Gate Bridge like the landmark itself had offended her.

“Still worth it, though.”

Her expression softened almost despite herself as she looked out across the water.

“Last time we were here, I barely saw any of this. Airports, cars, meeting rooms, mission sites…” She exhaled. “And now I’m standing here getting personally bullied by the Pacific Ocean.”

"Still... much better.”

Farther along the promenade, the wind only grew more persistent.

Nobara slowed near a sheltered stretch beside one of the buildings, immediately stepping into the calmer pocket of air.

“Oh, thank God.” She pressed both palms over her hair and carefully reconstructed what remained of the bun. “Is it bad?”

Her eye narrowed toward you. “Actually. Choose your next words very carefully.”

She felt along one side, frowned, then pulled the tie free altogether. Her orange-brown hair fell around her face in windswept layers.

“Forget it.” She ran her fingers through it once and let it stay loose. “There. Intentional.”

Another gust reached even into the shelter, lifting the ends.

“… still intentional.” Nobara stared ahead.

When she finally stepped back toward the open field, her jacket stayed firmly on.

The pristine morning look had changed—her hair loose now, her sunglasses tucked away, her jacket closed against the breeze—but somehow she carried herself like the weather had simply been forced to accommodate a new version of the outfit.

“Take a good look.” She glanced toward the bridge, where her smug smile returned. “This is called adapting.”

Then the wind hit her again.

Nobara’s shoulders jumped. “Okay—no.” She immediately turned toward the sheltered path. “We’re walking somewhere with buildings now.”

By late afternoon, Chinatown had become less of a sightseeing stop and more of a problem Nobara intended to eat her way through.

She stood beneath the crowded storefronts of Grant Avenue with her loose hair shifting in the breeze. Her jacket remained over the white dress, and a warm paper bag was already tucked under one arm.

“I’m just saying, if we’re here, we’re doing this properly.” She pulled another pastry from the bag. “No weird ‘one snack and move on’ nonsense. I survived those hills. I earned food.”

Several blocks later, the strategy had completely collapsed.

Nobara now had a drink in one hand, a small takeout carton balanced against her wrist, and the expression of someone reconsidering several consecutive life choices.

“… okay.” She chewed slowly. “This was too much.”

She paused in between her chewing. Her chopsticks immediately reached toward the carton sitting nearest you.

“Give me that.” She stole another bite anyway. “I said too much. I didn’t say I was done.”

“You two trying everything today?” A woman behind the counter laughed.

Nobara swallowed. “That was the plan.”

“You’ll need another stomach.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

North Beach came next, with the streets opening into cafés, restaurants, and old storefronts beneath the softer afternoon light.

Nobara had abandoned any remaining pretense of restraint.

“Pizza.”

She pointed.

“Then coffee.”

Another storefront caught her eye.

“And whatever that is.”

She stopped in front of a bakery window.

“… actually, that first.”

Ten minutes later she emerged with a small box tucked against her chest.

“Don’t look at me like that.” She lifted her chin. “This is cultural appreciation you know.”

By the time the two of you stopped near a quieter corner, Nobara was visibly running out of momentum.

Her shopping bag rested beside her feet, some coffee warmed her hands, and the earlier sharpness of the day had somehow softened into something much more comfortable.

“My feet hurt.” She said it flatly this time, without dramatics. “My hair’s ruined. I’ve eaten too much. And I’m carrying half of San Francisco in bags.”

A pause.

“… still a good day.”

She took another sip.

While waiting near the curb, Nobara shifted closer without really thinking about it, her shoulder settling lightly against yours as she watched people move past.

Several quiet seconds passed, then she seemed to notice.

“… huh.” Her eye lowered.

She straightened immediately and focused very seriously on her coffee.

“Anyway... North Beach wins.”

She took another drink, refusing to elaborate.

“Don’t make that weird.”

By the time the cable car began climbing toward Russian Hill, Nobara’s confidence had finally met an opponent it couldn’t intimidate.

The car lurched suddenly, its bells ringing somewhere ahead as the street dropped away behind you.

“Whoa—!”

Nobara’s hand shot out on instinct and caught the front of your jacket, pulling herself sharply against you before she could think about it.

For half a second, she simply stayed there—one hand fisted in your clothes, her shoulder pressed into yours, and her fitted white dress and cropped jacket left almost no distance between you while the car rattled uphill.

Then her eye lifted. “… don’t.”

She immediately looked away.

“Not one word.”

But she didn’t let go.

Getting off near Russian Hill somehow made things worse.

Nobara stared up the steep sidewalk ahead, then slowly looked down at the fashionable black heels she had been so proud of several hours earlier.

“… these were a mistake.” She whined, before abruptly collecting herself.

“No.” She straightened. “This STREET is a mistake!”

Three blocks later, her argument had deteriorated considerably.

“Why does every road here go UP?!” She stopped halfway along the incline, one hand braced against her thigh. “I swear this city was designed by someone who hated pedestrians!”

Another few steps.

Her heel slipped slightly against the pavement.

“Ah—!”

Once again, Nobara grabbed onto you immediately—this time wrapping one arm firmly around yours while the other caught your shoulder.

She froze, much closer now.

“… okay.” Her visible eye shifted sideways. “This is practical.”

She tightened her hold.

“Don’t make that face!”

By the time Lombard Street came into view, Nobara had apparently abandoned the concept of personal space altogether.

Her arm remained hooked through yours while she navigated the incline, occasionally leaning almost completely against you whenever the pavement became uncomfortable.

“This does not count as clinging.” She pointed ahead with her free hand. “It’s assisted walking.”

Another few steps.

“And if anyone asks, these shoes are perfectly functional.”

A group of tourists passed nearby, one woman glancing at the pair of you with an amused smile.

Nobara noticed instantly. “What?”

“Nothing." The woman laughed softly. "You two are cute.”

Nobara’s entire posture stiffened. “Excuse me?”

The woman was already walking away as Nobara stared after her, then slowly became aware of just how tightly she was still holding onto you.

Her eye lowered toward her own arm. Then toward the rest of her. “… oh.” A faint warmth climbed into her face.

She loosened her grip immediately—took one step uphill by herself—and nearly lost her footing again.

“NOPE!” Her arm snapped straight back around yours. “We’re not discussing this.”

She faced forward, cheeks still noticeably warm.

“Just walk.”

By the time the two of you reached the Embarcadero, the city of San Francisco had changed completely.

The warm afternoon had faded into a cold waterfront evening, the Bay Bridge glowing across the dark water while lights stretched along the piers behind you.

Nobara had her jacket zipped firmly over the white dress now, her loose hair shifting softly whenever the wind reached her.

“…Ughhh, it got cold so faaaast…” Unsurprisingly, she made sure to voice her words as a dramatic complaint. “My feet are dead. Like, actually dead. I’m walking on corpses at this point.”

She rested her forearms along the railing and looked across the Bay. “Still better than the beach... Crissy Field...”

A small pause.

“Barely.”

The city moved behind her—traffic, distant conversations, the occasional bell—but Nobara had finally stopped trying to rush toward the next thing.

Her feet hurt. Her hair had long since surrendered. Her shoulders had begun to sag whenever she stopped moving, and even the hand around her bag strap looked tired. The shopping bags had multiplied twice over and been deposited back at the hotel again.

And somehow, she looked content.

“You know…” Her voice came quieter than it had been all day. “I think this one counts.” She glanced sideways. “The trip, I mean.”

Her fingers tapped lightly against the railing.

“Last time didn’t. That was work pretending to be travel.” She looked back toward the lights. “But today?”

A faint smile appeared.

“Yeah.”

Several seconds passed before she spoke again.

“… ah. You’re actually not terrible to travel with.” The words escaped too naturally. Even she didn't immediately stiffen up.

“… don’t make that into something.” Her eye shifted toward you, then away again. “I’m serious.”

Another beat.

“That was a compliment. A normal one.”

The visible side of her face had already begun warming. “And don’t stare at me like I just confessed something embarrassing.”

She pulled her jacket tighter around herself.

“I had fun. That’s all.” The admission only seemed to make things worse. “… a lot of fun.”

Silence.

Nobara’s eye narrowed toward the water.

“…Ughhh, see? This is why I need to go back to the hotel. I’m exhausted. My mouth’s starting to betray me.”

She pushed away from the railing and turned back toward the lights of the city, suddenly very interested in adjusting the strap of her handbag.

“We should go.”

Her voice had sharpened again, but not quite enough to hide the color still lingering in her face.

“I’m tired, my feet are dead, and if I stay here any longer I’m probably going to say something else stupid.”

She took a few steps before glancing back. “… and don’t get weird about any of that.”

A pause. Then, quieter:

“I meant it.”

By the time the Fairmont suite door finally closed behind you, Nobara looked like she had personally survived a war against the city.

“Ughhhhhhh—FINALLY.”

Her handbag hit the sofa first. Shopping bags followed in an increasingly careless pile before she tore the jacket from her shoulders and tossed it over the armrest.

“These shoes are evil.”

One heel came off.

“Actually evil.”

The other followed.

“Never wearing them again.”

A tired pause.

“…Until tomorrow, maybe.”

Barefoot now, Nobara shuffled toward the couch and practically collapsed across it. Her loose hair spilled around her face while the fitted white dress remained stubbornly attached to everything else.

“My feet hurt. My back hurts. I ate too much…” She covered her face with one hand. “… and I definitely drank more than I meant to.”

Her eye peeked through her fingers.

“Don’t start. I’m fine. Just... tired. And maybe, like… fifteen percent drunk.”

Several lazy minutes passed before she finally dragged herself upright.

“Okay. Shower. Sleep. Death. Whatever comes first.” Her fingers caught the hem of the dress. “And this thing needs to come OFF.”

She glanced toward you, and somehow the smugness from that morning briefly resurfaced. “What?” A sleepy little grin. “You spent all day looking at it.” She tugged lightly at the fabric. “Might as well help me take it off.”

A pause, and a laugh.

“… kidding.”

"Mostly.”

Before the line could betray her any further, Nobara disappeared into the bedroom.

“Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me!” Her voice carried through the suite several minutes later. “I fought you once already!”

Inside, the dress had become her enemy again—unzipped, peeled downward, and now stubbornly bunched around her hips.

“Get OFF!”

She wrestled it lower another inch.

“Ughhh—come ON!”

By then, she'd already peeled the upper half down completely, leaving her in her underwear while she fought with the fabric trapped around her hips.

Then the bedroom door shifted open wider than she'd expected.

Nobara glanced over her shoulder.

“…?”

Her tired brain needed one full second. Her eye dropped, then shot back up immediately to where you were.

“… oh.”

Her face then ignited.

“WH—HEY!”

She immediately caught the dress against herself despite the fact that it was doing absolutely nothing useful.

“DOORS! Do we not understand DOORS anymore?!”

Her voice sharpened dramatically. “Well?! You planning to stand there until I finish changing too?!”

She paused, turning partly away to hide the fact her cheeks were burning. Even then, she resumed fighting the fabric.

“God, I am way too tired for this…” Another useless tug. “… and apparently too tired to win against a dress.”

Silence.

Nobara’s shoulders sank. Then, without turning fully around:

“… fine.” Her voice dropped several levels. “Help me.”

A pause.

“Just get it over my hips and down. That’s it.” She glanced back, visibly mortified and outraged by the concession. “And wipe that entire sentence from your memory when you're done!”

Nobara exhaled the longest, most defeated groan of the entire day.

“Ughhhhhh…”

She stood, exhausted, mildly buzzed, her hair completely ruined, and somehow still trying to recover the dignity she’d started the morning with.

“Well? Get to work then! My ass hasn't breathed since I put this on!”