Chapter 114: A Whole Lot Of Fabric

Adrian held the overshirt at arm’s length and searched it for a flaw. It was corduroy, which was a sin, and rust, which was a crime, and $84, which was the only complaint with legal standing.

"It’s a lot of fabric," he said.

"It’s a shirt," Jenna said.

"It’s a shirt with commitments."

"You’ve been criticizing it for two minutes." Rose took the hanger out of his hand. "You spent less time on the microphone."

"The microphone was a good purchase."

"The microphone didn’t have a collar you had to defend." She held the overshirt open like a coat at a restaurant. "Try it."

He lost the way he lost every argument with her, by running out of objections one breath before she ran out of patience. He shrugged it on over his gray T-shirt and faced the mirror.

The color hit first. Rust against gray looked like a campfire in a parking lot, warm and loud and impossible to ignore, and the worst part was how fast he’d noticed it. Like hearing his own name across a room. ’That’s a color.’ He did not like that he’d stopped to look.

"Open," Jenna said, pulling a black tee off the nearest table and shoving it at him. "Over black. Keep the line clean."

"Over the green knit," Rose said. "The knit’s the whole point."

"The knit is a different outfit."

"It’s the same outfit if you stop being stubborn."

He tried both, ducking behind the curtain twice, the second time with the sullen efficiency of a man trapped in a group project. The black version looked like a man who’d decided something. The green version looked like a man with a plan. Neither looked like him, which was alarming, because both looked like he’d chosen them.

He stepped out and stood in front of the mirror longer than he’d admit. "Fine. It looks good."

"Say it again," Jenna said.

"I’m not giving you the satisfaction of thinking one shirt changed my entire personality."

"You’re agreeing to buy it."

"As one of my planned pieces." He folded it over his arm like evidence. "It stays practical. And if we spend another twenty minutes deciding what goes under it, I’m buying a second microphone just to record my complaints."

Jenna’s grin was slow and entirely without mercy. "Challenge accepted."

She started working the shelves, tossing aside anything she judged too formal. Rose joined, and within two minutes the clash was back.

"Plain black," Jenna said, holding one up. "It lets the rust stand out. Nothing competes."

"Something lighter." Rose held a cream one against the store’s yellow bulbs. "Black swallows detail under warm light. It’ll vanish against the backdrop."

"Black photographs fine."

"Black photographs like a shadow."

Adrian let it run ten seconds, then stepped in with the confidence of a man who’d read the room wrong. "Nobody watching is going to study my shirt that closely."

Both of them turned, same face, perfectly synchronized, like cats who’d just watched him step on the same tail. He saw the mistake in their eyes. They weren’t arguing about shirts. They were arguing about a channel, and he’d just announced he didn’t take it seriously.

"I take it seriously," he added, too late.

"You said nobody would notice," Rose said.

"People notice everything," Jenna said. "That’s the whole job."

He tried both. The cream one made him look like a pastry. The black one looked like something he’d wear to a funeral or a very ambitious lunch, which was most of his life. He chose black, since he’d wear it outside the stream, and said so.

Rose studied him, head tilted like at a canvas. "Fine. But I’m reserving the right to revisit it once I see it against the backdrop."

"There’s no backdrop yet."

"There will be."

It felt like signing a lease. Somewhere behind the register, the clerk with the lint roller pretended not to take notes.

Jenna had drifted off during the negotiation. When he found her, she was at the long mirror in the black jacket again, rolling the sleeves once, checking the shoulders, rolling them back. It was a jacket for someone who corrected people. Her face had the unguarded look from the stage, like she’d set down the effort of holding herself together.

"Sharper," Rose said from behind. "That’s the one."

"It’s $89." Jenna said it to her reflection. She took the gray one off the rack and held them side by side. "And this one’s fifty-four."

Adrian had been waiting for this. She’d spent the day insisting on paying her own way, which meant the offer sat in his mouth like a coin he wasn’t allowed to spend. ’Don’t.’ Offering would take the choice from her, and she’d notice.

Instead he rubbed the gray sleeve between thumb and finger. "Thinner weave. It’ll fade in two washes. The black has a lining, and the shoulders are sewn, not glued."

"You know that?"

"I read the tag." He’d read it twice, pretending to look at socks. "Different question. If the channel never made a dollar, which one would you still want?"

Jenna went quiet. She hung the gray one back, slid the black on again, and moved through an imaginary stage, a slow turn, then a sharper one. Something in her shoulders settled. He recognized it. She was thinking about how it felt, not what it cost.

"The black." She laughed once, startled. "Even if it flops. If nobody watches, it’ll still make lecturers nervous and classmates confess things."

"That’s a return on investment," Adrian said.

"Don’t you dare joke about your own job." She tucked the jacket over her arm like a trophy and didn’t look at the price again.

Rose’s turn came next, and she took it like an exam she’d studied for. Deep green jacket on, one hand lingering on the cream cardigan she’d picked first. She kept touching the sleeve. Not buying. Just touching.

"Do you like the jacket?" Jenna asked. "Or does it just look good on camera?"

"Both can be true."

"Then pick something you’d wear if nobody ever saw a frame."

Rose didn’t answer. Adrian watched her fingers on the cardigan, which handed him an opening he could have taken three outfits ago. "You’ve spent the whole afternoon making sure everyone else looks distinct. And you keep choosing things that disappear into the wall."

"The wall’s my idea."

"It’s a good idea." He kept his voice flat. "You’re just standing in front of it."

Rose looked at the mirror a long time. She set the cardigan down, turned the jacket over once, and swapped the cream knit underneath for a soft rust top she hadn’t glanced at until that moment. It didn’t match the wall. It argued with it. It looked like her.

"Better," Jenna said.

"I’m only accepting the compliment," Rose said, "because it came from someone who rejected half my suggestions."

They laid it all out on a bench at the back: his green knit, black tee, and rust overshirt; Jenna’s black jacket; Rose’s green jacket and rust top. Adrian leaned over it and saw it work, warm against cool, soft against sharp, three people on one screen without a uniform. His green and her green were the only repeat. He filed it under ’ask later.’

"I can wear this outside the stream," he said.

"I paid for my own jacket," Jenna said, with quiet satisfaction.

"It isn’t a set," Rose said, sounding pleased.

"One thing." Jenna pointed. "The overshirt stays open. Clean line."

"Buttoned halfway," Rose said. "It looks structured."

"Does either of you intend to wear this for me?" Adrian asked.

They looked at him with identical pity. "Try both," Jenna said. "And stop complaining."

He took both combinations back to the fitting room with the heavy feeling of a man who’d invited a jury. The first, open over black, got an immediate "Yes" from Jenna. Rose took a long moment, head tilted, and said only, "It’s fine." The second, buttoned halfway over the knit, got Rose’s quiet "Oh" and Jenna’s flat "He looks like he’s about to give a TED talk."

He’d worn black for a year and a half. Two outfits later he had opinions about sleeves. It was the most alarming development of his week.

He looked between them. For once nobody was going to let him leave with a compromise. So he turned back to the mirror and picked the one he actually liked, open over the black, knowing the room was split down the middle and his vote was the only one left to count.

"Open," he said.

Rose smiled, small and unbothered. "That one."

"Look at that," Jenna said. "Choosing for himself. A skill he’s only just discovered."

"I chose the version I like."

"Exactly." She patted his arm. "Congratulations."

He was about to announce they were finished when something at Rose’s wrist caught his eye: a hanger she’d picked up while he wasn’t looking, and a tag swinging from it. $145.

"Is that one necessary?"

Rose looked at the tag. Then at him. "I’ll explain if you try it on first."

Adrian realized, with sinking certainty, that the shopping trip wasn’t over.