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The moment Yuri heard his house doorbell ring, he knew something was wrong. Not catastrophically wrong, probably; just that he didn’t expect anyone on a Wednesday afternoon. The caretaker had already arrived for the day, and had taken out his mother for a doctor’s appointment, so he was the only one left to pick up. He wasn’t one to welcome the unexpected with open arms. He opened the door to Agnes Joubert in dark sunglasses, a beret, and a faceful of makeup that made him wonder whose wedding she had escaped from. “Put your shoes on, we’re going shopping.”
“No.” He closed the door.
She jammed her foot between the frame and the door before it shut. “The HeroTV Gala is this Friday, Petrov, and I’m not letting you wear the same damn suit you wear every day like you did last time!”
“It’s a perfectly acceptable outfit,” he said, hiding behind the half-closed door.
“For a court of law! If you wear something just ‘acceptable’ to the Gala again, I swear to god Yuri, I’ll…”
She trailed off. It wasn’t like her to trail off. He felt a moment of triumph. “You’ll do what, Ms Joubert?”
He heard her lean closer to the gap in the door, with a tone as sharp as her eyeliner. “I’ll tell Kotetsu where you live.”
His eyes narrowed. That meddler was always trying to take him out for drinks, ask about his life, probably try to convince him to do stupid things like loosen up or socialize or go to therapy. “You wouldn’t.”
“You have five minutes to be out here.”
“Agnes—” He opened the door again, tired of this game. “I already have good clothes. I don’t want to purchase an entire new outfit if I can achieve the same thing with something I already own.”
Agnes raised an eyebrow. “Will you let me in to see, then?”
Yuri quieted, realizing the corner he backed himself into. But Agnes wasn’t budging, was she?
He stepped back and let her in.
Yuri sat cross-legged at the edge of his bed, foot bouncing nervously like some sort of teenager before prom. Agnes rifled through his closet with the cutthroat efficiency of a producer on a deadline, occasionally tossing something on the bed next to him that she deemed worthy of her time. A black wool coat he’d regrettably only used a couple of times, a pair of leather gloves, a pair of Oxfords that were reserved for these kinds of parties, a few neutral-colored button-ups, several ties more brightly colored than his usual.
For a moment he saw a glimpse of cyan and green that made blood run cold in his veins, thinking he’d been careless— but it was just his favorite tie that he really ought to throw away for the sake of being subtle, if not for the fact that his mother had gotten it for him. No, it had been years since he kept any kind of Lunatic paraphernalia in this house, having opted to purchase a separate apartment to use solely as storage for his alter-ego after a few too many close calls with his mother.
“All of your stuff is gray and boring,” Agnes declared, and turned back to him with her hands on her hips. “But at least you have a foundation. I’m not gonna make you buy an entire outfit, just the important parts.”
“I still fail to see the point to all this,” Yuri said, with a slump to his back that even he realized made him look a bit dramatic. “You say these things—” he gestured to the pile on the bed next to him “—are good enough. Why not make them into an outfit and that’s it?”
Agnes rolled her eyes with a force that could count as a new source of renewable energy. “Yuri, do you want to look like plain old Judge Petrov, or do you want to shine?”
He stared at her.
“Fine, don’t answer that. You’ll shine whether you want to or not, now put your shoes on.”
The bright side was that he didn’t have to drive. The downside was that Agnes did, and she was easily tempted by the dresses on showcase in streetside boutiques. He quickly texted his mother’s caretaker in case they made it home before he did, which was looking more and more likely.
He sat on one of the cushioned stools in a dressing room gaudier than he’d ever cared to be in, waiting for Agnes to try on one of the armful of dresses she’d fished from the store. She briskly opened the curtain and posed against the doorframe. It was a midnight blue gown with a billowy top embroidered with silver patterns reminiscent of constellations, cinched at the waist, and flowing down loosely. It was fine on its own, but her expression was more expectant than that. “It looks good, but I thought you were more of a mermaid cut kind of person,” he said.
She pursed her lips. “Well, yes, but I hardly have an hourglass figure anymore. People say I should wear more A-line things.”
That didn’t sound like her at all. “Who says?”
“I don’t know, some assholes.”
“Why do you care, then?”
She narrowed her eyes, and after a moment of scrutiny, she smirked. “I like how you think.”
The curtain snapped closed. A few moments later, she emerged in a different dress. Not quite a mermaid cut but still showing off her hips, bright purple and off-shoulder.
“See, that cut is more you,” he said, and held his chin with his hand in thought. “The color is a nice contrast with your eyes. It depends on the makeup, though; what are you thinking?”
“I was thinking gold eyeshadow and lips to match the dress.”
“So green eyes, gold, and purple? Do you want to look like a Mardi Gras float, or?”
She made a face like if she had been drinking something she’d have choked on it. “Judge Petrov, is that shade I’m hearing?”
“I’m just saying,” he said, turning to the side and absolutely not going red in the face. “Maybe try something more like bronze eyeshadow. Or, uh, a less saturated dress color.”
She grinned smugly like she’d won something, and snapped the curtain closed again. Next time she opened it, she had a pencil cut gown, strapless and deep purple-indigo with a tulle layer that was more concentrated at the bust, giving it a subtle gradient. “How’s this? I have some copper pumps that would do well with it.” “That would work, I believe,” he said. “Will you get cold?”
She reached into the dressing room behind her and showed him a high-waisted brown leather jacket. He raised his eyebrows. She slipped it on and left it open, giving her that last touch that her outfit needed.
Yuri nodded in approval. “Good look. You can wear the necklace and earrings you wore on Monday, and that’ll do it.”
Agnes smiled knowingly and called over the shop assistant with her verdict, then turned back to him. “Okay, now let’s get something for you.”
“Oh, good, I get to go home soon,” he said, but really —and he would never admit this to her— he found himself at least a little entertained by the outing.
“You’re giving pretty solid advice for someone who just wants to go home, you know.”
Busted.
“Pick a hero.”
Yuri stopped halfway through unclasping his seatbelt. “To what end?”
She got out of the car as she spoke, once again concise and to-the-point as if she was dispatching the Heroes. “Inspiration. No one better to teach you how to present a persona.”
“I already have an image I like to maintain,” he said as he followed her out of the car, but waited patiently for the rebuttal he knew was coming.
“Yes, and it doesn’t fit in this context, so we’re getting you a new one.”
He let himself exhale briskly as his way of chuckling to himself. “Rock Bison, then.”
She turned to make a face at him. “You just said him because he’s got the most boring getups. He always shows up with a rented tux and his stupid helmet.”
“Lucky I don’t have a helmet, then.”
She threw him a look.
“Well, who do you think has the best image?” he said as they reached the escalators up to the shopping mall.
She pursed her lips and kept quiet. In fact, she was quiet until they were eyeing which shop to go into. “Fire Emblem is the obvious choice here,” she said, but her tone indicated that she wasn’t done. “They’re very bold, and I love that. But I feel like…” She glanced sideways at him, as if fearing judgement, and then seemed to make a firm decision. “I’m pretty sure that if he was a Hero, Lunatic would sweep everyone off their feet.”
To say that Yuri's eyebrows shot up to his hairline would be a vast understatement of his reaction; luckily, that was the only outwardly perceivable part. "Care to elaborate?"
"Listen," Agnes said, already with palpable conviction. "Theatricality isn't everything, right? Lunatic is dripping with the stuff, but there is also a sense of elegance there. The tactical retreats tell me that he's smart, and he's dignified. And the color scheme, the speeches, the burning cape? If he was on the other side of things and had the chance to attend these kinds of events, he'd be a regular on the front page of Vogue."
Well, that was certainly a point of view Yuri had never considered. Privately, internally, he chuckled to himself knowing that even though Agnes believed Judge Petrov to be a fashion disaster, she held Lunatic in such high regard.
He allowed himself to think about it, though. In a different world, where Yuri and Lunatic were one and he had the chance to attend such events without much else on his mind, maybe Agnes was onto something. It was easy for him to picture a Gala outfit for Lunatic, something that could match Fire Emblem’s panache, rival Barnaby’s elegance, and contrast Blue Rose’s frigid beauty with a more severe kind of allure. Silver details on a white suit, laurels of blue-green flame, a matching himation resting at his shoulder and hip. Maybe Lunatic’s mask would bear a gentler expression, in this hypothetical; a messenger of Thanatos more attuned to his gentle embrace rather than the fear mortals have for him.
“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”
He snapped out of his thoughts and waved his hand dismissively. “He’s a criminal, it will never happen.”
“But you thought about it,” she pressed, with that sly grin of hers that he refused to look at.
“Let’s focus on the task at hand, shall we?”
“If shopping is what you want to focus on, that’s a win for me.”
They found a designer jacket and trousers combo that Agnes liked and didn’t make Yuri cringe at the thought of wearing in public; a simple enough cream suit with pale gold fleur-de-lis details that would match with the black wool coat and leather gloves he had at home. She got him a rose gold tie to match the pattern, as a thank you gift for making an effort, and his outfit was ready for him to pick up on Thursday after the tailor adjusted it to his measurements.
As she drove him home, she asked, “What about your hair?”
Just when he thought it was over. “What about my hair?”
“You don’t have to do anything fancy with it,” she said, “but it’d be nice if you at least, like, got it professionally styled that day.”
Her easygoing tone made him relax, but he wasn’t really on edge to begin with. He’d gotten used to her whims, especially during this little adventure, to the point that he’d even say he enjoyed it. “I don’t know,” he said. “It seems like something I can do myself with little difference.”
“If you come with me after work on Friday, we can go to my regular hair salon,” she offered tentatively. “You’re gonna feel the difference.”
He pursed his lips. They did have an early leave on Friday to be able to prepare for the Gala… He sighed in mock-resignation. “If you say so, Agnes.”
She grinned victoriously, and Yuri didn’t even want to think about what kind of hairstyles she’d insist he’d look good in. That was a problem for Friday Yuri.
From the look of the lights inside his house, his mother and her caretaker had already arrived home when they pulled up into the driveway. “We should do this again sometime,” Agnes said as a way of concluding their escapade.
He huffed good-naturedly. “Please give me a heads up next time.”
“Psh, okay. Way to put a damper on the thrill of spontaneity. Do you also plan your mental breakdowns three business days in advance?”
He raised an eyebrow at her.
She rolled her eyes. “Please, don’t even pretend. In this industry everybody has either semi-regular mental breakdowns or coke lines in the bathroom. Or they’re secretly a serial killer. Maverick surprised me with that one, he always struck me as a coke on a pocket mirror kinda guy.”
Yuri blanked, knowing exactly which of those options applied to him. “And which one are you?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know. Go, your mother’s waiting.”
He turned to see that, indeed, his mother was already waving at him from the door, her caretaker not far behind. He opened the passenger door and was ready to go, but hesitated. "I… Thank you for the evening, Agnes."
She clapped his shoulder, which admittedly startled him a little bit. "It's my pleasure. I had fun too, and I meant it when I said we should do this again. Don't be a stranger, yeah?"
Yuri found himself smiling, and nodded. He got out of the car and went to greet his mother, sat down to have dinner with her, and continued with his night as usual. Tonight wasn't a Lunatic kind of night, and as he laid down to rest, he found himself looking forward to Friday.