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SXD: A Taste of Fashion
🕑 Added 2025-09-04 15:37:48 +0000 UTCThe late afternoon sun dipped low across Vale, painting the streets with a golden glow as the crowds bustled past—hunters, civilians, students, and shopkeepers. Among them walked two very different figures. Issei Hyoudou, one hand shoved awkwardly into his pocket, and Weiss Schnee, holding his other hand with a grip that brooked no argument.
Her steps were sharp, heels clicking against the pavement like the steady tick of a metronome. His, meanwhile, dragged slightly, each stride reluctant. It wasn’t that he minded walking with her—far from it. It was where she was dragging him that had his stomach tied in knots.
“Do we really have to do this, Weiss?” Issei asked, voice carrying a touch of whine. “Like, really really?”
Weiss didn’t even turn her head, her expression focused and determined, eyes narrowing as if daring him to challenge her resolve. “Yes, Issei. This is absolutely necessary.”
He pouted. “But why though? Clothes are clothes. I’ve got plenty of them. You’ve seen my jacket—it’s comfy, flexible, good for fights…”
“And completely unacceptable,” Weiss cut in smoothly, squeezing his hand just enough to emphasize her point. “This isn’t a casual stroll through Beacon, it’s the Beacon Dance. A formal event.”
Issei sighed, shoulders slumping. “But I don’t even like dances. Why can’t I just wear what I normally do? It’s not like anyone’s looking at me anyway.”
That made her stop dead in her tracks. She turned on her heel, silver hair catching the light as her sharp blue eyes pierced into him. “Not looking at you?” She repeated, incredulous. “Issei Hyoudou, you are my date. My date. That means every eye in the room will be on us—on how we enter, how we dance, how we present ourselves. If you walk in looking like you just crawled out of training with Yang, people won’t think you are sloppy. They’ll think I lack standards.”
Her words landed like a rapier thrust. Not cruel, but precise.
Issei scratched the back of his head sheepishly, his free hand flexing. “So wait, they’d… judge you? But that doesn’t make sense. I’m the one who’d look like a slob.”
Weiss exhaled through her nose, tempering her frustration. “That’s how society works, Issei. Appearances and perception matters. And whether you like it or not, I am Weiss Schnee, heiress of the Schnee Dust Company. If you are by my side, then you are representing me as much as yourself.”
He blinked at her, mouth opening… then closing again. He clearly didn’t get it—at least not fully—but he recognized that it mattered to her. And that was enough.
“…Alright,” he said finally, shoulders still sagging. “If it’s that important to you, I’ll do it. Even if suits feel like a trap made of fabric.”
Weiss allowed herself the faintest of smiles, a rare softness breaking through her usual frost. “Good. I knew you’d would see reason.”
He muttered something under his breath about “evil ties strangling his neck,” but she chose to ignore it.
Finally, after a few more blocks, they arrived at their destination. A boutique that stood out like a palace among Vale’s shops. Tall windows displayed mannequins dressed in pristine gowns and suits that cost more than most workers made in a semester. The entrance was lined with silver trim, and the door handles gleamed like polished crystal.
Issei stopped short, staring up at the shop as though it were a Grimm preparing to pounce. “Oh man. This place looks expensive. Like… too expensive. I feel like just breathing near it will cost me money I don’t have.”
Weiss tugged on his hand. “Nonsense. Only the best will do.”
As the door opened, a perfectly groomed receptionist glided forward with a professional smile. “Miss Schnee,” She greeted warmly, bowing her head. “It’s a pleasure to have you back. Your family’s account is, of course, ready for any needs you may have.”
Then her eyes flicked to Issei. Her smile remained, but her tone cooled by a few degrees. “And… your guest.”
Issei shifted uncomfortably, his usual grin faltering. He could feel the subtle weight of her judgment, like she was trying to figure out how he—in his scuffed shoes and plain jacket—could possibly be standing beside Weiss Schnee.
Weiss, catching the look, tightened her grip on his hand, chin lifting just slightly higher. “Yes,” she said firmly. “And please show the same respect to my date.”
The receptionist’s eyes widened ever so slightly before she bowed again, her voice smoothing back into professional neutrality. “Of course. Right this way.”
Issei blinked, glancing at Weiss. Her expression was calm, controlled—but he didn’t miss the faint pink dusting her cheeks.
“Wow,” He muttered, leaning close to her ear as they followed inside. “That was kinda… hot.”
Weiss nearly tripped on the carpet. “…Idiot.”
But she didn’t let go of his hand. Not once.
—-------------------------------------
The boutique was immaculate, with polished floors that reflected the glitter of chandeliers and racks of pristine formalwear lined up in perfect formation. The kind of place Weiss Schnee felt entirely at home in—and the kind of place that made Issei Hyoudou want to crawl under a table and never come out.
He stood in the changing room, grumbling as he tried to wrestle his way into a stiff white shirt that felt like it was actively trying to strangle him. “Why do these things have so many buttons? Who needs this many buttons?!” His voice muffled as he tugged the collar over his head.
Weiss, seated gracefully on a cushioned bench outside with a stack of carefully chosen ensembles beside her, rolled her eyes. “Because this is a formal event, Issei. Clothing reflects character.”
“Yeah, yeah…” Came his voice from behind the door. “Character, dignity, suffocating to death—same thing, right?”
The door creaked open and Issei stepped out, tugging uncomfortably at the shirt and matching vest Weiss had picked. He spread his arms like a child forced into church clothes. “Well? How do I look?”
Weiss tilted her head, eyes scanning critically. The color clashed horribly with his complexion, making him look less like a gentleman and more like a waiter at a low-rent tavern. Her lips pressed thin. “…Back in. Try the next one.”
Issei groaned dramatically. “But this one’s not even itchy!”
“I don’t care. Next.”
Muttering under his breath, he shuffled back into the changing room.
Weiss allowed herself a small sigh, smoothing her skirt while waiting. She was used to refinement, to people who understood presentation. Training Issei into someone remotely acceptable for the Beacon Dance was beginning to feel like an uphill battle. And yet… she refused to give up. He was her date. He had to look the part.
To pass the time, Issei’s voice floated out from the room. “Hey, Weiss, did you hear? Jaune asked Pyrrha to the dance.”
Weiss arched a brow. “And she accepted? Honestly, I don’t know what she sees in him.”
Issei chuckled, his laugh echoing against the door. “Still don’t like him, huh? I mean, he’s not that bad. Kinda funny, actually.”
Weiss sniffed. “He’s… insufferably clumsy. And his combat skills are—”
“Better than they used to be,” Issei cut in, laughing again. “Guess Pyrrha sees potential. Can’t argue with that.”
Weiss’s lips pressed together. She couldn’t deny Pyrrha’s influence had polished Jaune, but still. “Potential or not, he could have aimed higher.”
Issei’s muffled voice turned playful. “Jealous, Weiss? Thought you wanted him off your case.”
Her cheeks colored faintly. “Don’t be ridiculous. That’s not what I meant.”
The door creaked again, and Issei peeked out with a new shirt halfway tucked. “By the way, what about your team? Are they going?”
Weiss folded her arms. “Ruby is reluctant. She doesn’t want to wear heels—she called them lady stilts of all things. Blake is too preoccupied with… her problem. And Yang is still attempting to drag Blake out by force. It’s tiresome.”
Issei hummed thoughtfully, tugging the door shut again. “Maybe I’ll have a dance with Ruby, then. Get her to relax. Could help.”
Weiss stiffened instantly. Her eyes narrowed toward the door. “…And why, exactly, must you dance with Ruby?”
There was a pause. Then Issei’s laugh, warm and unbothered. “Not like that, Weiss! Just to help her loosen up and have fun. She’s our friend—you don’t want her sulking in a corner, do you?”
Weiss exhaled slowly, suspicion lingering. “…Fine. But don’t get any ideas.”
“Geez,” Issei chuckled. “You really think I’m that bad?”
Her silence spoke volumes.
He spoke again after a beat, lighter. “Hard to believe Professor Goodwitch stuck your team with this, huh? Making you prepare a dance as punishment. Who does that?”
Weiss huffed. “Which is why it’s even more important for you to look proper. This isn’t just any dance, Issei. This is something I prepared. That makes it special. That means my date must be perfect.”
He went quiet at that, her words sinking in. Then the door opened once more.
And Weiss’s world tilted.
Issei stepped out in a fitted black suit, jacket sleek and tailored, the shirt crisp, and the tie neatly in place. The fabric hugged his frame in all the right places, accentuating broad shoulders and a lean, toned body honed from battle. His messy brown hair fell just enough over his forehead, softened by the boutique’s light.
For once, he wasn’t just Issei—the goofy, shameless idiot. He looked… handsome.
Dangerously so.
Weiss’s breath caught. Heat rushed to her face before she could stop it, her practiced composure crumbling in the face of something she absolutely wasn’t prepared for.
He scratched the back of his head, looking awkward. “So… is this one any good?”
Weiss snapped her fingers, her voice higher than usual as she waved sharply at the receptionist. “We’ll take this one. Immediately.”
The receptionist blinked, then smiled knowingly. “Of course, Miss Schnee.”
Issei blinked between them, confused. “…Wait, that fast? Don’t I have to try more?”
“No,” Weiss said firmly, still pink in the cheeks. “That one is… sufficient.”
Issei tilted his head, studying her expression. “…You sure? You look kinda red. Are you sick or something?”
Her blush deepened. “I am not sick! Now stop standing there and take the suit off so they can package it!”
As the staff hurried to assist, Weiss turned her head sharply, hiding her face behind her hand.
‘Dust help me,’ She thought, heart pounding. ‘Why does he look that good?’
And Issei, still clueless, grinned as he disappeared back into the changing room.
“…Guess she likes it,” He muttered to himself, smiling without realizing why.
