18: Mannequin

After a good night's sleep, the daunting proposal of giving Levi's speech strikes harder the next morning. His life story in your words, given to an audience of the nation's best scholars? It's insane, and way above your expertise. You're just an intern, not an acclaimed public speaker.

It wants to pester you, but for the time being you shut up your anxiety and get ready for the day. The mid-November weather encourages warm clothes, so you settle on a blend of style and comfort that deviates from the business casual you wear to Paradis. You're not going to dress up too much for just a day out, but you won't dress lazy around Levi, either.

As you throw together a quick breakfast, you contemplate on what's to come. This is different than you going to his house or him coming to yours; this is an outing. You two are meeting outside of school hours to do something that isn't related to school. Not entirely, anyways. It's really unusual, but it's about the most normal thing you two have done in this relationship so far. The proper sequence has been thrown akimbo, and now the two of you shove together mismatched pieces in this jigsaw puzzle of a relationship.

It's fitting for a bizarre relationship to have a bizarre series of events. Why start making sense now?

When you get to the parking lot at 8:53, Levi's already waiting outside his car. You slow as you approach him, looking over his casual attire. He's not in a suit this time, and you realize it's the first time you've seen him out of those formal clothes.

His typical blazer is replaced with a simple biker jacket. It layers atop the grey shirt that's been tucked into his jeans, and it admittedly makes him look like even more of a villain. Still, it suits him.

"What're you gawking at?" he grumbles.

"Nothing." You fix the strap of your shoulder bag as you tread closer. "Um, good morning."

"At least you didn't make me wait. Get in." He whips around and throws himself into the car, reactivating its engine while he waits for his passenger.

As soon as his companion is aboard and he pulls onto the main road, he begins a conversation. "Did you make progress on the speech last night?"

"A little," you answer. "I fixed up the tone a bit, but I don't think it's perfect. I need to keep working."

"Of course. You'll keep working until I approve it."

"Yes, sir," you grouch.

"Tch." He shakes his head, detesting your attitude. "Remember, you have to memorize whatever you write. The teleprompters are going to have the original speech—my version."

"Oh, god. Can't we just tell Marley and send them the edited one? It's probably best that they know."

"No, Marley won't approve. Neither will Dhalis. We need them to think I'm the one going on stage."

It's blatant lying, deceit against a prestigious university for a prestigious convention. "We can't do that. It's Paradis and Marley, Levi. They won't allow something like that."

"They can't stop us."

"But they'll be pissed! We'll ruin Paradis' reputation—who knows what will happen to you? You could get fired."

"I'm not going to get fired. You really need to relax." Levi rests an elbow on the windowsill, operating the steering wheel with one hand. "Erwin doesn't want me fired, so he'll make sure that doesn't happen. Marley—"

"Do you always rely on Dr. Smith to protect you?"

"Marley will get their head out of their ass and get over it. Besides, they'll love your work. It'll be original, and compelling, and still about the professor they want to hear about. The twist will be refreshing, honestly."

"Still, it—"

"Listen, I'm not stupid."

You roll your eyes. "That's debatable."

"Shut up," he hisses. "I wouldn't throw you under the bus if I thought you weren't going to be safe. I don't want to lose my job, and I really don't want to fuck up somebody else's life. Trust me when I say we're going to be fine."

That's bold for a professor in his first year of teaching to claim. "How do you know? You're a rookie at Paradis."

"I might be a new professor, but I've been acquainted with Paradis for a while. I've followed Erwin for years, and I know how this system works. Don't underestimate me."

You're not convinced, no matter how many times his argument cycles through your head. "I'm just not sure about it."

"I am, so that's all you need. I will not let you fuck up, and I will not let you get in trouble either." He turns his head away slightly, watching a passing motorcycle. "You're going through a lot of effort for my sake. You won't have to stumble through it alone."

That must be the sweetest thing he's ever said to you, and the mere existence of his sympathy is a stronger argument than anything he's posited before. You've been seduced by his concern, and for a while you forget about being afraid of the convention. You have a god on your side, and that god isn't going to abandon you.

Levi's chosen a remarkable shopping complex in the heart of the city, a collection of towering buildings that come together to form a haughty, grandiose mall. His car joins many others in the lot and you're both making your way towards one of the gigantic entrances swiftly. Inside, Levi seems to have already memorized a path through the sleek, sprawling space and immediately beelines to his first destination.

As you pass under the archway labelled with the name of a designer fashion company, you already hurry to catch up with Levi and protest.

"Listen, Professor," you huff out as you walk alongside him through aisles of clothes. "This might be a shock to you, but a college kid doesn't have the same salary you do. I—I can't afford most of this stuff."

"That's why you're not paying, dumbass." His eyes are already dancing through the options around him, searching for a spot to start digging for treasure.

"You can't—I mean, it's my clothes—"

"It's clothes for my intern," he counters. "Presenting my speech. In front of a crowd where she represents me. We're not going thrifting for the most important event of your life."

Your lips are parted and ready to speak, but you're not sure what to say. Giving up on the fight, you reroute to a different subject. "You're assuming a lot. I could have more important events than this."

"Yeah?" He looks over stylish mannequins before drifting by them. "Like what?"

"I dunno. My wedding, maybe?"

He gives you a brief glance, inquisition in his eyes, before flicking through a row of hanging shirts. "Do you have a partner?"

"No, I don't."

"Then who says you're going to have a wedding?"

"Goddamn, I don't have a partner yet. That can change, believe it or not."

"Hmph." His eyebrow quirks briefly as some tiny, untouched thought dances in his head. "Well, you let me know how that goes whenever it happens."

You emit a small, doubtful laugh. "Are we going to stay in touch after my internship?"

"Depends on where you end up." He yanks out a blouse and shoves it against your collarbone, evaluating how it might look on your torso. "Hm. No. That color isn't right." It's returned to the rack, and he marches further down the aisle.

You try to lend your opinion as he shops, but he seems to have his own vision already. He compares fabrics and colors while you do nothing more than glance at the price and nearly faint upon the sight of such massive numbers.

Once he acquires a collection of blouses and slacks, he heads to the fitting rooms. "We'll try different combinations. Try this black pair first—put it with the grey top. I'll let you know what I think. Get to it."

You're nearly shoved into one of the changing rooms with a bundle of exquisite clothes, Levi shutting the door behind you.

Time to dress up for him. You ask yourself what the hell you're doing as you strip, wondering why you've gone along with this commitment. Replacing Levi with Erwin to conduct the typical is this what mentors do? test, you cannot picture Erwin on the other side of that door for even a moment. He'd simply remind you of the dress code and the meeting time, then greet you at the university several weeks later. Then you'd wait in the audience while he gives his speech, and you'd marvel at his vivid and persuasive parlance.

You wouldn't be the one up there, nor wearing clothes that he picked for you. You would watch him present, and then you would discuss with him what you learned.

No shame to Erwin, though. That's the right thing to do, and Levi's just taking an unusual departure from the norm. You, just as liable, are following right along.

Dressed in fabrics that feel too esteemed for some college kid, you peel open the door and slip back out, timid in this procedure.

Levi's found an armchair to wait in. His elbows are propped on the rests, his legs crossed. He braces his spine against the backrest as his eyes already begin exploring your figure.

"Come closer," he commands.

You don't really want to. Close proximity to the dressing room makes you feel safer, like it's a cave you can retreat to. Still, you inch towards him, your head downturned to pretend looking over your outfit.

"Straighten up, would you? You're going to look like such a coward if you're hunched over on stage."

Inexplicably embarrassed, you mumble out a moody, "Levi," as you square your shoulders.

"Better." He's shameless in his inspection, ruminating on your clothes and morphing you into a mere mannequin to display his choices. "Too regimental, I think. We're not in the military."

"Um, alright."

"That beige top might be better. Try it with the white slacks." He nods to the dressing room, and when you just stand and fidget for several moments, he tsks. "Get going. We have more choices to get through."

You finally drag yourself back into the antechamber and change. Within the room is a body mirror, and you spend a good amount of time just staring at your reflection and dwelling on what's going on. This feels like a date—acceptance of that fact just perturbs you more. Nobody dates their mentor.

Mentors are usually rugged professors with years of knowledge to pass down, though. Not young enigmas that demonstrate unusual attachment to their intern. Still, do people date someone like that?

It doesn't matter. That's not what's going on here, so it doesn't matter. You sigh before leaving your cave of solace.

Levi takes quiet delight in how well the clothes fit you, but he mutters a comment about how light-colored clothes are just asking to get obvious stains before sending you back into the room.

Your next choice is a light, snowy blouse that tucks into navy blue slacks. It's feminine, professional, and it sits on your body perfectly.

Levi seems to agree when you when you emerge, and he's out of his seat to inspect you closer.

"This looks good." He picks up the cuff of your sleeve to fix it, making sure it hugs your wrist properly. "Those auditoriums get damn stuffy, so you don't want anything too thick. The white is a risk, but hopefully you're not clumsy enough to ruin it. Is it comfortable?"

"Mmhmm."

"Good." He steps back to review his masterpiece. "Damn, you'll need some shoes too. Okay, we'll get those next."

"Really, Levi, you don't need to—"

"Go get changed. We'll check out with these."

Within a few minutes, you're fighting to keep it in as you read the string of digits displaying the total price of your outfit. You go to speak, but Levi has already handed his card to the cashier. Money is casually depleted from his bank account, and he doesn't even wince. You really envy his lifestyle.

He takes the bag the clerk packs for him and ushers you out of the store, off to the next one.

You're flabbergasted by how expertly he shops, especially for a body and gender that isn't his. He goes through shoes rapidly, finding colors and styles that'll work with the weather, the stage, and your outfit.

Once he finds the perfect navy pair, he cuts straight to the cashier with no interest in browsing.

"Just this," he announces as he slides the lone box across the counter.

"Sure thing, Professor." The cashier must be a student, but not one you can pick out from the hundreds of faces you see every day. Her ash blonde hair frames her young, coy expression, and she gives a pleased grin as she scans his box. "Do you usually do the shopping for your intern?"

"Hitch," Levi greets, surprising you with his perfect name-to-face database. "I'm free to do whatever the hell I'd like. Right now, you're just supposed to be doing your job as a cashier."

"Chill out," you mutter while Hitch gives an unruffled shrug.

"Hey, just asking." She types in a few digits, then lights up with a brilliant realization. "Oh, you remember that character analysis thingie?"

Levi tsks. "The assignment you haven't submitted for over a week? Yes, I remember."

"Yeah, that." Hitch slaps a palm on the shoebox. "Check this out: I overlook this price tag, and you overlook that assignment. Yeah?"

In response, Levi just slams his card on the countertop. "Absolutely not. I should report you for trying to bribe your professor."

"Oh, please," you groan, insulted by his threat.

Levi looks at you while Hitch takes his card begrudgingly. "What?" he snaps.

"You're such a hypocrite."

"A—" He shuts up quickly, realizing the thread of your remark. "I said I should."

"Yeah, so should I. There're people at Paradis I should've reported by now."

With clenched teeth he returns his attention forward, defenseless against your words. "I'm glad you haven't."

"Do you have a number with us?" Hitch cuts in.

"No."

"Do you wanna sign up?"

"No."

"You sure? There's plenty of kids at Paradis I could charge for Professor Levi's phone number."

"That's disgusting," Levi gnarls. "And damn disrespectful. I get enough comments in passing as is; I don't need more creeps reaching out to me."

That's news to you. With a furrowed brow, you start picking apart his comment. "Wait, really? Who—what's said to you? Who's talking to you?"

"Whoever's crass enough to hit on their professor." He snatches back the credit card Hitch hands to him and fits it into his billfold. "It happened during my master's program, too, but it's worse when I'm in charge of these fuckers."

"Ugh, poor guy." Hitch pushes the box back with a receipt atop it. "Hard being attractive, huh?"

"Don't speak to me that way." Levi's fierce against his student, absent of professionality. "You're in deep water already. Don't screw yourself over."

"Mmhmm." Hitch is pretty indifferent, undeterred by Levi's demeanor. You covet her confidence. "Well, have a good day you two. See you in class."

"Thank you," you mumble as you're already catching up with the vacating Levi.

Once out of the shop and passing through the massive halls of the mall, you revisit the peculiar subject.

"Are students really that forward with you? That's pretty annoying."

Levi seems intrigued by your curiosity, wondering why you care so much. He keeps talking just to watch your reaction. "They used to be. I hear comments and quips all the time. It's fucking awful."

"I haven't seen or heard anything like that."

"No," he agrees. "It's slowed down a bit after you became my intern. I think you're a deterrent."

"Oh." Students won't approach a man that appears taken. That's clearly it, and that startles you. Do they really think he's involved with his intern?

You glance back at the shoe store you just left. Remembering your interaction, you have to admit that it is a fair assumption. What type of mentor goes clothes shopping with his intern? Only a mentor that's involved with her outside of the classroom.

That sort of conclusion feels natural at this point. An intern to a mentor, a lapdog to a master, a confused woman to an equally confused man: there's multiple vague labels to plaster on your relationship, and none will fit quite right. Questioning it is futile.

"Well," you resume. "I'm happy to be of service. Maybe we should add that to the internship description."

"Maybe we should."

In the car, you look at the bounty in the backseat and try to shove the total price out of your head. His smarts aside, his mere affluence is astonishing—he's so stupidly rich. It's pleasing to know that you're the primary, and perhaps sole, recipient of his wealth.