Pompous And High Maintenance | Yumiko Miura × M!Reader

[Chapter Seven] | Shopping Trip [Part One]

Y/N just stayed silent and listened. His mother often offered him words of advice, and now was no exception. Turning to him with a small grin, pointing her finger at him.

"So what if this boy is more popular than you? You have your own traits that make you better than him. And, you have an advantage."

"I... Do?"

Eleanor nodded. "You do. You've spent a lot of your childhood with Yumiko, haven't you? You know the 'real' her and she knows the 'real' you. After all, you two have been together since you were children. From the park to grade school, you two know all about each other. And there's one thing that connects you both."

"Music." Y/N smiled. "You're right. Thanks, mother."

She returned it, "I'm your mother, Y/N. It's my job to support you in whatever endeavor you wish to do, as well as your choices. Those include your lifestyle, career options, life advice, advice on girls," she says the last bit with a little bit of wiggle to her eyebrows.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. You remind me about that daily."

"And speaking about lifestyle, we're heading to the mall to purchase some clothes for you."

"...Eh?"

---

"Mother, my clothes are fine. I have a closet full of them," Y/N says, trying to reason with her.

She looks back at him with a sharp gaze, "I would have no problem with your wardrobe if it weren't filled with nothing but suits and ties. And polo shirts and khakis. Have a little diversity in there, at least."

"If you really knew me, then you know that I usually have no taste when it comes to my clothing. I usually don't care with how I look."

"Say that after you've gotten the girl," Eleanor says with a rather deadpan expression. "Don't you want to look good in front of her so you can impress her?"

"I, uh..." He couldn't come up with a good back against that statement.

Eleanor sighed. "My point exactly. Come now, let us go."

"...Coming, mother."

And so, the mother and son duo waltzed into the mall and began to go from store to store. But considering that Y/N said that his tastes consisted of things that he "didn't care of how he looked" proved difficult for Eleanor. When they went from one store to another, showing him different clothes like jackets and blazers, pants and shorts, Y/N would shake his head in denial of them. So it made her wonder what her son's tastes in clothes were really like.

Though after a long time looking, the pair decided to go to the food court to take a break. Grab a quick little bite to eat before going off into the search again.

Purchasing something simple, something that would be considered "commoner food" to the rich, they quickly found a table to eat their meals at. Eating his pasta relatively quickly, he took a quick sip from his straw from his medium-sized drink, soon letting out a relaxed sigh. Although he kept his mother's words in mind, about winning Yumiko over, he felt a little discouraged. Sure, like him, Hayato Hayama had quite the handsome face. And unlike Y/N, he had quite the athletic build, whereas the brown-haired teen was moderately fit. He could play sports at a casual level, he would go on light jogs in the morning, but nothing too serious to be an athlete of sorts. But of course, it was like Eleanor said, he had an advantage as they both shared one thing together. Music.

While Yumiko would rather listen to the more popular songs of the year, anything Y/N would introduce to her would be a pleasant listen. One of Y/N's more recent artists that he listens to, Hozier, he would often let the blonde beauty listen in on his well-made pieces. Y/N can often "feel" or listen deep into what the song is trying to tell, and understand what the message is behind most of them. It's one of the many reasons as to why he fell in love with the prospect of creating music in the first place. The idea, the aspect of creating basically poetry, using mere words to create meaningful messages. A much more impressive feat and accomplishment, a step up from just making noises that can mesh well with a pit of words thrown together.