The Analyst

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢-𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝: 𝚆𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜

Each hit was at least three months apart, so while new things came in, this hit woman took her place on the back burner. I was actively working on it, but because it wasn't urgent (yet), I could put other things first.

For example, my date with Hawks.

Sweet Jesus.

It was tonight. Tonight.

When was the last time I went on a real date? What do I wear? How do I act? I haven't gone on a real date since at least my senior year, at least.

I would usually call Chiharu about this shit, but I don't want her to go insane when I tell her I'm going on a date with Hawks. The Hawks.

Dear god what is my life.

I stared at my closet, my Suneater tie hanging untied around my neck, sleeves rolled up and collar popped.

"Do I have anything non-suggestive? Anything that doesn't say 'I want to fuck you!' Anything at all?" I asked myself, stepping forward to flick though my closet.

Most of my dresses were from high school, my Johtoh years in which I was determined to be everything my parents hated. Those were all in my makeup room in the closet in there.

So that left me with suits, lots of them, my massive tie collection, and a few elegant dresses I wore for galas.

I thought back to what Hawks told me, that he wanted to take me to his runway show first. He was modeling a new line of designer suit jackets.

"The dress? Well, the place I want to take you for dinner is casual formal. Do with that information what you will kid."

Casual formal. Casual formal. Ok, backless red dress, too formal. Flowing black dress, too formal, knee length yellow dress with tulle, still too formal.

Ok, the one designer suit I own, too formal, navy suit jacket and khakis, too casual, everyday suit and tie, too... masculine? Is it to masculine? You know what, it's not, but it is too formal.

Sliding my hand between two hangers, I pulled out a navy suit jacket. I rifled through the other hangers till I found a matching pair of pants, having to compare the jacket to a few pairs to find the right shade.

I have way too many suits, what the fuck is wrong with me.

I put them on over the button up I had on, rolling down my sleeves and buttoning them around my wrists.

After slipping the jacket on, I turned in my mirror, examining my appearance.

Whipping the tie out from under the collar of my shirt, I flipped it back down.

I turned again, not quite happy with how I looked. Humming in realization, I unbuttoned my shirt a few buttons, finally looking casual.

That was way harder than it should have been.

I walked to my door, eyeing my shoe rack.

Loafers or heels?

I stood there, hands on my hips, pondering my decision.

Hawks may be special, but not special enough for heels, I thought, deciding on loafers.

I glanced at the clock, seeing I had about half an hour till Hawks and I met in front the agency.

I knew Hawks was popular, dear god, he was like a sex symbol in the hero world. Like that one woman in America during the nineteen hundreds.... what was her name? Mary? Marilyn? Marilyn Monroe! That's her!