Early the next day, Zephyr stood by his wardrobe, scrabbling through his shirts. It was foul weather outside.
A white towel was tied around his waist since he had just finished taking a shower. “Not this one, I have to look perfect,” he muttered, face strained. He glanced over at the wall clock. It was already nine o'clock in the morning, and his meeting at Sylvia's place was at ten.
A crushing weight pressed on his chest. Then the door creaked open. Iris stepped in, her gaze scanning the room before settling on him.
“Zephyr,” she called. “Is everything alright?”
He stripped a shirt from the hanger and turned to her, frustrated. “I have a work meeting today, and I don't know what to wear.”
Iris's eyebrows furrowed as she took gentle strides to meet him. “Since when did you start bei
