Planetary Crystal
"Well, there it is."
Minoth sets the rest of the mail, including two department-store catalogs doubtless unworth the waste of printing costs, never mind environmental impact, in this digital age, onto the counter with a thick lurch. His paycheck he deposits precisely at a right angle with the stove in the middle of the island, snapping the corner as it leaves his fingers.
Unopened, but very clearly bearing of the exact significant heft of security-level envelope from industrial payroll processing mailer, it awaits Addam's unnecessary approval. For Minoth, it's half as much about the freedom of actually wanting to share his mail, and in particular his money, with anyone else, instead of feeling darn cagey and too insecure to speak a word of it, as it is about showing off.
But Addam's clearly proud and impressed look has Minoth full of a warm feeling all the same.
"Minoth! Well done." He crosses over to the island and runs a finger under the company name within the window of the envelope. "Auresco Historical Institute. I'd always known it was there, and a reasonably popular attraction for what it is - people don't go in for living history so much as you'd expect," Addam echoes Minoth's thoughts as the two exchange a fond glance, "but it's really something to see you actually working there."
He claps a hand on Minoth's shoulder, and Minoth leans into the enthusiastic touch. "Gainfully employed! So what are you going to do with it?"
Minoth frowns, lips pursed outward in curiosity. "Take it to the bank, I guess. I should be able to make it tonight without rushing."
"You're not going to buy anything?" Addam frowns back. "That's no fun."
"I don't need anything," Minoth protests. "That's thanks to you, you know."
"Well, if that's your attitude, I suppose you're about to start needing things."
At Minoth's alarmed look, Addam chuckles to himself, and walks it back. "Only pulling your leg. But still, I think you ought to celebrate! Buy yourself something nice!"
"A new laptop is expensive," Minoth says. "And I hate transferring files."
Addam scoffs. "A gorgeous man like you, pretending to be concerned only with spartan logistics? Stop lying to me, man!"
It's phrasing like that that reminds Minoth why they're not only an opposites-attract couple.
"Alright," he says, smacking the envelope once, twice, thrice on the modest faux-granite counter (he'll admit that he hates formica, loud and clear). "Alright, Addam. I will buy something."
"That's the spirit!"
"And you're coming with me." Minoth hooks a thumb into Addam's collar and recollects his keys from the bin next to the fridge. "If you're gonna see me in a new outfit, I'm gonna check you out, too."
Minoth does dream of one day owning a convertible, low-slung and glittering gorgeous (yes, gorgeous) purple, or if not that then a pickup truck boosted to just within the handsome limit, before the big wheels start getting ridiculous.
For now, he's settled for a simple used sedan - simple, if you counted the fact that he'd found it while browsing online with the perfect mileage, the perfect price, the perfect location, the perfect non-purple color (dark blue), and the perfect false-alarm recall sticker, just to make sure everything wasn't too too good to be true.
There's an aura of electricity about the cabin regardless, as he and Addam pull out of the parking garage. Transmigration is probably the department store of choice (not one that sends catalogs, which could be a good sign for thriftiness or a bad sign for exclusivity, but turns out to be blessedly neutral on the wallet), and it's about fifteen minutes away, if you don't drive like a madman. Minoth doesn't, and he doesn't mind the slightly longer trip.
"I feel a little ridiculous, now," he remarks to Addam, who also wishes Minoth could buy himself a convertible or a pickup truck so that he could park his hand on top of Minoth's, resting on the console-mounted shifter.
"How so? Money exists to be spent."
Minoth rolls his eyes. "You say some dangerous things sometimes, my prince."
Addam opens his mouth to defend, but Minoth preempts: "'S alright. I know what you mean. And it's true. If I get afraid of spending money, someday when I really need to, I might make the wrong choice."
"That's the spirit," Addam nods, for the second time this side of the hour. Minoth shuffles his right hand over to dangle in the cupholders, just because.
At the entrance to Transmigration, staring around the monolithic escalator that centers the floorplan, Minoth contracts a niggling feeling that this all would be much easier, and much less embarrassing, if they had a wife-adjacent tour guide to help them through the store. Not in place of either of the men, necessarily, but just...as a bonus. Say what you want about gorgeous sensibilities, but it's damn awkward to traverse a trendy department store hand-in-hand (worse, not) with another man.
"Don't exactly feel like trying on pants, Prince," Minoth nudges.
"I'm inclined to agree with you," Addam mutters back. "Maybe the jewelry counter is easiest?" (It seems they've mutually determined that they are indeed bound to buy something.)
As they approach, it occurs to neither man that however conspicuous they'd felt upon entry, they're soon to feel even worse.
"Questing for anything in particular? I can tell you both have dazzlingly high standards," the counter attendant gushes as Minoth frantically shoves the keyring bearing Hondapon insignia into the back pocket of his thankfully unripped jeans.
"Uh, no. Just looking." He gives her a bracing smile and bats away Addam's hand underneath the lip of the counter. "Masha," he tacks on, squinting at the nametag pinned upon generous and uncovered bosom.
"Looking is the first step to leaping," Masha twinkles. "Do let me know of any service I can render to make your search more successful."
"Well?" Minoth turns to Addam. "What say you, Prince? You gonna let Mademoiselle Masha buy us a ring?"