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When Nan-do answers, “Sure,” he means sure to whatever she's pestering him about, not sure to the specific question—So-yeon knows him well enough to tell. Holo would've listened. Holo would pause his work, close the laptop, pat the couch cushion next to himself to invite So-yeon over, and then he'd politely smile and give her his full attention. Holo's corporeal counterpart is considerably more difficult. He stays hunched over the keyboard like a gremlin with a permanently curved spine and keeps typing away. It's not quite important enough for her to make him stop.
Besides, when she adds, “It's a costume party,” she's hoping he'll also quip:
“Fine.” Which he does. So it's all good. They'll be attending Yoo-jin's party, even though it's got a silly theme that they'll have to go along with. So-yeon smiles to herself as she meanders around the coffee table and takes a seat next to him—there's enough room in their luxurious apartment for them to go about their business separately, but now that he's agreed to go, she'll need his opinion on their costumes.
She doesn't even have to open a new window on her tablet—a fitting site pops right up, because Holo's so very useful like that. It's so good to have him back. There's no camera on the tablet, but there's a security one in the corner, so hopefully he can see her smile, and hopefully he knows that at least part of that is meant for him. In different ways, So-yeon loves both her boys.
The holographic one is more helpful; he filters for couple costumes, and she giggles at the litany of ridiculous images that pops up; she's definitely putting Nan-do through that.
There are a few natural pairs—like ketchup and mustard bottles—some complimentary 'girl and guy' versions—a cliché cop uniform with pants and an unrealistic mini-dress parody—some matching sets—a pair of plain wood chopsticks. There's a cute devil and angel concept, but clearly meant for the man to be the devil—Nan-do probably wouldn't be willing to wear the feathery white mini-skirt, and So-yeon would rather wear the horns. Holo would definitely wear a skirt for her. She's wondering whether or not she can use that argument to get Nan-do more open-minded when a giant rabbit onesie on the side catches her eye. It comes in a variety of colours, including jet-black like Nando's hair and most of his wardrobe.
She clicks on it, enlarges the photo, and decides yes, he'd look great in that. To be fair, he looks great in most things. He looks handsome in a business suit, smoking hot in his motorcycle gear, gorgeous in the comfortable attire he wears around the apartment. But she doesn't often see him look cute.
She elbows his side and asks, “What about this one?”
“Hm?” He finally glances over, spots her screen, and adds, “What?”
“For the party. You just said you'd go—”
“I know.”
“So you were listening.”
“Yeah, but I'm not wearing that.” He snorts and returns to his work like that's it, the conversation's over. She glares at his profile, which gets her nowhere.
“You'd look good in this.”
“It's not happening.”
“It's a costume party—”
“At Yoo-jin's. She'll get over it if I show up like normal.”
“Nan-do!”
He clearly doesn't get how rude that would be, or does get it and just doesn't care. She's not going to put up with that. She'll argue all evening if she has to. They'll take a break for the night, because her mother taught her not to go to bed angry. But then they'll fight in the morning until he shows his amazing step-sister the respect she deserves.
Maybe sensing the tension, Holo pings her tablet—a notification pops up to ask: May I use the TV?
So-yeon hums, “Mhm,” to him and grabs the remote off the coffee table, flicking it on for him. Nan-do looks up in time to see Holo hijack it; they're met with a grey screen and his upper torso in a black rabbit onesie. A perfect oval is cut out for his face, grinning amiably, while the rest of the costume hugs his slender figure. One of the ears is exactingly upright, the other bent halfway, just like in the advertisement. He lifts his hands, swallowed up in the fluffy fabric, and shows off the paw prints on them. He even turns to the side long enough to wriggle his butt and highlight the little tuft of a tail sewn onto the back. He looks absolutely adorable.
So-yeon can't help letting out a pleased, “Awww...” And Holo chuckles delightedly. He's so sweet.
Nan-do's a great boyfriend in his own way, but a soft, ultra-huggable outfit would definitely help. Holo concludes, “This is what Nan-do would look like in your preferred outfit, So-yeon.”
She nods, telling Nan-do, “See? You'd look great.”
Cheeks flushed pink, Nan-do huffs at the TV, “This isn't what I brought you back for, traitor.”
Holo smoothly counters, “So-yeon, perhaps Nan-do would be better dressed as a grumpy cat instead? I'm sure I could find a suitable dog one for you to go with it.” His image shifts, the long ears pixelating down into triangular ones. Three painted whiskers appear on either cheek, and he bats at the screen like a kitten kneading its master's jeans. Sometimes she really wishes she could physically hug him.
She could hug Nan-do, but not when he's being a stick-in-the-mud. At least he's not glued to his laptop anymore. He tries to argue, “Hey, I won't—”
But she's busy telling Holo, “Mmm, maybe we could still do better... I'll keep looking. But stay there, please. I'll find something else for you to try on.”
Holo curtly nods and agrees, “Will do.”
Nan-do groans, dropping his head into his hands, and So-yeon expands her search from couple costumes to throuple ones.