"I don't like what you're wearing."

King turned to face Iori mid-step, adjusting her tie.

"Excuse me?"

Shoes smartly polished to a high shine and her white shirt crisply pressed to a sharp crease, King wasn't wearing anything different than her usual fare.

"You heard me."

Iori was leaning against a support beam of the outdoor mall, leg propped up behind him, arms crossed. His head was turned sharply to the side, accentuating the strong line of his jaw as he watched the crowd of shoppers pass by with seemingly apparent disinterest. Were he a different man, Iori would have been counting his blessings. Most girlfriends would pull him into designer stores like Louis Vuitton and Princesse Tam-Tam. Most girlfriends would have made their boyfriends come to their country instead of coming to his. Most girlfriends would have wanted to share an ice cream and a hot dog. But not King.

His girlfriend pulled him into sports stores looking for the latest line of hand wraps. His girlfriend paid for his airfare to come visit her in France. And his girlfriend showed off at the Illusions Bar and made him mixed drinks that agreed with his low tolerance for hard liquor.

King though, was slightly confused at Iori's reaction. Lover though he was, Iori was emotionally distant with her, and never seemed to pay much mind to what she was wearing. "As long as I can take it off later, I don't care," he had told her at one point.

That didn't seem to be the case now.

Irritated, she crossed her arms over her chest.

"And what, pray tell, is wrong with my clothing choice today, Monsieur Yagami?"

He was silent for a few moments before he decided to reply, lips pressed together in a firm line as he continued to glare at the bystanders near him.

"I don't like the way they look at you. They think you're too pretty."

King slapped him, open-handed palm connecting hard with his cheek. If people weren't looking at King before, they certainly were now.

"Idiot."

He didn't raise his hand to reduce the sting—instead opting to keep his arms crossed—and if King hadn't already learned that Iori liked to be hit in bed anyways, she would have ventured a guess that her lover got off on pain. Instead, he shifted his gaze to look at her from the side of his eye.

"You're a real jerk. You think I wear what I do because I want to attract attention? Would you rather I wear frilly underthings instead of boxer shorts? Is that it?"

Iori, this time, at least, had the decency to lower his eyes to her slightly—the Yagami clan didn't get embarrassed.

"I didn't say that. They shouldn't look that way at what's mine."

King stepped up to him, fingering the collar around his neck. He let her. It had been replaced recently, the buckle new and shiny, the leather firm and smooth.

He was only two inches taller than her, so it wasn't hard for King to yank him down by the band around his throat.

"Yours, hm?" she murmured against his lips in French. "Care to test that theory when we get home?"