One Margarita

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Lisette practically has to drag you into the high fashion store. You promised yourself you'd never go to one of those ever. You of all people had no need for capitalistic greed.

"You're acting like a child, it's just clothes not a vaccine," Lisette scoffs.

"Can't we just find something at Ross? This is unnecessary."

Lisette gasps. "You know how I feel about that store."

"Whatever, please let's just get this over with."

"As you wish."

She starts surfing through racks as you sulk aimlessly at the store around you. You're sure you stick out like a sore thumb in your drab clothes, jeans and a t-shirt, but at least you took the apron off.

Soon enough, Lisette starts squealing. "Oh my gosh, y/n, I found the perfect dress." She shoves some fabric into your arms. "Try it on."

You sigh as you shuffle into a fitting room and pull on the dress she gives you. Your eyebrows shoot up at your reflection, and you can't deny your shocked at how good the dress looks on you:

 Your eyebrows shoot up at your reflection, and you can't deny your shocked at how good the dress looks on you:

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Still, it's not really your type. Lisette would rock in a dress like that, but you feel out of place. You pull it off with a frown and march back to her. 

"What's wrong?" Lisette asks.

"It's nice, but it doesn't feel that great."

"Then we'll move on. Whatever makes you the most confident is what's important."

"Pajamas?"

"Hell no. Keep looking." 

You let out a breath as you mindlessly surf through the racks until you stop at a dress. Your eyes widen. In excitement, hurry off to the fitting room to see yourself: 

 In excitement, hurry off to the fitting room to see yourself: 

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It's so your type, the layers, the pattern, everything. 

"Y/n?" you hear Lisette call out.

"I'm here," you say as you open your door.

She pauses and gapes at you. "Oh my god. This is so good, bestie."

You give a small laugh. "Shush."

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