Beastmen Are Crazy, So I Sell Them Therapy

We finally made it to the lounge area, and before I could even decide where to sit, Soren beat me to it by sitting down and placing me on his lap like it was part of some unspoken routine.

Honestly, I wasn’t even surprised anymore.

I jumped up onto the sofa for better positioning—because clearly, I was the one in charge here—and he immediately pulled me back onto his lap like a reflex.

"So," he said, already reaching for my tail like it was his personal stress ball, "care to share what you two talked about?"

Squeeze.

I flinched but he squeezed it again.

I considered violence for a moment but stopped myself.

"Like I said, we’ll be choosing clothes for you to wear. It’s time for a wardrobe change," I typed on my OmniSync, holding it up right in front of his face.

He glanced at it, unimpressed. "I already have enough clothes that could last me for a lifetime."

"NO," I made sure the letters were big then added more. "I’ll be choosing. Or we can’t even enjoy going out."

I showed it to him with a smile that was definitely not threatening at all.

Soren looked at the screen.

Then at me.

Then at my tail.

Which I immediately pulled away before he could hold it as hostage again.

"Fine," he said at last, exhaling like he had just made a life-altering sacrifice.

’Victory.’

"So what outfit are you looking for?" Laurel asked—and notably, she asked me, not Soren.

I straightened slightly, then began typing again with absolute authority.

"We’ll be hanging out, so I prefer an outfit that says "he needs to stop causing public disturbances with his face."

Laurel blinked before a knowing smile appeared. "I’m guessing you got flocked the moment you arrived.

I nodded with the seriousness of someone who had just survived a traumatic social event.

It was really traumatic.

It was loud, crowded, and worst of all, I was ignored.

"Okay then," Laurel said smoothly, already shifting into professional mode as she turned toward Soren. "You know the drill."

Soren sighed like a man who had been through this before—tragic—then gently set me down on the sofa before heading towards one of the dressing rooms.

I watched him go then immediately turned to Laurel.

We got to work.

And by work, we moved through the boutique with purpose, scanning racks, pulling pieces, evaluating fabrics, colors, and styles like seasoned strategists preparing for battle.

"This one reduces attention but keeps elegance," Laurel murmured, holding up a dark-toned ensemble.

I nodded.

’Approved.’

Bubbles—who suddenly appeared out of nowhere—took the outfit from Laurel and delivered it straight to Soren in the dressing room.

Meanwhile, Blossom had already rolled in an entire rack of clothing like she was preparing for a fashion war. Dresses, coats, layered pieces—everything that screamed refined but unapproachable—was now within arm’s reach.

Every outfit we picked was immediately sent off to Soren. There was no pause, no hesitation. While he was inside changing, we were already selecting the next victim—I mean, outfit.

The curtain suddenly shifted.

"How do I look?"

It slid open just enough to reveal Soren stepping out—and, unfortunately for my sanity, he still looked ridiculously good.

I narrowed my eyes.

This was a serious problem.

Because no matter what we put him in, he somehow still looked like the main character of everyone’s problems.

Laurel leaned down beside me, her voice dropping into a whisper. "Are you sure you won’t ask him to be your lover?"

I slowly turned my head and glared at her, before looking back at Soren, gave him a thumbs up and smiled before saying. "Next."

Bubbles was already moving, grabbing the next outfit and handing it to Soren before he could even step fully out of the first one.

The poor man didn’t even get a moment to breathe before being shoved back behind the curtain.

Buttercup, on the other hand, was in charge of logistics. The moment Soren changed, she snatched the previous outfit like a hawk spotting prey and neatly packed it into a shopping bag with efficiency.

"Ooh—this one," I typed quickly, pointing at a layered outfit that looks expensive enough to intimidate people.

"Excellent choice."

We gathered more.

And more.

And more.

Casual wear.

Formal wear.

"Accidentally intimidating but still approachable" wear.

"Blends into crowd but still rich" wear.

"Please stop talking to him" wear.

At some point, it stopped being about going out and having fun.

"Might as well prepare for every occasion," Laurel said lightly, already adding another set to the growing pile.

Exactly because if we didn’t do this now, Soren would absolutely refuse next time and I was not about to fight that battle twice.

By the time we finished, the pile of clothes had grown into something... concerning.

It was the kind of pile that made you question your life choices, your budgeting skills, and whether or not you had accidentally started a small clothing business on the side.

I glanced toward the dressing room, a slow, satisfied smile forming.

Oh, that guy had no idea what was coming.

Laurel and the three—Bubbles, Blossom, and Buttercup—eventually disappeared for a moment and returned with refreshments, because apparently even fashion warfare required snacks.

Timing-wise, it was perfect, because right as everything was set down the curtain moved.

Again.

At this point, I had lost count of how many times Soren had changed.

’Ten?

Twenty?

Emotionally, it felt like fifty.’

He stepped out, looking—unfairly—as handsome as ever.

I narrowed my eyes.

My mission to make him ’less handsome’ failed.

Before I could analyze further, he walked over, picked me up like it was second nature, and sat down on the sofa, placing me comfortably on his lap then pinched my cheeks.

"Are you really enjoying this right now?"

I nodded immediately.

Without shame, without hesitation, and with the confidence of someone who had just orchestrated chaos and called it entertainment.

"Remind me next time not to go shopping with you," he said, pulling me closer like I hadn’t just ruined his entire day.

"But it’s fun!" I protested.

"No, it’s not."

"Yes, it is! I finally got to dress you up!"

He raised a brow slightly. "So you’re treating me like a dress-up doll?"

I nodded.

Then paused.

Then shook my head.

Then nodded again.

Because honestly?

Yes. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

But also no.

But mostly yes.

"It’s exhausting," he continued, leaning back slightly like a man who had been through trials and tribulations. "I don’t understand how women enjoy this."

I considered that and answered with complete confidence, "It’s like the equivalent of having fun, but instead of carnivals... it’s boutiques instead."

He hummed, unconvinced.

"Speaking of carnivals," he added, suddenly reaching for my tail again—again—and squeezing it like he had learned absolutely nothing from earlier events, "because of you, we missed having fun."

I stared at him accusingly.

’Because of me?’

I raised my OmniSync with dramatic intensity and started typing like I was filing an official complaint.

"Because of me?"

I showed it to him then typed again, faster this time.

"You were the one getting surrounded like a limited-time event."

Pause.

More typing.

"I saved us."

I held it up proudly because if anyone deserved credit here, it was me.

Soren looked at the screen. "You slapped me in public."

I blinked. "That is not the point."

He chuckled, clearly not taking this as seriously as he should.

"Next time," he said, still playing with my tail like it belonged to him, "we’re going to the carnival first."

I flicked my ears in mild annoyance but refused to concede. "No matter what you say, I still enjoyed this day. I liked seeing you in different outfits." I paused, then added with complete sincerity, "You look even more handsome than when you’re just wearing plain black all the time."

I didn’t hear a word from him so I tilted my head and looked up at him, narrowing my eyes slightly because something was clearly off.

But his hand covered my eyes so fast it was honestly impressive, like he had been waiting his entire life for that exact moment.

"Nyang—nya-ang nya—"

Translation: Hey—what are you—

"Fine," he said quickly, as if cutting off both my vision and my curiosity would solve everything. "But we’ll be hanging out first."

I frowned beneath his hand, trying to pry it off. "Nyang!" I protested, wriggling in place.

"No."

"No?" I echoed, offended.

"No."

The audacity.

The disrespect.

The absolute betrayal.

I crossed my limbs—well, as much as I could while being held hostage—and huffed dramatically. This was clearly injustice of the highest order.

There was a brief pause.

"...Then shopping," he added after a beat, like he was throwing me a bone.

I froze then my tail slowly lifted, ears perking, and my entire mood reset like a system reboot.

"...Deal."

I didn’t even pretend to hesitate.

Not even a little.

"...That was fast."

"Nyang nyang."

Translation: Don’t question it.

His hand finally moved away from my eyes, and I blinked a few times, adjusting back to the light as I immediately looked up at him, narrowing my gaze with suspicion.

"...Why did you cover my eyes?"

"Nothing."

"That wasn’t ’nothing.’ That was a very suspicious ’nothing.’"

"It was absolutely nothing."

I stared at him.

He stared back, he was too calm and composed.

I squinted. "You’re hiding something."

"I’m not."

"You are."

"I’m not."

I leaned closer, invading his personal space with zero hesitation. "You are."

"...You agreed to the deal."

I paused.

He had a point.

A very annoying point.

I leaned back with a huff, crossing my arms.

"Fine."

I would let it go.

This time.