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Zolf runs his hands over the soft grey fabric, ignoring the surprised delight as Cel and Azu coo over Hamid. Wilde has his boots on the table, has arranged himself in a ridiculous pose to best show off his new garb.
For a moment, he's the very image of the man Zolf first met and it strikes like a knife. Over their time together, Wilde has favoured more subdued clothing, opting to blend in and his personality adapted to match. Seeing him now like this - for a moment Zolf wonders if Wilde will turn back into a man he hated.
But then Wilde looks up, catches his eye with a grin and a wink and poses harder. There's a knowing look and Zolf thinks maybe he knows how daft he looks.
He looks away down at his own gift, fabric gliding through his fingers like water and stands awkwardly to swing it around himself.
As the mantle settles over him, something in his chest loosens, a weight seeming to lift from his shoulders. He feels- at ease, maybe, in a way he hasn't for some time.
He peers down to fasten it and then there are familiar, gentle hands brushing his out of the way.
"Allow me." Wilde murmurs with a soft smile. He ties it expertly then brushes some non-existent lint from Zolf's shoulders before surveying him. "It suits you."
Zolf stares up at him in his ridiculous getup - honestly, a ruff! - and retorts, "Well, some of us have taste."
Wilde scoffs and fiddles with Zolf's already straight collar. "I meant," his voice remains pitched low, "you're smiling."
Oh. Zolf's cheeks heat.
Wilde leans down to look him in the eye, hand still on his collar. "It's nice to see you cheered up." He smirks as he straightens, ignoring the flush on Zolf's face.
"I must say, though, I preferred the shirtless-in-just-a-breastplate look." He looks delighted as Zolf colours further and looks away.
"Git." Zolf mutters.
Wilde squeezes his shoulder. "You wouldn't have me any other way."