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“Oh! Dear, how about this one?”
Zinzolin turned to Rood, holding a jacket up in front of him, seeming to model it on the shorter man. He huffed. It’s not like Rood didn’t know his size already. He walked up to him and grabbed the inside of the article of clothing. It was thick and fluffy, up to Zinzolin’s standard of warmth, and an admittedly lovely shade of light desaturated blue. He rubbed his thumb on the inner wool, noting the softness.
“It’s nice. I can’t imagine you willingly wearing blue, though.” He answered with a small smirk, widening his grin when he heard Rood laugh. He shook his head with a smile and pushed the jacket into Zinzolin’s hands. “You’d be correct. But luckily for the both of us there’s an almost reddish one over yonder.” And with a gentle hand going to hold his, Zinzolin was walked an aisle over, where Rood had just popped out of a minute prior. And here Zinzolin thought he was the one who was particular about colors, he mused. Gorm should apologise for all his teasing Zinzolin about not wearing more than a couple shades of purple and blue.
Rood let go of his hand (Zinzolin frowned at the loss of heat. Honestly, what did he do to deserve having such poor circulation? And how lucky was he that Rood was so warm, both in personality and body temperature. Equilibrium and whatnot.) and took an identical-in-form jacket off the rack. Zinzolin muffled a bark of a laugh, though giggles snuck their way through the hand covering his mouth. “I thought you said it was red?”
Rood blinked, and looked at the jacket in his hand, eyebrows furrowing upon inspecting it. Zinzolin could’ve debated for hours that is was clearly purple. A warm shade, yes. One that bordered on mulberry? Certainly. But in no world would Zinzolin ever think it was red.
“Well.” Rood put his hands on his hips. “To be precise I said it was reddish .”
“It’s purple.”
“It’s not. It’s much too vivid for that.”
“For normal purple, sure. But still purple nonetheless.”
“Well, aren’t you the expert on purple?” Rood walked to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him, continuing to study the jacket. Or would it be middle-of-upper-arm-to-shoulder? Zinzolin opted to ignore his closer relationship with the ground.
“I’d think I would be, considering my name.” He shifted, letting his forehead hit Rood’s arm, and gave a small sigh. That usually got him. “I thought you didn’t like disagreeing.”
“I don’t.” Rood ran a hand through Zinzolin’s hair and his eyebrows went up in favor of his eyes widening. Well played. That usually got him. He left a kiss between Zinzolin’s brows (Another catch of his. A downside to being known so well, he supposed. Though it really wasn’t a bad thing to have exploited.) and took hold of his hand once more with a, “But that doesn’t apply when I’m right.”
Zinzolin’s voice gave up on him, it seemed. His cardiovascular system on the other hand, must have decided to work properly for once, as he could very clearly feel his face heating up. A weak grumble of “...you’re not…” was all that left him as he walked by Rood’s side to the front of the store. He handed Rood the blue jacket before pushing his face into the man’s back. Not like anyone would be paying attention to them in particular, but he still felt a bit foolish whenever he started to act head-over-heels in public. He didn’t pay attention to the small talk with the cashier, messing with the fabric of Rood’s sweater instead. Which, really, was his sweater, it just happened to be one of the bigger ones he owned, and apparently the perfect shade for being snatched from its place in the closet. He pulled on the back of the sleeve a bit, where it had previously been torn from a bad day caught on Route 4, repaired later that night by the man currently wearing it. The red thread stood out against the dark grey.
Zinzolin’s hand was grabbed again, and he took a moment to appreciate the warmth chasing away the iciness of his own hand before following Rood outside the store. He took the jacket, tag newly cut off, and put it on, smoothing it out before taking hold of Rood again, who had done the same.
“You look nice.” He took a small breath racking his inner thesaurus, for something with more feeling to it. “Marvelous, actually.” He heard Rood huff as he grinned, pulling Zinzolin a bit closer by the hand and planting another kiss on the top of his head. “Might have to tell Gorm to pick another color. You wear blue better than him.” Zinzolin bit back his laugh. Well, now he just felt bad about his next sentence.
“Purple really is your color.”
“It’s not-”