For a moment Eliot simply stands back and watches him, though he feels a little guilty for doing so. It's not that he finds entertainment in Jack's culture shock so much as he's just fascinating to watch, deliberate and careful and curious, and he inspects a plain white shirt with all the delicacy of a conservator handling a piece of art. Eliot's smiling when Jack turns to him and asks a question he doesn't immediately understand.
"Wh-" Eliot blinks, and opens his mouth to speak, but closes it abruptly as he parses the implications and his confusion gives way to abject horror. This can't be right. This can't be happening. He takes a deep breath, or tries to anyway.
"You--" he tries again, looks quickly from Jack to the shirt. "Y-you mean you're not--" He makes a valiant effort to avoid looking at Jack's crotch, fails, and clenches his jaw against the nervous energy that threatens to come out as a laugh because how could he be so stupid but he can't laugh, doesn't want Jack to think he's laughing at him. Eliot feels heat rise in his face and wishes he could stop being so fucking childish for a moment. He stares determinedly at the shirt.
"Okay." Eliot pinches the bridge of his nose. "Yes, okay this is an oversight on my part, I apologize...fuck, you’ve really been suffering, you poor thing." He sighs and steeples his fingers. Of course this wasn’t going to be easy. “Right, first things first, it’s a miracle you haven’t frozen to death already, but underwear is an essential social norm in modern society, we need to rectify this immediately if you’re going to be trying things on.” He looks around at the shirts. "Do you want to just...grab a few shirts while we're here? We can take everything along to the fitting rooms."
This is probably not technically true, there’s usually some kind of item limit, but Eliot’s used to blithely ignoring that sort of thing. Ensuring that Jack doesn’t freeze his balls off is far more important than abiding by an arbitrary set of retail rules. He peers at a rack that looks promising, looking for a distraction as much as a viable option, and grins when he finds something with a bit more drape: deep blue with a subtle, exotic-adjacent print in a slightly lighter shade of the same hue. "What do you think about this?" Eliot asks, pulling it off the rack for Jack to see. He doesn't wait for an answer, just brings it over and holds the hanger to Jack's collarbone, and nods. "It actually looks lovely with your complexion."
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"Wh-" Eliot blinks, and opens his mouth to speak, but closes it abruptly as he parses the implications and his confusion gives way to abject horror. This can't be right. This can't be happening. He takes a deep breath, or tries to anyway.
"You--" he tries again, looks quickly from Jack to the shirt. "Y-you mean you're not--" He makes a valiant effort to avoid looking at Jack's crotch, fails, and clenches his jaw against the nervous energy that threatens to come out as a laugh because how could he be so stupid but he can't laugh, doesn't want Jack to think he's laughing at him. Eliot feels heat rise in his face and wishes he could stop being so fucking childish for a moment. He stares determinedly at the shirt.
"Okay." Eliot pinches the bridge of his nose. "Yes, okay this is an oversight on my part, I apologize...fuck, you’ve really been suffering, you poor thing." He sighs and steeples his fingers. Of course this wasn’t going to be easy. “Right, first things first, it’s a miracle you haven’t frozen to death already, but underwear is an essential social norm in modern society, we need to rectify this immediately if you’re going to be trying things on.” He looks around at the shirts. "Do you want to just...grab a few shirts while we're here? We can take everything along to the fitting rooms."
This is probably not technically true, there’s usually some kind of item limit, but Eliot’s used to blithely ignoring that sort of thing. Ensuring that Jack doesn’t freeze his balls off is far more important than abiding by an arbitrary set of retail rules. He peers at a rack that looks promising, looking for a distraction as much as a viable option, and grins when he finds something with a bit more drape: deep blue with a subtle, exotic-adjacent print in a slightly lighter shade of the same hue. "What do you think about this?" Eliot asks, pulling it off the rack for Jack to see. He doesn't wait for an answer, just brings it over and holds the hanger to Jack's collarbone, and nods. "It actually looks lovely with your complexion."