Notes:

Verse: Super Smash Bros. 4
Relationship: Romantic (implicit)
Warnings: None


Chapter 1: "Zip Me" - A drabble about your character dressing mine, or the other way around


"I can't believe you talked me into this."

The remark flew over Marth's head, only scorching the hint of a smile on his face on the way. It wasn't the first time Ike passively expressed his displeasure about finding himself in this situation, and the noble could easily guess it wouldn't be the last. Each piece of clothing he handed over was accepted with less enthusiasm, and put on with less care, until the Altean simply took it upon himself to adjust the mercenary's outfit, going so far as to tuck his shirt in his pants and button up the suit himself. It crossed his mind that Ike might be neglectful on purpose so he would get this special treatment, but they both remained silent about it.

After all, the sellsword was doing him a favor, having accepted to accompany him to this fancy reception. Having to personally dress him up in exchange for having him as moral support throughout the evening seemed like a fair deal, even if it meant feeling Ike's burning gaze on him while he was trying to focus on folding this collar properly. Marth's face was soon heating up, both from the attention and out of impatience. As 'fashion' as they were supposed to be, these outfits were just different enough from the suits the prince was used to to give him trouble with the few finishing touches.

It was a good thing they were - somehow - perfectly tailored to their respective size, or else he highly doubted he could have made him - or rather, them - look this good. It was impressive, really, how a simple change of clothes could make someone look entirely different. Their usual hairstyles were untouched, by request of the Hands - something about them staying recognizable -, and yet they both appeared as modern, young, successful businessmen in these foreign black tuxes.

It was what little glee Marth could drag out of these garments, he realized as he got a sudden "Oof !- easy," from messing up and tightening Ike's tie knot too much. They were terribly impractical. "Forgive me," the prince sighed, striving not to let his budding frustration take over. Nimble fingers loosened the knot and finally trailed down the necktie as he took a step back, only allowing himself to admire his work for a split second before he turned around to face the room's mirror and focus on his own attire, starting with the godforsaken collar. It had to be buttoned on the back, which made the operation a lot less effective than it could have been, considering he couldn't even see what he was doing.

Maybe Ike understood his annoyed groan as a plea for help, maybe he was just getting impatient too - either way, it didn't take more than a minute for him step forward and take over, leaving Marth with nothing to do but drop his arms back down and stare at his sheepish reflection. "Why are you giving yourself so much trouble ?" the taller swordsman asked, and the noble perceived in his detached tone some sort of concern that wasn't only pertaining to this night, to this event, to this outfit.

It was a valid question, in hindsight. There was no obligation, no restriction, no expectation - all they'd been told was to dress up nicely with the suits they'd be given and be nice to the guests. No bonus points for doing the best impression, no rewards for seeming richer or healthier than others. There was objectively no good reason to fuss so much over technicalities. "I wish to look presentable," he laid out simply, hoping to shrug off the subject.

He was the representative of the 'Heroes of the Emblem' group, his attendance, unlike Ike's, was mandatory - it made sense he would make an effort to project a good image for their sake, right ? And that extended to the mercenary as well, now, seeing as he was to accompany him. It was logic. Nothing more, nothing less. "Your sleeves."

Seeing the two of them in this unusual get-up, however, rendered him unsure, hesitant. It was kind of pointless, wasn't it ? Having a few encounters with some of their 'fans' would already have so little repercussions on their lives here, would what they wear make the slightest difference ? Was it really worth the effort he'd just pulled ? "Marth, your sleeves."

No. There was undeniably some force of habit at works here, it was instinct to him, second nature. When life gives you lemon, make lemonade; when you're thrown towards a fancy event and offered an equally fancy attire, make sure you'll appear at your best. That was really all these outfits were good for, now that the prince took the time to look them over. They made them look good, that was it. They were constricting, stiff, thick. Not overly uncomfortable, but definitely something they would gladly take off a few hours from now. They- "Marth."

"Hm ?"

"Your sleeves. Button 'em up."

"Oh."

He looked down on his arms to conclude his dressing up with the one section he'd overlook, just in time to miss the smirk that drew itself on Ike's face - just in time to hopefully hide the shade of red that tinted his cheeks for a few seconds. He really ought to give his date more credit - he was more perceptive than he looked. At least as far as Marth was concerned.

Without a second thought, the prince looked up at his companion, deciding he would seek support and confidence from him instead of relying on his usual, solo methods. It wouldn't do to think too much, apparently. "Shall we ?"

Ike answered by silently offering him his arm, which Marth took, and they headed to the door.