There was something about the man's name; something undeniably fun, spicy, bold and delicious about it.
"Wilder."
There was something about how the tip of his tongue touched the roof of his mouth and forced anyone saying it to grin for a split second; because of the phonetics or because of the man brandishing the name like a steel sword, fearless and graceful as the warrior's own sword, always neatly tucked away, leaving no hint towards its dangers but that swaying purple ribbon Lloyd couldn't help but guess the material of.
"Wilder."
Saying it with a tone of huskiness makes the brunette's face contort into confusion and his cheeks flare up; Lloyd thinks it's the pesky way that grin forces itself onto one's face when they say his name enough. His last name alone, amusing as it is to enunciate, is indeed a mouthful, but throwing the Chosen's first name into the mix only makes that grin last a milisecond longer, that flush on Lloyd's face just a shade brighter, and what he will not do to make it ebb away.
"Zelos Wilder."
Like the way his hips sway when he's walking confidently onward down the abandoned path, like the way sunlight weaves between locks of strawberry threads, like the way he turns his body to shoot the brunette a smirk to die for (Lloyd thinks it would be incredibly satisfying to wipe that look off the man's face for such a face makes it easy to dislike him), his name is smooth and sexy (there's that red again!) and secretive.
Lloyd doesn't understand what's so special about the words 'Zelos' and 'Wilder'; about that cocky grin that's almost irritating with their unfamiliar relationship, but damn if he doesn't like saying the man's name. Damn if he's not going to walk onward, all the while admiring that sinuous sway of hips and hair and smackable grin. He can't tell he wants it all.