From prompts 26. "Is that my shirt?" and 28. "No, like... it's just I can't believe you're wearing my clothes."
Saeridaya makes the decision to wear one of Gröm's shirts impulsively, she will admit this. She chooses one she hasn't actually seen him wear, which is odd with how few of them he brought with him on the voyage, but smells of him. Like the sage and corn of his homeland.
Predictably, the shirt is too wide and long on her; the length does not bother her and one of her own sashes tied around her waist handles the rest.
She thinks nothing more of it.
That is, until she hears Gröm, sounding quite confused, ask from behind her, "Is that my shirt?" When she looks at him, his brows are creased ever-so slightly and his brown eyes are fixed on her- his- shirt as if not quite comprehending.
"It is." she answers honestly. "I...is that okay?"
"No- I mean, yes. It's just..." he looks up from the shirt to meet her gaze, "I can't believe you're wearing my clothes."
Raising a brow, she asks, "How so?"
"Well...I-" he cuts off, looking away for a moment. Then, he sits down beside her. "The women of my tribe are...were...are hardly interested in me."
"Because of your elven heritage..." Saeridaya says, nodding.
"Yes. And even then, they don't usually wear 'our' clothes." he confirms. "I'm not upset, I, uh, I like it, actually... just surprised."
Saeridaya cannot help the warmth that rises to her cheeks, pinkening them. "You like it?" she asks, pushing a wispy white bang out of her eyes.
Gröm nods, seeming to blush as well. "I am curious... why?"
"Why?"
"... are you wearing it?" he elaborates.
"Oh." she says simply, flushing a little more. "I must confess, I did not consider it much more than that it was yours and smelled of you... and I liked that."
"I see." Gröm nods, seeming pleased.
She smiles then, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek.