( Of all the people that could come to his "rescue," he hadn't expected it to be Fuuta. Still, there he is, visible through a crowd of strangers that have seemingly lost the concept of personal space. Most of them are trying to warm up to being so bold as to touch him, but at least two of them are in physical contact right now— one girl hanging off of an arm that he's holding awkwardly a little away from himself, like she's a bug, and some guy with a hand on his opposite shoulder, trying to convince him to try some other sort of clothes.

And so, the relief in his eyes is palpable, even if he tries to hide it behind a defensive sort of double take, like he's checking to see if Fuuta is just going to walk away or not. )

There you are.

( It takes him a moment, but he breaks off from the clingy ones and past the oggling ones to walk closer to Fuuta, ignoring the desperate pleas of "Wait, w-we are working! You'd look so nice in this, don't you want some help putting it on?" and other such comments to touch a hand to Fuuta's arm, instead, urging him to turn with him. Walk, walk.

He knows he smells a different sort of floral, today. He knows no amount of showering helped him get it off, whatever it is, and that even though it's far more faint and subtle than the scent of his blood, that it's like tea more than anything else, it's been attracting people to him like flies to garbage. And, as much as Esikko wants to be loved, to be appreciated...

It feels wrong, feels fake, to be swarmed by people he doesn't even know. It's like he's the Prince all over again. )

Let's, um, hurry and buy whatever it is you wanted here so we can be on our way. Since we have plans and all.

( He's terrible at this when he's distracted and bothered, apparently. )