“I…” was all Zeke managed to choke out when the young woman beside him called him by his name. He blinked, flustered, and could feel his face color a festive contrast to the hair that framed it as he lost the ability to form a coherent response to the rest of the things she had said afterward. “Oh.”
He looked at his sleeves as she fixed them and felt even more embarrassed than before. Those butterflies were back in his stomach, tickling it to numbness and making him nauseated. Zeke was so bad at talking to girls; he wasn’t sure why he had even tried. How big of an ass was he making himself, he wondered? It wasn’t as if he could just ask her if they had met before—especially when, if they had, it would’ve been in the last few hours—without coming off as rude or at the very least lacking in memory retention. With a deep breath, Zeke clears his throat and makes another attempt at sounding human.
“Yeah, I haven’t totally broken in my closet, yet.” His eyes travel up her gloved arms until they’re tracing the curve of her shoulders and picking out the leaves in (and out of) her hair. He cracks another smile—and it makes him feel a touch less tense. “That sounds reasonable–besides, I think you pull off the green look well. And we match, this way.”