Blame It On The Boogie

“Honestly Madam Yaxley, your son couldn’t do any better than-”

Baldric’s salesman spiel was interrupted by a roar around the counter where Montrose Magpies fans had gathered with their opponents; the infamous Wigtown Wanderers. The noise that had erupted burst into Baldric’s ears and he cringed a little, a broad grin bringing his lips upwards as he turned a little, peeking over the top of the low shelves to see the Magpies dancing about with unrestrained glee much to the Wanderers’ open dismay and disgust. Further down the other end of the shop, the stragglers from the Tornadoes game had gathered, listening attentively to the analysis offered by the presenters who had studied their match with the Catapults. In the South side of the shop, the other two areas respectively being East and North, some internationals were going on.

“You could never be bored here,” Baldric assured the woman before him with a wry smile, trying to ignore the pointed, almost pained look on her face.

Needless to say, the prim and proper Pureblood woman didn’t want much to do with the sport centric salesman who was far more interested in the games at hand than selling her what could only be perceived as a poor set of spin-stabilisers. She’d insisted on something that wouldn’t cost her the earth, however, and who was Baldric to deny what the lady wanted - even if they were dead-awful?

Shaking his head, Baldric made his way back to the counter where Luke was waiting, already half way through rolling a cigarette, the one he’d made for Baldric already tucked behind his ear. The Gryffindor was grateful for it. It hadn’t been a good day and while he didn’t like to make a habit of indulging at work, sometimes the stress called for it. Their manager would often accuse the boys of being too young to understand the effects let alone smoke the things but they’d grin doggedly and shrug their shoulders before wandering back to Luke’s for a beer and a late-night game.

“Annie are you okay?” Luke mocked as he licked the length of the paper, smoothing it down with his thumb which was travelling behind his tongue.

Baldric ducked under the counter and popped up beside him in a lithe, fluid moment. “I’ve been struck by a smooth criminal, Michael.”

Luke laughed, a great guffaw of a chuckle that made Baldric smirk. “Lady Yaxley isn’t that scary is she? She does wear knickers, right?”

“Oh, sod off Luke!” Baldric screwed his face up and took the cigarette from his friend’s hands. “Ta for this.”

Baldric pushed off out of the shop as the interim music began to play from the various television screens around the room and the punters began to howl out their own variations of ‘Don’t Stop Me Now.’

“Jesus Christ,” Baldric shook his head with a smirk as he fished his lighter out of his pocket.

Once the cigarette was lit, Baldric felt his shoulders begin to lose their tension and he leaned back against the brick of the shop. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself a moment’s breath of sleep before opening his eyes again. He’d people watch for a while, he consoled himself - then he’d go back to work.

Romeo Zabini had already been to quality quidditch supplies earlier that week to purchase a new broom service kit as he'd ran out of polish and was in need of some new clippers to perfectly trim each stick. The reason for his trip today, however, had nothing to do with his Nimbus 2025 but to prepare himself for a date.

A sixth year he'd met in the Leaky Cauldron on his previous shopping trip had accepted his invitation to the upcoming quidditch match between the Tornados and Catapults. Of course Romeo was siding with the Tornado's unlike Grace, which was rather interesting because usually the girl supported the same team as he did meaning the Slytherin was rather keen to see how it'd play out. Although in order to impress he'd decided that he should really buy the new season kit - Romeo wasn't one to style outmoded clothing on a date, especially a date with a girl who seemed naive enough for him to play her like a puppet.

After emerging from the fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron, as usual he turned a few eyes from girls around his age that were with their families and friends down in Diagon Alley for the day, unfortunately for Romeo none of them were deemed attractive enough for him to attempt to get under his thumb.

As usual the Alley was packed with people, which wasn't surprising considering it was a Saturday afternoon and almost everyone had the day off work - almost everyone apart from a Baldric Wood who was leaning against the brick wall of Quality Quidditch Supplies with a cigarette in hand.

I forgot he worked here. Romeo thought to himself as he approached the store, his dark eyes taking in the cigarette. Squeezing past an overlarge grubby girl who seemed to be lost and looking for someone Romeo reached the shop door, pausing to take a look at Baldric and smirking. 'Cigarettes? Really?' He added, his voice contaminated with a scornful tone, before letting out a sni*ger and pushing the door open to the store.

Romeo stayed away from cigarettes, he knew better than to tempt with the power of beauty he'd been gifted with - plus it could affect his quidditch performance, which wasn't he main goal in life, but if it were to take him onto bugger an better things Romeo wouldn't ignore this.

(OOC: sorry it's a slow reply. Also for some reason the word snig*er was blocked, maybe because it follows the spelling of another word? )

(OOC: It's fine, you've been busy. The thing with snigger is that obviously minus the s, it's a banned word among a few others. Bizarrely, also, bitch is banned but bastard isn't. That always tickled me. Hah! Anyway, yeah. Forumotion isn't smart enough to work out that it's a different word so it cuts it immediately. 'Snicker' is a good word to use instead. But yeah, it's stoopid.)

As Baldric stood, he considered the thing between his fingers, his father’s voice rattling around his mind, admonishing him for putting at risk his dreams of becoming a professional Quidditch superstar. It mired the sweetness of the tobacco in his mouth and turned his stomach; putting away the butterflies Luke would accuse him of getting over Madame Yaxley and making him feel rather ill for his troubles.

“Thanks Dad,” Baldric grumbled under his breath as he exhaled the smoke into the air, letting it mingle with the magic that crackled and popped around him.

For what it was worth, Baldric didn’t feel anymore settled. If anything he felt het up, impatient and distracted. He couldn’t bring himself to go back in there and entertain snippy, miserly old women that didn’t know a tinkers about the sons they professed to love.

Just like he couldn’t bear to go home and say he enjoyed his day while his father drilled into him the necessary sacrifices that would have to be made through mouthfuls of whatever his mother had cooked for them that evening.

He needed to go out. Clear his head. Get horrendously drunk with two Werewolves, a ginger one, two painfully shy girls and a neurotic Ravenclaw who was even tetchier drunk than he was sober. It would end in a fight, he was sure - it always did. Unfortunately for Baldric, though, Baird had one hell of a right hook and always seemed to get him in the same place.

A voice broke through Baldric’s reverie and he looked up, mentally groaning at the sight of the swarthy Slytherin who thought he was Merlin’s gift to women. Baldric liked to think that if he had been a girl, like his foolish sister, he would have been able to thwart any self-indulgent advances that would only make Romeo’s ego feel good. He doubted it though. He was sure that the Slytherin put love potions in their drinks over dinner.

“Kill any puppies today?” Baldric sneered, his tone light and pleasant as though he was merely inquiring about the weather or the state of Romeo’s health.

Twelve puppies, Baldric thought contemptuously as he threw the cigarette into the gutter. Twelve puppies and he cut up his mother’s favourite fur coat too while he was at it.

There was something very juvenile about the way Baldric mentally considered Romeo. Juvenile in the sense of the above and then furthered by the way he’d become boiling mad over nothing. Perhaps that was his father in him - the inherent distaste and distrust of Slytherins. Of course, Baldric prided himself on being consistent in that; not like his fair-weathered friend who, between coming down off of his Potion highs, was ‘boning’ one of their own.

Despite his better sense of judgement, Baldric followed Romeo into the store as he fumbled in his pockets for a mint to make his mouth taste less like death and more like something he’d want to snog. Not that he’d want to snog Romeo. No, those actions were just juxtaposed. He'd meant it in the sense that he'd wanted it to be something he personally would want to be snogging.

No, if he was going to be snogging any boys he’d have his way with the ginger he so loved. At least he and Nath could stomach it and get over it. Baldric had a feeling if such an event arose between him and the Slytherin he’d be in bed for a month trying to recover.

Why was he even thinking about it?

Baldric shuddered a little and tipped a mint into his mouth before crossing his arms over his chest and eyeing the little Death Eater. Of course, that belief was mostly based on hearsay. He didn’t know what for certain, either. The Zabini family had been neutral during the war, hadn’t they? Too worried about keeping their gold than sacrificing their lives for the greater good.

Secretly, Baldric didn’t begrudge them for that. He wished they’d done the same. And they had, really. Of course, they’d never escaped Voldemort, never quite. The jitter of his hands and the painfully shakes he got when the wind blew in cold from the south reminded him of what his mother survived, what he survived, in order to live the lives they had now.

“What do you want, Zabini?” Baldric asked through clenched teeth before remembering that, in this instance, he was there to help - regardless of whether it killed him or not. “I am sure I can help you with whatever you need,” he added, regretting his every word.

Civil conversation would never be Baldric’s strong point. Ever.

As Romeo pushed open the door he heard Baldric reply, saying something about killing puppies - he simply chose to ignore this. Romeo wasn't sure if it was a reference to the numerous fur items that he wore during the winter, all sorts of rumours travelled around the castle about what sort of fur it was, something Romeo found bitter sweet. Sure it had repelled a few girls devoted to the study of care of magical creatures but it also put him more on the map, getting him recognised by some of the older girls - the one he preferred.

He felt Baldric follow him into the shop, why he had no clue. Romeo was hoping that he would have been in and out during the time it took Wood to exhaust his supply of tobacco, apparently not. It wasn't a secret that Romeo and Baldric didn't get on. For one they were on opposing quidditch teams, secondly there was the personality clash and lastly Romeo was well aware of his neutral allegiance but no doubt suspected Baldric would swing slightly to Potters Army considering the Wood family had sided with the order of the Phoenix during The Battle of Hogwarts, unlike his family who had kept neutral.

When Romeo had joined the dark followers he had turned a few heads - or the heads of the few that were aware. For a Zabini to choose a side and not think about themselves was for a Trelawney to make a correct prodiction: rare. However the Slytherin had his reasons. There were the numerous attractive, older girls that were part of the following and, growing up feeling more highly of himself than others supported their egotistic, pure-blood mania views.

Wood had spoken to him again. Why was he choosing to pester Romeo when he needed to make sure nothing could go wrong in his attire for his upcoming date?
'I don't need your help.' Romeo responded, peering through his now slanted eyes at Baldric, who looked as though he would rather not be helping Romeo. 'I'm going on a date and want it to be perfect, something you wouldn't know.' It was cold and arrogant but Romeo didn't care. The feeling was mutual and he was positive that if Baldric were to help then Romeo was look like an absolute fool in front of Grace at the match.

His dark eyes were drawn away to a rail of Quidditch jersey's behind him. 'What sizes are they in?' The Slytherin asked, completely ignoring how contradictory that his question for help would appear.

As much as Baldric liked to tell himself otherwise, unfortunately there was very little difference between himself and Romeo. There was only so much that he could lull himself into a false sense of security over. Regardless of how ‘tolerant’ he was, he still cringed when Grace and Charlie touched him. He still balked when Trisha had told him she was a Muggleborn. He wasn’t wholly good in that sense. No, everything the Light loathed in the Death Eaters and the Gryffindors in the Slytherins - it was there in him too, whether he liked it or not. And make no mistake: he hated it.

Perhaps that was the reason why he was so irrational about Romeo. The faux heroism Baldric so desired to wield amongst other traits he believed himself to possess was exactly that, false. In Romeo he saw an unpleasant yet no less handsome mirror of himself. He could never admit it. Not to himself, not to his father. Not even to Charlie whose opinion of him mattered. He couldn’t ever tell them. He couldn’t begrudge anyone but himself for that inbred racism that no amount of easy smiles and Quidditch bonding could easily repress.

He did believe he had one thing on Romeo, though. He wasn’t as ungrateful to people who were obliged to help him.

Baldric merely rolled his eyes, his energy unable to expel something in the way of a comeback for Romeo to lap up and give his own rebuttal for.

But the tone changed suddenly - so quickly that it caught Baldric off guard and he found himself staring at Romeo unblinkingly as his mind slowly registered the question.

Baldric cleared his throat and pulled at his tie a little before moving over to the rails. A quick glance told him all he needed to know and he smiled despite himself, the Muggle in him - again, another major contradiction to his prejudices - finding the range odd and spectacularly amusing.

“We’ve got everything from Fairy to Giant.” He told the Slytherin with practised ease. “I generally say that you want something two sizes too big so that you can wear something underneath that’ll keep your arms warm. Polyester or not, they’re not too warm when you’re in the stadium. So you’re...”

Baldric took stock for a moment, trying to ascertain what he’d give Romeo. He was tall which meant he’d be on one larger than his size anyway - the jerseys never did leave much room for torso length - which meant he’d probably want an extra-large if Baldric was right.

Taking the jersey off of the rail, Baldric held it out for Romeo. “Try that. I don’t think you’ll need anything bigger.”

Romeo began to move the jerseys along the rail, looking at each and taking in their size whilst he waited for Baldric to reply, who seemed to take his team - perhaps he wasn't expecting Romeo to ask him for help?

Taking the jersey from Baldric, who believed it to be his size, looked at it up and down. It seemed to make sense to get a size up to fit something underneath but he wasn't too fussed. He'd have Grace to keep him warm if needs be.

'How about you pick me one size either way too.' Romeo said. It wasn't a question but a statement. A thought had just flashed across Romeo's mind: he was the customer and the customer was always right. The customer had to be waited on hand and foot. The customer had to be treated with respect, something Romeo would love to see Baldric do, just to see the twisted pain that may cross his face.

'And then you can lead me to the changing rooms.' He added, a smirk spreading across his beautifully carved face with the strong jawline and raised cheekbones - Quickly raising his eyebrows up as he instructed Baldric Wood on what his next task was.

Romeo was going to enjoy his meeting with Baldric Wood after all, perhaps he would show off his torso and abs that made the girls mouth water. Not that he wanted Baldric to be attracted to him, on a recent holiday he'd gave the wrong impression to another male who'd gone in for a kiss - luckily it was in private and Romeo had pushed him off immediately before storming away confused about what had happened.

The Slytherin loved to show off his appearance. For the girls it boosted his ego the way they swooned after him. For the boys, the simply envied his body, which in turn boosted his ego. All in all, Romeo did anything that would make him even more self absorbed with his own image.

Now there was one thing Baldric couldn’t abide and that was being walked over - being treated like he wasn’t worth a penny to anyone, that he wasn’t on par. Yet, of course, he wasn’t - especially not in Romeo’s eyes - but it was a trifle difficult for Baldric to contend with knowing that he wasn’t what he considered himself in his mind. It was difficult for his ego to simper and be helpful towards any ungrateful Slytherin but Romeo took the biscuit - it really was beyond Baldric’s easy temperament.

Baldric took another one off of the rail, just in case Romeo wanted something a touch smaller, and then, just to be sure, one just a little bit bigger. It was better to cover all bases than set Romeo off grumbling about Baldric being an inattentive salesman. Regardless of his misgivings, Baldric did actually want to keep his job. Baldric decided against handing Romeo the other shirts lest the poor mite hurt his arm and instead gestured for Romeo to follow him across the shop to the changing rooms.

They were small at a glance, masked from the outside by a scrap of scarlet curtain hanging from a metal rail. Inside, however, it was a massive room that dwarfed the shop. They were much like the TARDIS in that respect.

Without preamble, Baldric pulled back the curtain and stepped inside, his mind dizzying a little as he stepped into the bright room.

The main colour scheme was white. The bordering was Quality Quidditch’s red and gold and the carpet was a darker hue of the former. On one wall there was a huge, shiny mirror that covered the entire stretch of painted and plastered brick. In front were a few pouffes in alternating gold and red and on the opposing wall a few bureaus which contained odds and todds to accentuate whatever it was the person was wearing. Usually there were prop brooms or capes or the like in order for the full idea and potential of the clothing article to be realised.

On the right hand side was another rail with a much richer looking curtain hanging, swaying gently in the breeze fluttering in through the window on the opposing wall. Behind that was a chaise longue and a few more bureaus as well as some hooks, a hat stand and a table upon all of which the customer’s own things could be placed while they changed.

Baldric pulled that curtain as he made his way over, drawing it over half of the way before reaching up and hooking the jerseys onto the wall.

He turned, gesturing for Romeo to do as he pleased and waited until the young man went inside before drawing the other curtain.

From there, Baldric was destined to wait until Romeo was either happy and ready to make a purchase or he was unhappy and needed Baldric to rush out for this, that or something else. It was to be expected, of course.

Romeo smiled smugly as he followed Baldric into the fitting rooms. It was a rather large room and seemed interestingly posh for a sports store - then again it was Britain's leading Quidditch store and was bound to have improved and modernised over the years.

He grinned as Baldric pulled the curtain across to allow him entry into the cubicle where he would soon be styling the Tornado's jersey. Truth be told, despite knowing that Wood was right to get a size up for another shirt to fit beneath Romeo wanted to style something snugger. Something that would make his muscles appear larger and more recognisable. The Slytherin didn't want them lost in a baggy jersey.

Unfastening his coat and hanging it on a hook he raised the t-shirt over his head before replacing it with the one that Baldric had suggested would be perfect. Unfortunately, to Romeo's annoyance it was. Idiot. He silently thought before pulling it from his torso and now styling the shirtless look.

Not caring to put his t-shirt back on Romeo pulled the curtain across and stepped into the waiting area, the mirror on the wall reflecting the sealers toned arms, square abs that were stacked like building blocks and his favourite feature: his pectorals. 

Pouting ever so slightly to enhance his lips and clenching his jaw he simply admired his physique for a moment before turning his attention to Baldric, hoping the Gryffindor was already envious of his rivals image. 

'Can I try the smaller size?' He asked, putting a hand out to accept the jersey before waiting for Baldric to say yes or no. 

The skies above were beginning to murk and darken with repressed wrath as the Gods warred above the heads of the ignorant, the sceptical and the blindly hopeful. It was said that the Vicar in Glospie could smell storms before they broke against the chalky cliffs. Long before the waves turned in the seas, crackling up into the sky, frothy and unforgiving in the way they groped at fishing trawlers, dragging at them, clawing them towards the bottom, he enveloped the people of the village, regardless of their misgivings, into the body of the Church. There, they stood over the cross marked into the floor in juxtaposing bright mosaic as he handed out hot spiced wine and warm, peppery bread with butter melting overtop, sliding over their fingers and down the creases of their lips and chins.

In the dim candlelight he’d invite them all to sit around him where he’d perched himself in the very centre as the boards crossed over the Lord’s heart. It would be there that while the storms crackled and whipped around them, the winds howling at the doors, thrumming against them, desperate to get in, that he would tell his own stories - ones beyond the books of Mark, Mathew, Luke and John. He’d invite ghost stories into the chapel, delight at little anecdotes that the Grocer would venture bashfully into the night air and as they supped at their drinks they’d listen as members of the Women’s Institute, Baldric’s mother included, divulged little secrets that housewives had kept to their chests for decades. Old Kenneth Bridges would read little bits from his newest novel, too, as they grew sleepy, drunk on the conversation and the wine.

The grumbling skies ahead of his gaze reminded Baldric of those nights he’d spent as a child, wrapped up in a blanket sat between his mother’s legs, his head lulled against her breast having had his own cursory sip of the wine, left stupid and giddy because of it. Stood there, in the stark white light of the changing room he could almost feel her fingers winding through a mop that was then, made up of white-blonde curls that glittered down his shoulders from his scalp. She hadn’t let Oliver cut it. When he did one bright Sunday during one of the village’s fêtes, it lost its ethereal quality, twisting into the dark, dirty blonde it was now.

Exhaling, Baldric turned away from the window he didn’t remember leaving the pouffe to stare out of. His eyes widened a little, smoothing out the pinched creases at the sides as he looked at Romeo who had poked out of the changing portion of the expansive room.

His mind was away with the fairies, his mother would have fondly said as she admonished him for his distraction. He found that in a rather carnal way he was appreciating the physique before him for what it was: an enviable figure. It wasn’t smooth or toned gently amongst the ample curves his few ‘girl-talks’ with his friends had led him to believe was right for him to appreciate. No, it was inherently masculine, not a shred of flesh unabated by muscle definition. In its own way, it was beautiful. He was beautiful.

As Baldric found himself again he began to wonder about his own body. He brushed a furtive hand across his own stomach, mentally trying to pin up on a metaphorical cork board behind his eyes a reminder to start doing something. He was skinny and bony with lean muscles if nothing else. It was Quidditch muscle. His strength was deceptive and all in his arms. Latterly, he had thigh muscles that his father tsked at - claiming they weren’t large enough for a Keeper but to Baldric’s weary eyes they seemed, well, huge and it was a great pain to find suitable trousers and do enough sport to bring his calves up to par.

He couldn’t rival Romeo on that front. While he had his own physical assets he wasn’t made of muscle. No, the Slytherin won on that count.

Clearing his throat, Baldric dropped his hand to his sides and felt his cheeks warm a little as he finally averted his eyes.

“Yeah, no worries.”

It was a wonder, really, that he was being so civil. Perhaps it was the fact that the cigarette had done little to him but let run away what little was left of his energy. He didn’t feel calm. His thoughts ebbed and flowed but his muscles were tense, his stomach disquieted and unsteady within him. It was not that he felt ill but it was almost as though he needed to expel something, anything, and relieve the negativity he felt in his bones with a rush of endorphins and the inevitable crash of his mind and body when he came down off of his high. The cigarettes would have to go. Today.

Baldric hurried out of the changing room, exhaling heavily when he emerged back into the store which was deafening in comparison to the pregnant silence inside the room, interrupted only by the rake of the curtain rings along the rail and the shuffle of clothing items. As he reached the rack, he took off a couple of shirts in descending sizes from the one he’d been sure would have fit Romeo perfectly. It was becoming clear that if neither Quidditch nor some sort of Magical History career came to fruition then he’d have a promising one in retail; and surprisingly, Baldric found he didn’t mind.

The young Gryffindor didn’t waste time getting back to the changing room, telling himself, as his shoes slapped against the lino, that he just wanted Romeo to finish and be gone. Part of him also wanted the younger Slytherin to waste his time a little and drag out the encounter so that time would tick by and when Baldric lifted his eyes to the clock again or dropped them to his watch it would tell him to go back to the Leaky Cauldron, Floo and go home. Yes, certainly, he was half-desperate for that. Still, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to while away that time with Romeo Zabini - civil conversation or not.

“A small and an extra-small,” Baldric announced as he drew the first curtain behind himself. Baldric set the smaller of the two down and took the larger off of the hanger before holding it out by the shoulders for Romeo to take. “If you want something like this you’d better wear a hoodie or something under your jacket,” He suggested, surprising his self. He didn’t have to tell Romeo that at all. For all he usually would have cared, the boy could’ve frozen. Still, they were outside of Hogwarts and he could jibe and jape as much as he liked once they were ensconced back in their Houses. Unfortunately today, Baldric was the help.

Baldric managed to raise a half-hearted, lopsided smile to his lips. “I’ll be, err, here,” He assured, briefly. He reached up and pulled a little at the curtain again, figuring it better to ensure Romeo had all the privacy he wanted. The last thing he needed was for the Slytherin to complain; truly, the last thing.

A faint blush and a stumbled pause had come from Baldric upon Romeo's question and the Slytherin noticed that the keepers eyes had gazed across his muscles. Romeo was excessively big but no doubt had more muscle than Wood, purely because of a concoction of genetics and intense physical activity to keep in shape. 

The Zabini household had a basement and within the basement a pool. Clause had taught his son how to swim there: front crawl, back stroke, breast stroke and butterfly. Over time Romeo had worked out a routine. He would hold his breath under water and do a length with fishtail legs to strengthen his abs, butterfly for the chest and front crawl for his upper body. 

Admittedly his legs weren't on par with he above waistline but they got their workout in the form of controlling his flying when playing seeker for the Slytherin team. There had been a point in his house Quidditch career last year when he had debated moving to chaser, no being as light for a seeker but thankfully, the swimming kept him in a decent physique that meant he was able to chase a snitch.

Despite that, this summer when flying in the fields chasing butterflies and dragonflies Romeo had started to feel less streamline and was reconsidering the swap to chaser upon his return to Hogwarts.

To Romeo it seemed that Baldric was taking forever and a day to find the smaller size, perhaps he was trying to spend as much time away from Romeo? Perhaps the jealous of seeing such as chiselled physique was eating Bae away and away is where he wanted to stay? Whatever the reason it didn't matter to Romeo. Looking in the mirror, still with his shirt off, he rested a shoulder on the wall, folded his arms and leaned slightly. Manipulating his face to form an alluring pose, captivating his own reflection. 

'Please tell me that you had to perform mouth to mouth resuscitation and that's what took you so long?' Romeo asked in an airy voice, her eyes narrowing and dark eyebrows raising slightly as he stared into Baldric's. 

Not bothered what response Baldric gave to this the Slytherin took the jersey into the fitting room, completely ignoring what his rival had to say about wearing a jacket. 

When Romeo returned from the fitting room the jersey was more fitted. It encircled his biceps and illustrated how masculine his pectorals were. For the first time with his meeting with Baldric he gave a true grin. 'Perfect isn't it.' 

Again, that wasn't a question, he didnt care if Wood didn't like it Romeo knew that Grace would be entranced by his masculinity - even if it was subconscious.

'I'm going on a date with a girl to the upcoming Tornado's match. Pretty sure she'll be into me after seeing me in this - even if she is a Catapults fan.' Romeo began to explain, laughing slightly amused by his addition at the end of his statement all the time turning in different position to see how well the shirt looked through the mirror.