"I know," said Raidou, wryly. He rolled his sleeve up, presenting a forearm dappled with bruises caused by blocking Genma's very un-glass-like fists and feet. "Don't bitch, it looks fine on you. Like a peadophile's bathhouse fantasy." The overlong sleeves and loose hem combined with the slipping neckline worked to make Genma look roughly fourteen. "You could add a whole new range to your repertoire, if you wanted to branch out on missions. I've probably got a few sweaters more lying around you can have--" he leaned around the punch to his shoulder with a wider grin and held his hands up in the universal 'I give, I give' gesture.

Then Genma's second comment caught up with his brain and Raidou glanced down at his shirt, failing to see anything special. It was just a grey shirt with black buttons. The buttons were a little shiny, he conceded, but that wasn't terribly fascinating. "Thanks," he said finally, willing to take the weird compliment at face--or shirt--value. "C'mon, lover boy, let's get there while there's still a good table left."