Once Porthos has changed into a thick black woolen sweater and pair of jeans, he grasps a pair of gloves and sets them on the counter, heading back to the two of them where he can run his fingers through Aramis' hair one more time to tweak and curl and make sure it looks presentable, affixing his earring back into the hole as he settles on the armchair.

"I heard that," he says pointedly. "You can pick whatever you like, so long as I find the taste acceptable."