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Skinny Jeans

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Jon eyed the fancy-looking box with apprehension. He chanced a sideways glance at Arianne. She looked like she was trying not to laugh.

He rolled his eyes and opened the box.

He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in. Arianne came up behind him, and he swore he could hear the smirk in her voice.

“Well, that’s not so bad, is?”

Jon silently agreed, but he was still suspicious.

Arianne rolled her eyes. “Come on, Jon, it’s just a box of clothes. Try some on.”

Jon was about to protest that he’d didn’t really need the new clothes, but he knew that wasn’t true. The only things he had to wear were five identical black long sleeve t-shirts, five identical white short sleeve t-shirts, and ten identical pairs of khakis.

In his defense, shopping for clothes was hard. It was also something he had no frame of reference for. Growing up, he’d never bothered to venture beyond the school dress code. He’d also spent the overwhelming majority of the last five years in fatigues, so there hadn’t been any need to shop.

But, apparently, most “normal” people didn’t wear the exact same thing every day. So Arianne had taken him shopping. And it had not gone well.

For one, Jon had never had a “style”. He’d disliked all the obnoxious logos and color schemes. Everything had seemed like it was either impractically tight or impractically baggy. After five years of life being, more or less, completely circumscribed, the sheer number of choices was just too overwhelming.

Arianne had come up with the novel idea of using the subscription service. A few of her co-workers had recommended a site, and she and Jon had sat down to fill out the questionnaire. And now, here was the result.

He shifted though the box, feeling the aprehension leave as he saw more things.

He found himself smiling as he sorted through the gray and navy shirts that looked like they would actually fit. That had been another problem. Short and buff sometimes made it hard to find the right size. There was nothing too loud or conspicuous. None of the logos were obtrusive, he could move in it, and it all looked comfortable.

All in all, Jon was pretty satisfied. Most of the clothes looked like stuff he could wear.

Then he came to the bottom of the box, where he found something he was very decidedly against.

Folded up underneath all of the indiscipt, sensible clothing, was a pair of pre-distressed skinny jeans.

Jon Snow. Did not. Wear. Skinny jeans.

“Arianne,” he gestured, disgusted, to the offending garments. “What are these?”

Arianne looked over his shoulder into the box. “They’re skinny jeans, Jon. I’m sure you’ve seen them. They’re very popular.” She poked his side and gave him a teasing grin. “You should know. You were very complimentary when I wore a pair.”

Jon’s mind briefly flashed back to the image of Arianne in said jeans. Then in only said jeans. It was a good memory.

He shook his head. There were more pressing matters to deal with.

“It’s just…” He sighed. “I would never wear them. They aren’t me.”

Arianne came around the other side of the table and picked up the jeans, examining them.

“Why would you never wear them?” She asked.

Jon shrugged. “They’re too tight to move freely in,” he said. “I wouldn’t be able to fit stuff in the pockets. They draw unnecessary attention.”

Arianne unfolded them and held them out to him.

“As admirable as your dedication to pragmatism is, it’s a tad redundant.” She tossed him the jeans. “Sometimes it’s okay to do stuff that isn’t necessary.”

Jon sighed. She had a point. There came a point when devotion to practicality became impractical.

“I’ll try them on,” he relented. “But I don’t think I want to go out in them.”

Arianne nodded. “That’s fine. We can ease into this.” She stepped over to him and kissed his cheek. “Now go put on those on so I can finally see your ass in tight pants,” she smirked.


Jon stepped into the main room, feeling apprehensive again. The pants felt restrictive. Not quite as bad as he’d built them up to be in his head, but still nothing like what he was used to.

Arianne was curled up on the couch, looked satisfied with herself.

“Come on,” she said. “Give us a turn.”

Resigned, Jon did a slow spin, then struck a casual pose. He heard Arianne giggle behind him, and he couldn’t help but smile. Maybe the jeans weren’t so bad after all.

She got up from the couch and wrapped her arms around his middle.

“They look good on you,” she told him. “What do you think?”

Jon took her hands loosely. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Not as bad as I thought, but it will take some time to get used to.”

“That’s alright,” Arianne said. “Take your time. Besides,” he could hear the devilish smile he knew her to be wearing. “It’s not like we can’t take them off.”