“Really did it this time, Honeybun,” Citron spoke softly as he tightened a bandage across his partner’s abdomen.
“I almost had him,” TKO insisted, looking up to Citron from where he lay on his back. He was absolutely covered in bumps and scratches from the big boxing match last night. A good night’s rest had allowed time for the bruises to shine through; he looked a mess, but he wore the injuries with pride. “I just couldn’t get a good cover-up in that last second.”
“You did good,” Citron reassured, stepping back.
TKO rolled to his feet, “There’s always the next card.”
They each smiled as they rubbed cheek nubs. “Yeah,” Citron hummed, “but for now, we need to get moving for that costume party.”
~
TKO readjusted the hat he wore as he looked at himself in the mirror. He frowned as he looked at how the pristine white bandages distracted from the grey shirt he wore. It was that frustration of wearing a sweatshirt over your costume again. TKO watched Citron pass behind him in the mirror, wearing his matching hat and white shirt. Feeling eyes on him, Citron glanced over. “What’s wrong, Sugar?”
TKO turned to face Citron with his pout. “They don’t look right with my costume,” he gestured with one of his bandaged feet.
“I think it looks great,” Citron tried to reassure him. He personally felt like it was hard to mess up a salt-and-pepper couple costume. It was iconic and low-maintenance, and he didn’t see the issue. Even so, TKO still seemed downcast. Citron needed to think fast. “Here,” he mumbled, wriggling out of his white shirt. “Trade me.”
“Hm?” TKO looked down at the shirt offered to him a moment before he understood. He slipped out of his grey shirt and traded with Citron.
“There,” Citron spoke, reaching up to readjust the silver, cylindrical hat TKO wore. “Now I’m pepper, and you’re salt. The bandages blend right in.”
TKO beamed; it was such a simple solution that he hadn’t considered himself. “What would I do without you?” He asked as he rubbed cheek feelers one more time before heading out the door.
~
They arrived at the costume party about a half hour late, still on time but with enough time for the party to get up and running without them. Citron went off to find Bree, and TKO went to grab some fruit punch. “You made it!~” A familiar voice rang behind TKO; he turned around to see his dear coworker, Silky, dressed in a sailor uniform. She looked TKO up and down, from feet to head feeler. “Woah! Nice mummy costume!” she complimented, “But what’s with the funky hat?”