[ Even just that faint touch of her hand on top of his glove seems to embarrass him, in some way--or maybe it's something else, some other shiver of heat that he can't explain, building up in his stomach. There's something strange about it all that he can't quite place: it's not as though he doesn't recognize these emotions, but they're too fresh, too readily available, not buried in under disbelief and worry. Even the way that his hand lingers on Aerith's arm before dropping away isn't right. If she'd done this anywhere else, he likely would have abruptly pulled himself away, protective and wryly embarrassed.

So what's different, now? Is it something in the air? The flowers? The soil? He can't quite place it. He hadn't felt like this before, but then again, Aerith hadn't been close to him then. With a sigh, his lips press together, shaking his head faintly as he steps closer to her again. He tells himself it's because she'll need to be near to help him, though he doesn't quite believe his own reasoning. ]

Wrist...would be fine. Might get dirty that way.

[ With another breath, his tongue wets down against his lip--and flickering up, his gaze runs over Aerith's face before dropping back down again. ]

How about my arm? [ He lifts the one with scarf in hand, bending it at the elbow slightly to flex the curve of muscle along his bicep to indicate. ] Should be pretty safe up there, if you can tie it for me.

[ There's a half-smile, just at the corner of his lips, almost sheepish. ]

But if I look stupid and you don't tell me, I'm gonna be pretty mad.