Ambling along beside Allison with hands-in-pockets and looking more relaxed than he has in a long, long while, Luther shoots her a startled look. It's always that surprise with him, of seeing someone else daring to colour outside the lines and then he's always scrambling after them, thinking, We can do that?

"And come back with... what, Hawaiian shirts and cargo shorts?" He struggles to picture anything outside of the uniform or his formal dresscode for events like this, and so his brain goes to the most ludicrous thing he can picture. What do people wear outside of identical slacks and button-down shirts?

There was that lurking paranoia with him, entirely incorrect for Number One but lurking beneath the surface nonetheless: what if he did start choosing for himself and he got it wrong. Something as little as looking unfashionable and out-of-season, which would reflect poorly on the Academy. His perpetual slight bafflement of how to fit in with the civilians, who he didn't know at all and only associated with briefly, fleetingly, at carefully-structured events, and when he'd never been raised to associate with them. So the Academy uniforms and the dress-codes made it easier. Gave him at least one less thing to think about and to occupy his mind.

But his nose is crinkling into a grin as he adds: "But, okay, I'd trust you to be my personal shopper though. Personal stylist. Whichever. You'd be in style and you wouldn't make me look stupid."