"I don't mind this being roughed up," said Merric, with a little smile, though it turned embarrassed a second later. "I've...only been swimming a few times in my life, I'm not...particularly good at it."

He was not going to say that oceans were large and intimidating things, especially here. Merric slid the shirt off of the hanger and said curiously, "Oh, if Milan is close by, then I'm sure we could go there, couldn't we? I don't really...think the quartermaster's tastes would match mine."

Merric stuck the hanger back onto the rod, turned to Roswell sitting on the bed, and suddenly realized his very glaring mistake.

A steady flush of red - a traitorous, telltale thing if he could ever stop blushing, damn it - crossed Merric's cheeks. He could not just kick Roswell out after only just inviting him inside - except that Merric had never changed in front of anyone before (dare night excluded), and the room was quite small. And he suddenly had another panicking thought that included the idea that Roswell would think he had invited him in for an entirely different reason.

He really, really needed to stop getting into these situations. Merric said hesitantly, "Uh, that is - we are allowed off island sometimes, aren't we?" in an attempt at getting over his fumble.