[It's concerning, of course. The defeated noise says something about it, and his brows furrow lightly at his distress.]

Right, I'll—

[He's cut off with an undignified yelp as a collar wraps itself around his throat, looking for someone nearby in the instant before the leash itself just pulls him into the changing room. It's not the leash or the fact that it's in Basch's hand that catches his attention, but the outfit he's been unfortunately stuffed into.

Unfortunate for Basch, that is; Olivine's eyes drift over him as politely as they can, and it takes a moment of control to prevent himself from saying anything about how he looks (which is fantastic, honestly). He himself is dressed in another of those cropped shirts, the muscle of his abs on display as much as the pretty green gem attached to his navel. His pants are maybe a little tight too, certainly fitted nicely.]

I... don't think there was anyone around... [Olivine is apologetic, brows furrowing further. He's ignoring his own flushed cheeks now.] We may need to grab something on the way out for you. Ah—not that this looks bad on you, but I assume something made it change.

[There is no doubt in his mind that someone like Basch didn't choose something like this, then got it all the way on before realising.]