[The look on his face isn't exactly one of surprise, but there's some very faint curiosity there nonetheless as he lifts the grey-black one up, turning it over in his hand. Like he'd perhaps expected her to select a different one, maybe.

All the same, he'll set the other swatches down soon after.]

This one, then. [And then, because he's both honest and forthcoming, and also has all the social tact and grace of a single stale cheeto, he'll add:] It takes getting used to, I think... Choosing things.

[Choosing colors or things to wear. Choosing anything, really. The way he states it isn't pitying or even particularly empathetic, so much as someone stating a fact in the same way you'd point out the greenness of the grass.]

—Do you know how to sew? To fashion this into a fitted patch.