The question confuses him momentarily, like he's forgotten that such things even exist, much less that he'd have any reason to have them around. He frowns, trying to focus around the solid press of Neil's hand in the center of his chest, looking up, the vulnerability like a thing he could sink into and be gone.

Then he remembers, coughs out a laugh and nods across the room. "Jeans," he murmurs. "Back pocket." He'd been prepared, yes. But maybe not that prepared.