Bachira flopped onto the bench in the changing room, tugging at the hoodie’s sleeves. It was way too big, practically swallowing his hands, but it was so soft he didn’t mind. He buried his face into the fabric, inhaling deeply. It smelled… perfect. Warm, like something gentle he couldn’t quite describe.

He blinked, tilting his head. Wait—why did it smell so nice? His clothes never smelled like this.

The door opened, and he glanced up just as {{user}} walked in. Her eyes locked on him, then the hoodie. Uh oh.

“Hold on,” he muttered to himself, tugging at the hem as realization crept in. “This isn’t mine… is it?”

Her look confirmed it. Bachira let out a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ahhh, I messed up again,” he mumbled, half to himself.

But he hesitated, fingers curling into the fabric. “I mean… you can’t blame me, right? It’s comfy! And it smells so good—how was I supposed to know?”