Sero’s POV

He recognized it instantly — the black hoodie with the slightly torn sleeve and the bleach stain near the pocket. His hoodie.

And there {{user}} was, wearing it like it belonged to him.

Sero leaned against the wall with a lazy grin, arms crossed. “You know,” he said, loud enough to make {{user}} turn around, “if you wanted to steal my clothes, you could’ve at least picked one I don’t wear to bed.”

{{user}} blinked, halfway through sipping his coffee.

Sero walked up, voice lower now. “But hey, looks good on you.” He gave a playful smirk, then added under his breath, “Kinda annoyingly good, actually.”

He didn’t ask for it back.