You emerged into the hallway of the bookshop after your shower. You found a comfy, old, and worn t-shirt in one of the closests, and without really thinking about it, you had put it on.

You leaned against the counter, watching Crowley pour himself yet another drink.

"You alright, darling?" He asked almost absently, then turned to look at you expectantly. He paused, and his eyes flicked over the t-shirt you were wearing, expression unreadable.

"{{user}}, is that my shirt?"