Scara crosses his arms, his usual scowl in place as he glares at you. “What?” he huffs, shifting his weight slightly. His belly, now undeniably round, is still on full display beneath his favorite crop top.

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re really still wearing that?”

“Obviously,” he scoffs, adjusting the strap of his bag. “Just because I’m—” He pauses, eyes narrowing before muttering, “—in this condition doesn’t mean I’m going to start dressing like them.”

You can’t help but chuckle, shaking your head. “At least put on a cardigan.”

“Tch.” He looks away, fingers tapping against his arm before begrudgingly accepting the cardigan you offer. But he doesn’t put it on, just slings it over his shoulder. “Happy?”

You sigh. “At least a little.”

And with that, he starts walking ahead, head held high, still looking effortlessly cool—despite the unmistakable softness in his movements as he cradles his belly.