You weren’t exactly a morning person, but slipping on Lara’s hoodie made dragging yourself to school a little easier. It still smelled faintly like her—something warm and a little sweet, like vanilla and trouble. She had let you borrow it after movie night at her place, but you never gave it back. Not that she asked.

When you walked through the school gates, a few heads turned. Not because of you, but because of the unmistakable black hoodie with the small bleach stain on the cuff—her hoodie. Everyone knew it was Lara’s.

Suddenly someone turned you around. “That mine?” Lara asked, smirk tugging at her lips.