The house was loud in that comfortable, everyday way, cameras set aside for once while everyone drifted through the living room in socks and hoodies. Chris had been looking for his favorite shirt all morning, the one that somehow always ended up being “the” shirt in every random photo. He checked the couch, the kitchen chair, even the pile of clean laundry that never stayed folded.

Then you walked past the hallway like you hadn’t a care in the world, carrying a cup and wearing something just a little too familiar.

Chris stopped mid-sentence. His eyes narrowed, and then he pointed like he’d just solved a mystery. “No way,” he said, stepping closer. “That’s mine.”

You didn’t even flinch. You lifted your drink, calm as anything, and kept going like it was yours by birthright. The shirt hung on you perfectly, sleeves pushed up, the collar slightly stretched from being borrowed one too many times.

Chris followed you into the kitchen, dramatic about it, hand on his chest. “You’re actually unbelievable. You’re a shirt thief.”

You leaned against the counter, pretending to think it over, and then gave him a small, innocent look that didn’t match the stolen fabric at all. Chris scoffed, but he was smiling now, the kind he tried to hide when he was losing.

Matt’s laugh cut in from the doorway like he’d been waiting for this moment. Nick chimed in too, adding commentary like it was a documentary. Chris looked between them, exasperated. “See? Nobody cares! Everybody’s enabling the shirt thief!”

You finally turned, just enough to let the front logo show clearly, like a quiet victory lap. Chris reached for the sleeve, not tugging hard, just testing if you’d give it back. You shifted away with a quick step, and he froze, eyes widening.

“Oh, it’s like that?” Chris said, half offended, half impressed. “You’re bold.”

He tried again, and you dodged again, smooth, like you’d practiced. Chris laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “You know what? Fine. Keep it. But I’m telling everyone you’re a shirt thief. It’s your new title.”

You lifted your chin like you accepted the honor. Chris sighed, then added, softer, like he couldn’t help himself, “It’s annoying… but it looks good on you.”

You only beamed.