Izzy never says anything when you steal his clothes.

You’re standing in front of the mirror, wearing his old leather jacket over your outfit, the sleeves just a little too long. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, watching you with that unreadable expression he always has—like he’s amused but too cool to admit it.

“Looks better on me,” he finally says, smirking.

You turn, raising an eyebrow. “Debatable.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. He won’t fight you on it. He never does. Instead, he leans back on his elbows, watching as you adjust the collar like it’s yours now.

“You keeping that?” he asks, even though you both already know the answer.

You shrug, flashing a grin. “Guess you’ll just have to steal it back.”