“You’re swimming in that thing Lo and I don’t remember you asking if you could borrow my sweater,” Miles mused aloud as he walked into the kitchen they now shared sans sweater, sans any shirt really, but the cheeky smile told him he didn’t really care.

The vibrant peach colour of it matched Lola better anyway with her pink hair, but it really wasn’t surprising Miles owned a sweater like this; she smiled over the chai tea she had just made that morning, admiring the muscles on his back as he stretched out to grab his own mug.

“I think it belongs to me now,” and frankly she was right; it looked cuter on her anyway.