Owen sighs, coming in from the kitchen to find George in one of his hoodies again. Owen’s pretty sure George actually worn one home last time he was here, which is sort of taking the mick.
“Why do you keep stealing my hoodies?” he asks. “It can’t be that cold in here.”
George blinks up at Owen, caught.
“Well?” Owen asks, throwing himself down on the sofa next to George. “Look, that can’t be comfortable,” he tugs at where the sleeves are falling just a touch too long over George’s hands.
“You’d be surprised,” George claims, curling into himself.
And Owen’s not having that, throws his legs over George’s before he can curl up completely.
“You know I’ll put the heating on if you’re actually cold.”
“I know,” George shrugs. “It’s just - comfy.”
“If you’re trying to get away with stealing it I did notice the last time,” Owen tells him.
“Might have been,” he admits, looking embarrassed.
“I’ll buy you hoodies for your birthday, how about that?” Owen offers.
George looks at Owen as if he’s stupid. “That’s not the point,” he says, tone suggesting the actual point is obvious.
Owen just blinks at George.
George sighs. “Point is they’re yours,” he tells Owen, impatiently.
Owen blinks. Huh. He guesses that makes sense. “Aww, Georgie! Do they smell like me?” he teases.
George rolls his eyes. “Not really.”
“I’ll make sure to save up some nice dirty ones for you next time, how about that?” Owen offers.
“I’m good, thanks,” George rejects.
Owen reaches out to where George is playing with the overlong cuffs, stills his hand so he can link their fingers together. It’s sweet, that George wants to take something of him home, wants a reminder. Owen might not be able to admit it out loud, but he can smile at George, sweetly, so he won’t take the teasing too seriously.
“No?” Owen raises his eyebrows in mock surprise, once he knows George has got the message. “I could lend you a Sarries shirt, maybe?”
George snorts. “Yeah, maybe not.”
“But don’t you miss me, George, don’t you love me.”
“Owen, I will never love you enough to wear a Saracens shirt,” George claims. “I’m sorry, but that’s the truth.”
Owen squeezes George’s hand in lieu of a reply.
George sends him a wary look, at that, and he’s right to - Owen is racking his brains to come up with the best way to get George into a Saracens shirt, sooner rather than later.