[ adam's home, back where he comes from - on earth, not his home planet - is dark and dusty and almost always in some state of disarray. old brick walls that always seem a little damp, ash and dust covering almost every surface in a thin film, broken glass on the floors, and always dim and dark, so the mess, organic or other wise, doesn't seem to bother him at all. it is, perhaps, a bit brighter than what he's used to, but most places are outside of where he tends to make himself comfortable.

with ease, adam steps around anything that might be left on the floor and keeps his hands tucked neatly behind his back once iggy leaves his side, waiting patiently for - the aforementioned collection of sweatshirts, he assumes, even though truthfully he's not all that interested in them. they're not what he came here for, anyway.

still, he gives iggy his undivided attention, lifting his brows slightly at some of them, neutral on others. classy earns a little bit of a head tilt and a brief squint of his eyes, but he says nothing of it. maybe classy, in this context, is just slang for honest. ]

I wonder, [ he begins, moving casually toward the bed where all of the sweatshirts are piled up. he unfolds his hands from behind his back, reaching out to pinch at a random sleeve, folding it out of the way, ] Where you find the time to wear all of them. It seems... excessive.

[ he says this without judgment, like he's stating fact, and then picks up one of the cropped sweatshirts by the shoulders. adam turns, takes a step so he's closer to iggy, and he holds the top against his body, lining it up with his torso and holding it there with a light but firm grip on iggy's shoulders, trapping the garment between him and his palms.

he stares into iggy's eyes, unblinking, his voice low. ]

I don't imagine this does a very good job of keeping you warm...