L slunk towards the suitcase, fishing out the other set as instructed, for once having nothing to say about how ugly he thought Bakura's clothes were. He slipped on the jeans and striped t-shirt, and then debated between the sweater and the button-up shirt.

How can a person have this many kinds of clothes? Why?

He bit his tongue and settled on the sweater. The t-shirt would protect him from the scratchiness, to an extent, and the long sleeves would cover his still grisly-looking wrists.