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Daeron yanked open the bottom drawer and shoved his hand to the back, forcing aside his own tunics and cloaks and smallclothes until his fingertips brushed over a soft, light thing tucked neatly into a corner. He pulled it free and sighed as he took it into both hands, letting it unfurl and feeling over the expensive softness of the fabric.
The last person to have worn this was Valarr himself, it had been taken when the prince's eye had been caught elsewhere and Daeron surrendered to a sudden, sentimental urge. He was glad for it now as he brought it to his face and breathed in, catching the barest scent of the other's skin still lingering on the fabric. It was nowhere near as good as having Valarr against him, but it was as much as he'd get for the foreseeable future.
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daeron is missing valarr in their time apart and gets sentimental with a stolen shirt