Sora was a messy red shirt. He was crumpled and none too neat, but clean and smelling faintly of salt water and foreign stains.
Sora was bright and full of life, a vibrant scarlet on good days. But on bad days, he was the dull brownish-red of old bloodstains.
At the hem and sleeves, a few threads were loose, and there were rips here and there, but the material was sturdy and the color stayed strong, despite the all abuse that it suffered over the years.
Sora was a shirt, and he'd readily share with anyone who needed his warmth.