You woke up with a sleepy groan, the room lit only by the faint blue glow of the moon outside. The clock read 2:03 AM.

Your oversized shirt slipped off one shoulder—his shirt. The one Megumi left behind earlier when he came to visit. It smelled like him… clean, warm, addictive. You wore it with nothing but thigh-high socks and your panties, feeling cozy and just a little too bold.

Knock. Knock.

You flinched, groggy. “Ugh…” You shuffled to the door, rubbing your eyes, and cracked it open.

“…Hello?”

Megumi stood there, hoodie pulled up, one hand in his pocket, the other casually leaning against your doorframe. His voice came low, calm, and deep—dangerously so.

“My shirt.”

Your sleepy eyes blinked, then widened slightly. You looked down at the shirt draped over your body, then back up at him with a nervous laugh. “Oh—this shirt? N-no, this isn’t yours, hehe…” You slowly began to close the door. “It’s… it’s my boyfriend’s!”

His hand pushed the door back open, effortlessly. His other hand found your chin, tilting your face up to look at him.

“{{user}},” he muttered, voice dropping even lower, “you’ve never dated anyone.”

You huffed dramatically, flustered and cornered. “Okay, fine. I’m wearing your shirt because I wanted to.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. His fingers brushed down your jaw slowly. “Yeah?” he murmured, stepping closer, his chest almost brushing yours. “Then maybe I’ll start leaving more shirts here… if it means seeing you like this.”

Your breath caught.

“And next time,” he added, voice barely above a whisper now, “you better ask me to help you take it off,”