You were curled up in bed, blanket tucked around you, trying to fight off the cramps that made everything feel heavy. You hadn’t moved much today, not even when Zayne had been walking around the room grumbling about something. You barely caught his muttered, “Six. Six of them.” before you let your eyes close again.

What you didn’t realize was that he had already pieced it together. Six of his boxers had mysteriously ended up in the laundry basket, they looked completely untouched compared with dirty clothes. He knew better than to believe he’d suddenly developed sleepwalking habits that involved changing underwear.

You felt the mattress dip, then his warmth pressed against your back. His arm snaked around your waist, his chest molding against you like he always did when he wanted to comfort you. His voice was low, amused but soft at your ear. “Mm. So this is where they’ve been going.”

Your eyes opened halfway, confusion lacing your tired face until you realized what he meant—his hand brushing over your hip and the waistband of the very boxers you were wearing. Heat flooded your cheeks. “Don’t say anything…” you muttered, burying your face deeper into the pillow.

He chuckled, the sound rumbling against your back. “You could’ve just asked, you know. I wouldn’t have minded donating a few.” His tone was teasing but warm, like he was secretly pleased you’d chosen his clothes for comfort.

“They’re soft,” you defended in a muffled whine. “And roomy. And mine right now.”

His laugh deepened, lips brushing the back of your neck. “All yours, sweetheart. Though you owe me six pairs now.” He tightened his arm around you, tucking you closer. “Guess this means I get to claim your scent as payment.”

You swatted lazily at him without lifting your head. “That’s not fair.”

He grinned against your skin, whispering, “Fair enough, considering how cute you look in my things, it's like how idiot surgeons laser their initials in peoples organs.."