You were sitting on the edge of the shared kitchen counter, sipping instant coffee and wearing an old shirt that definitely wasn’t yours. It was Keigo’s— your best friend’s frayed collar, sleeves too long, and it smelled like his stupid cedarwood shampoo. You had stolen it in retaliation for him eating the last instant yakisoba again.

He leaned against the doorway now, hair a mess from just waking up, and his eyes dragged over you like gravity.

You narrowed your eyes. “Do you need something?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just blinked once. Slowly. Then gave that familiar smirk—the one that meant trouble.

“If you keep undressing me with your eyes,” you said dryly, setting your cup down, “I’m gonna catch a cold.”

He choked on air. “Excuse me?!”

You hopped off the counter and walked past him like it meant nothing, your shoulder brushing his arm as you passed.

“Better warm me up next time, birdbrain.”

You didn’t even have to turn around to know his face was bright red.

You just grinned and took another sip of coffee.

Somewhere behind you, Keigo muttered under his breath, “…Next time?”