You don’t think much of it at first—of the small things you’ve collected. It starts with something innocuous, something stupid, like the cap from his water bottle. Then it’s a casino chip he flicked across the bar at you. A receipt from a café where he scrawled some nonsense in his loopy handwriting. And then, suddenly, you’re stuffing one of his blindfolds into your pocket when he carelessly tosses it onto your couch.

It’s not like he needs to know. Satoru has plenty of things—too many, really. A pair of sunglasses he left at your place? He won’t miss them. A pen he absentmindedly chewed the cap off of? Practically useless to him. A cufflink from a suit he wore once? Well, it’s just one, and he never wears matching sets anyway.

You don’t realize how bad it’s gotten until you come home one evening to find him in your apartment, standing by your bookshelf with a suspicious expression.

"Didn’t take you for a hoarder," Satoru muses, picking up a playing card—one from a deck he used to practice sleight-of-hand tricks. It’s the Ace of Hearts. Of course, you’d kept that one.

Your stomach twists as you glance at your shelf—your little collection you’d stowed away in a small lock box, open now and exposed. You’d been careful, hadn’t you? But Satoru is Satoru, and he notices everything.

He hums, flipping the card between his fingers before looking at you with a grin that’s entirely too pleased. "Tch tch tch,” he clicks his tongue. "You’ve been stealing from me, haven’t you, little crow?"

You swallow, heat creeping up your neck. "It’s not stealing if you don’t miss it."

Satoru’s grin widens. "That definitely sounds like something a thief would say."

Satoru steps closer, tilting his head, his absurdly pretty eyes glinting with amusement. "I was wondering where all my stuff was going. Thought I was losing my mind for a second — imagine that,” Satoru murmurs, voice soft, teasing, but there’s something else in his expression, something you can’t quite place. “Should’ve known it was you.”