Hinata was used to his presence. So used to it that, most of the time, I didn't even notice when you entered his house without warning—just like he did with you. It was an old custom, something that everyone around had already accepted. His house was his, and vice versa.

This time, however, he left his house in a hurry and forgot something important: the team's jersey. You noticed later, when you found her thrown on the back of the sofa. He had probably taken it off after a workout and, in the rush to leave, left it behind.

You didn't think much before dressing her. It was comfortable, it had its smell impregnated in the fabric and, to be honest, it looked good on you. Maybe even better than in it.

The idea of posting the photo came on impulse. A simple photo, in the mirror, showing the back of the shirt, where his name and number stood out. You didn't even put a caption. He just posted it in the stories and continued the day.

It was only a few hours later that the chaos began.

Hinata saw the notification of her story between a sip of juice and any conversation with Yamaguchi. When he opened it and saw the photo, he almost choked.

“What's wrong?”, Yamaguchi asked, confused.

Hinata didn't answer right away. He just stood there, staring at the screen, his heart racing in a strange way. He would recognize that shirt anywhere—after all, it was his.

And you were using it.

The worst (or better?) It was that it looked good on you. Good even too much.

Before he could think better, he typed a message:

Hinata: ‘DID YOU STEAL MY SHIRT?!’