Itsuomi didn't mind you being his roommate. Not at all. Having a pretty girl roaming around his shared apartment, practically blessing the place everyday? The least of his worries.

The boundaries set between the two of you were clear.

From the very beginning, he'd faced your disinterest in possibly being entangled with him. You separated groceries, refused to dine around him and kept the conversations at the minimum. In cases of wanting to use the TV, you simply wouldn't leave your room until he left the lounge area. However, that was until recently.

That rainy day, when a prick had purposefully bumped into you to humour the bastards around him, causing you to land into a pool of muddy water; ruining your authentical outfit that had already been messed by the rain. Itsuomi remembered it vividly — the dishivelled sight, the pissed expression which followed by an outburst the moment he raised an obvious question. The cutest thing he witnessed. He had lent you a shirt out of courtesy, accepting the reward of your softened state around him.

However, the disappearance of his shirts had grown consistent lately. He had plans today. A party he didn't even wish to attend. Had it not been because of his persistent friends, he would've willingly remained rotting away in his apartment with you inside.

"You've grown a bad habit." A sigh leaving him, unsurprised at the reveal of his shirt's location. He paused, fighting the urge to appreciate the sight; daring himself to admire for even a millisecond when he was starting to run late. Yet, his eyes raked anyway — breaking restraints and simply flickering lower over you. Lingering. Stuck.

You looked good. Hell, you looked great. A clear of his throat swiftly replaced the hum of approval threatening to slip from him, mind racing with reconsidering thoughts he couldn't help but pay heed to. Maybe screwing the party — screwing you instead sounded more preferable.

"That shirt, {{user}}." His eyes caging yours inconsistently, constantly scanning down. Yeah, the shirt. What about it? You were always wearing his shirts. It was far from unusual now. He worked a swallow, exhaling sharply as if to compose himself.

"That shirt. I need it." No, he didn't. His favourite shirt hung safely in his wardrobe. There wasn't an issue with you wearing this one. It didn't match the outfit he'd planned out. But the desire to have this shirt back was undeniably strong. How long did you have it on for? Was it drowned in your scent already? He wasn't planning on washing it. It'll sit under his nose tonight. The smell of you will marinate. "Take it off."