You opened the dorm door mid-yawn—and nearly dropped your toothbrush.

Kyoko stood there in your shirt.

Not a shirt. Your shirt. Oversized, plain, slightly wrinkled from the laundry bin, now draped over her like it belonged to her all along. It just barely covered her thighs, and her hair was down, a little messy from sleep.

“The laundry room’s locked,” she said simply, as if this were normal. “I borrowed this.”

Your brain crashed.

“Oh. Yeah. Of course. Borrow away. Borrow everything.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re flustered.”

“No, I just—uh—didn’t expect the detective to commit grand theft T-shirt.”

That earned you the slightest curve of a smirk. “Consider it evidence, then.”

You stepped aside, motioning her in before Monokuma showed up with commentary.

She walked past, the scent of lavender brushing the air as she moved.

“…It looks better on you,” you muttered, barely above a whisper.

She paused mid-step but didn’t turn around.

“I know,” she said quietly.

Your heart did something dramatic. Possibly illegal.

She sat down at your desk like nothing happened, flipping open her notebook.

“You’re staring again.”

“No, I’m—”

“Yes. You are.”

And yet… she didn’t ask you to stop.