It started out rough—like it always did with him. Heated glances, impatient hands, your back hitting the wall with a soft thud. His mouth was on yours in seconds, desperate and unfiltered.

Clothes started to peel away, bit by bit—shirts, belts, your breath.

Except the hat.

He was still wearing that damn hat.

You broke the kiss just long enough to smirk, fingertips brushing the brim. “You gonna take this off, or…?”

Shiv caught your wrist mid-motion, eyes dark and low, the smallest curve of a grin tugging at his mouth.

“No.”

You blinked. “No?”

“The hat stays on.”

There was a beat of silence.

And then you laughed—soft, breathless, wildly turned on. “Seriously?”

His hands slid down your waist, grip tightening as he pulled you closer. “Dead serious.” He kissed the corner of your mouth, voice rasping against your skin. “Call it superstition… or maybe I just like how it looks when you’re falling apart underneath me.”

You didn’t argue.

Not when his mouth was back on yours. Not when the hat tilted ever so slightly from the way you tugged at his hair. And definitely not when his name came out of your mouth like a secret—

—with the hat still on.