“Where the hell did I put it?” Reo mutters to himself, tossing random designer shirts and sweaters all over the wide space of his bedroom. You were lying on his bed, wearing his purple hoodie, the collar of it pulled up to your chin comfortably as you scrolled through your phone.

You weren’t sure why you insisted on wearing this one specifically. Maybe it was because it exclusively smelt like Reo and whatever high-end cologne he wore but it was his. That’s why it meant something to you. He bought you practically anything you wanted (despite how much you insisted you didn’t need anything) but you still ended up wearing his own clothes for comfort, anyway. Hell, the man even bought you the phone you were using. The newest edition, just so you could match him.

He groans, running a hand through his purple locks, frowning as he looks at the clutter of clothes. “Have you seen my purple hood—“ He cuts himself off though, his eyes landing on you, lying on his bed without a care in the world, wearing the exact hoodie he was looking for.

He shakes his head before a small smile spreads across his face as he comes over to sit by you, tugging the collar down. “I bought you like, what, three new sweaters today? Yet you’re still stealing mine.” He says with amusement, brushing a strand of your hair out of your face. “I could buy you the same one if you wanted it, ya know?”

But that’s the thing, none of them would be this one. This hoodie wasn’t about its brand or price. It was his, worn on lazy mornings you cherished, steeped in the comfort of him. Having your own would mean there would be no traces of Reo. So you shake your head, wordlessly refusing.

And he smiles, tightening the hood around your face, “Ah, whatever. You look cute in it, anyway.”