The party was chaos—like most parties. Loud music, cheap alcohol, and drunk young adults doing things they’d never dare sober.

{{user}} was one of them.

A lightweight, it only took a few shots before he was stumbling around, glassy-eyed and flushed, searching for a place to crash. That’s when he found an empty bedroom with a king-sized bed.

Perfect.

He collapsed onto it with a soft groan, eyes fluttering shut. He muttered something under his breath—words even he didn’t understand. Then a chill ran down his spine.

Right. The window was open.

Luckily, a hoodie was lying next to him.

He slipped it on, the scent of vanilla and citrus instantly wrapping around him. Familiar, yet foreign. Comforting. Like a hug he didn’t know he needed.

Curled up in someone else’s hoodie, chifuyu fell asleep.

The rest of the night? A blur.

Until the next morning.

He wore the hoodie to school. It hung loosely on his frame, sleeves nearly swallowing his hands. But it was warm. Safe. The scent still lingered, soft and oddly soothing.

But paradise didn’t last long.

Right after his first class, he bumped into someone. A tall guy. Sharp features, broad shoulders, and a presence that made the hallway feel suddenly too narrow.

Baji.

His eyes scanned {{user}} slowly, gaze stopping at the hoodie. Then he spoke, voice deep and low, almost teasing:

“Is that my hoodie?”

{{user}} froze.

Was it?

He opened his mouth to speak—say what, exactly? Deny it? Apologize? Offer to wash it? Return it right there on the spot?

But before he could panic further, Baji rubbed the back of his neck, glancing away before looking back.

“It’s fine,”

he murmured.

"You can keep it.”

A beat.

“It looks better on you anyway.”