You were sprawled out on your bed, one of Sakusa’s hoodies draped over your shoulders. It wasn’t anything fancy—just an old, well-worn zip-up with a broken zipper that left it perpetually open. The fabric was soft and perfectly broken in, and it carried the faint scent of him—clean laundry and that faint cologne he swore he didn't wear. It was comforting in a way you hadn’t expected.

The evening was quiet, the kind of stillness that wrapped around you like a blanket. You’d been scrolling through your phone absentmindedly, the sleeves hanging over your hands as you tugged them up closer. The hoodie was oversized, practically swallowing you whole, but you liked it that way.

A soft knock at the door broke the silence.

Before you could answer, the door creaked open, and Sakusa stepped in, tousled curls still damp from a shower, sleeves of his shirt pushed up past his elbows like he couldn’t be bothered to roll them properly. His eyes were tired, a little sharp around the edges, but softened just slightly when he saw you.

“Hey—did I leave my—”

He froze. His eyes landed on you, then dropped lower. And lower. Right to the hoodie that used to hang perfectly off his shoulders.

The pause was deafening.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossing with that classic Sakusa air of being mildly annoyed at the world and also somehow vaguely embarrassed. His dark eyes dragged slowly over you, lips twitching like he was trying to hold back… something.

“…Are you seriously wearing that?”

You blinked up at him.

He scoffed quietly, but didn’t move. “It’s stretched out now, you know.”

You tucked your hands into the sleeves, defiant. “I like it.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, muttering under his breath. “You’re insufferable.”

But he didn’t ask for it back.