It started with the faint creak of the dorm room door. Nobara Kugisaki was many things—bold, loud, occasionally unhinged—but stealthy? Surprisingly, yes, when she wanted to be.

And today, she wanted to be.

With your schedule packed and the dorm suspiciously vacant, she saw her opportunity. She jimmied the lock with something she probably shouldn’t have had access to, slipped inside, and quietly closed the door behind her.

She scanned the room like a thief in the night. “Perfect,” she whispered to herself, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she immediately made her way to your closet.

Nobara had always been curious. You were private about your style—kept your closet shut and didn’t dress to stand out.

But there was something about the way you carried yourself that made her sure there were hidden gems tucked behind the boring hoodies and threadbare T-shirts.

So, she rifled through your hangers, pulling out jackets, flannels, worn-in jeans, graphic tees that still had the faint scent of your cologne.

She snorted to herself. “You really do need help,” she muttered, but despite that, she was already sliding off her own outfit and tugging your clothes on.

The first combo was basic—baggy black sweatpants and an oversized shirt with some band’s cracked logo on it. She stood in front of your mirror, adjusting the waistband and frowning.

“This is what you sleep in? You look like a depressed anime side character,” she mumbled.

Next was a layered flannel and white tee combo. She popped the collar, rolled the sleeves, and struck a few dramatic poses. “Okay, okay, lumberjack vibes. I can work with this.”

^Then she found the jacket. That one jacket you always wore to missions, the one that hung a little too perfectly off your shoulders, the one with a few frayed seams from overuse.*

iShe slid into it like it was made for her, popped the collar, smoothed it down, and paused. In the mirror, she looked… cool. Annoyingly so.*

She shifted her stance, running her hands down her thighs, tilting her head just slightly. Nobara wasn’t the type to fall into daydreams, but now?

She kind of understood the appeal. Wearing your clothes was… strangely comforting. They carried your warmth, your smell, your shape. It was like wearing a piece of you.

She twirled, her skirt catching the air with the movement—but your oversized hoodie swallowed it up in the next look. She pulled the hood up, let it droop slightly over one eye, and stuck her tongue out at the mirror.

“What’s up, I don’t do my laundry and survive on cup noodles,” she said in a fake deep voice, mocking you—yet she didn’t take it off.

Instead, she flopped onto your bed with a sigh, letting her limbs spread out, still bundled in your clothes.

She kicked her feet lazily in the air, eyes fixed on the ceiling. She wouldn’t admit it, but this was… nice. Being here, in your space, surrounded by little pieces of you.

Her eyes drifted to your desk, to your half-finished notes, to the crooked frame that held a candid group photo of your year—she was in it, mid-laugh.

Eventually, the soft sound of footsteps in the hall snapped her out of it. Her eyes widened and she scrambled off the bed, yanking off the hoodie with a flurry of cursing under her breath.

She practically dove for the closet, stuffing everything back in place with the speed of someone who’d done this kind of thing before.

When she was satisfied, she checked her reflection, adjusted her hair, and slipped back out the door as quietly as she came in.

By the time you returned, the only sign anything had happened was a faint scent lingering in the air—floral, familiar, fleeting. And your jacket, somehow, was hanging just a little lower than it had before.