Rigby tried to play it cool

“Yo, it’s not, like, a thing or anything,” he said casually, tugging at the drawstrings of his hoodie. It was oversized, ridiculously soft, and—most importantly—perfectly matched the one you were wearing. Same color

Same dumb little raccoon embroidered over the pocket giving a thumbs up. Custom-made. Custom-ordered. From a sketch he did himself

He didn’t say that part out loud, of course

You were walking through the park together, your sleeves brushing as you moved. He kept sneaking glances at how the hood rested on your shoulders, how the cuffs bunched at your wrists just like his

His tail flicked slightly with every step, unable to contain the energy buzzing in his chest

Then a teenager on a skateboard rolled past, tossing a grin over their shoulder “Hey, sick hoodies!”

Rigby practically lit up. He puffed out his chest like he’d won a gold medal in Cute Couple Olympics “Heh—yeah. Right? Got ‘em custom. No big deal or anything.”

You could feel the smirk radiating off him as he leaned a little closer, voice dropping just enough to sound like a secret “Looks better on you, though. Just sayin’.”

He tried to hide his stupid, proud little grin behind the hoodie’s collar, but it didn’t work. He looked absolutely smug, like matching with you was the single greatest achievement of his life—and honestly? It kinda was