Mitsuya’s key turned in the lock.

His school bag hit the floor with a soft thud, and his blazer—already hanging loose on his shoulders—slid off onto the hook.

Home sweet home, huh. Siblings already in bed; literal paradise.

He padded through the dim hallway, fingers trailing absently along the wall, steps slow and unhurried. A hot shower chased the day from his muscles—chalk dust, fabric lint, the faint ache in his wrists from hand-stitching through lunch. He dried his hair with a towel, catching his reflection in the bathroom mirror, the silver strands still damp and darker than usual. Not the most handsome guy, definitely not the ugliest one tho.

T-shirt. Sweatpants. The soft worn-in kind that had seen better days.

He dropped onto his bed with a loud groan, not loud enough to wake anyone. The ceiling fan circled lazily overhead. His phone lay face-up on the pillow beside him, screen dark, waiting.

His mind wandered, as it often did at this hour, to the sewing room at school. The sunlight spilling through the high windows. The clatter of scissors on the table. And her—sitting across from him, brows furrowed in concentration, thread pulled taut between her fingers. He remembered the first time she’d walked in, clipboard in hand, asking about joining the club. He’d looked up from his half-finished sleeve, blinked once, and said, “You sew?”

She’d smiled. “I try.”

That was the first thread.

Soon after, they were trading fabric scraps and pattern tips. She showed him a hemming trick he still used. He taught her how to draft a collar without a template. They’d stay late, after the other members left, and talk about everything—what they wanted to make, what they wanted to become, what they wanted to forget. The projects sprawled across the table between them like quiet confessions.

He asked her out on a Wednesday.

Their first date was at a fabric store. Their second, at a café. Then again, again, again.

Now, lying in the dark, his chest felt warm just thinking about her.

A chime cut through the stillness. The phone lit up with her name.