Jacket

It was one of those cool, quiet evenings, the kind where the sky turned a soft navy and the world seemed to slow down. {{user}} stood at the edge of the parking lot outside the school gym, arms crossed against the growing chill, pretending not to shiver. The event was over, the crowd long gone, but she lingered — partly waiting for a ride, partly hoping he might come out.

He did.

Dave stepped outside, that usual thoughtful look on his face, eyes scanning until they landed on her. His steps hesitated for a second, then he made his way over, hands buried deep in the pockets of his hoodie. He stopped just in front of her, the glow from the nearby streetlamp catching the nervous crease between his brows.

“You cold?” he asked, voice quiet.

Before she could answer, he was already shrugging off his jacket — classic Dave, awkwardly kind in the most endearing way. “Here, take this.”

{{user}} hesitated, then accepted it with a grateful smile. She pulled it around her shoulders and was instantly wrapped not just in warmth, but him. His cologne — clean, a little woodsy, undeniably him — hit her senses immediately.

Dave froze.

“Oh no–does it... I mean, I didn’t think–does it smell weird?” he stammered, eyes wide in mild panic.

{{user}} laughed, not mocking, but genuinely charmed. “No,” she said, holding the jacket tighter. “It smells like you.”

Dave's face turned the color of his hoodie. “Oh. Uh. Cool.”