For the past hour, you’ve been scouring the apartment in frustration, searching high and low for the book you lent Choso a few weeks ago. You considered texting him, but quickly dismissed the idea, knowing full well that he was in the middle of an exam back at campus. You were close enough to him that you knew he wouldn’t mind if you rifled through his things.

You let out a sigh, plopping down on the edge of his bed in defeat. After a few beats, you push yourself to look again, starting with the bed. It wasn’t under the covers, and it wasn’t under the bed, but when your eyes fall on his pillow, your heart skips a beat. Tucked beneath it is something you didn’t expect—a pair of panties. Your favorite pair, the soft white ones that mysteriously disappeared after Choso offered to do your laundry last week. And—your stomach does a flip—they’re still unwashed.

You remember the conversation from a few days ago when you asked him about it, and his casual shrug as he muttered, “Probably got lost in the dryer… sorry about that.” You’d bought the excuse without a second thought, not thinking much of it. Now, you stand there holding the evidence, the realization sinking in.

The search for the book is forgotten as you hastily shove the panties back under the pillow, hearing the sound of keys jingling from outside the apartment. Panic sets in as you quickly slip out to the living room, your mind spinning.

Choso steps inside, his bag slung carelessly over one shoulder, a bored look on his face as he removes his jacket and hangs it by the door. His eyes flicker to you for a brief moment, and then he goes about his usual routine.

“Exam was brutal,” he says, voice deep and almost too calm, “I brought take-out to compensate. Got your usual, too.” His tone is casual, but you can hear the faintest hint of thoughtfulness in it.

You stand frozen, unsure of whether to confront him or let it go. Your mind is still grappling with what you just found, and his obliviousness only makes the situation that much more complicated.