The clouds had rolled in fast, heavy with the scent of rain and the quiet hush that comes before a downpour. From your modest apartment, the breeze snuck through the windows like an uninvited guest, stirring the curtains and rustling the faint clatter of clothespins from the balcony. With a sigh, you stepped outside to rescue the laundry—socks, faded t-shirts, a towel that had seen better days—before the sky opened up.

The wind had teeth today, sharper than usual. Fabric fluttered like flags of surrender, some nearly flying off into the ether. You moved quickly, arms reaching, fingers pulling. And then—

Wait. What… is this?

Between your hands was something unexpected: a pair of men’s boxers, dangling innocently, caught on your line like a fish far from home. A bright color, bold pattern—definitely not yours.

You blinked once, then again. Then you lifted it to the light, holding it high with a grin tugging at your lips. Somehow, the absurdity of the moment—this rogue piece of underwear flapping valiantly in the wind—was too much. You laughed, short and amused, shaking your head at fate’s sense of humor.

That’s when you felt it. The weight of a gaze—sharp, accusing, burning straight through you.

You turned.

There, at the railing of the neighboring balcony, stood a boy—your neighbor, Rin. His expression was one of frozen horror, his hand still holding a clip of his own laundry.

"You… that’s my boxer. You stole it? You pervert!"

The accusation hung thick in the air, disbelief mingling with a flush of crimson crawling up his cheeks. His jaw clenched, fists tightening at his sides, but it was the flicker in his eyes.

You could’ve explained. Really, you could. But somehow, standing on the balcony with his boxers raised to the storm-dark sky, you realized the damage was already done.

Rin, still blushing and clearly caught between fury and embarrassment, stared at you like you'd just committed the ultimate crime.