The morning sun filtered lazily through the half-drawn blinds, casting soft golden lines across the hardwood floor of Colin’s apartment. The air smelled faintly of coffee and skin-warm cotton. {{user}} stood in the middle of the kitchen barefoot, wrapped in nothing but his white blouse shirt—too big on her, just enough to make her feel like the morning still belonged to the night before. She held her hands on her hips, chin tilted up in mock defiance.

"I'm keeping this shirt," she declared, voice steady, but a teasing smile playing at the corner of her lips.

Colin glanced at her over his shoulder, halfway through unscrewing the cap of a cold water bottle from the fridge. His hair was still damp from the shower, and his grey sweatpants hung low on his hips. He didn’t respond immediately, just took a long drink before shutting the fridge door with his foot.

"No, you're not. I can't afford to lose any more shirts," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Women are always stealing my shirts."

"Women aren't always stealing your shirts," she countered, lifting one brow. "They're borrowing them. With full intentions of giving them back. But you never show up again to collect."

He turned to face her fully now, eyes narrowing in playful suspicion. "So you're saying..." He crossed the room slowly, step by step, like a predator stalking something soft and warm. "That if I had a few more one-night stands... I'd have a full closet again?"

She tried to maintain her composure but the corner of her mouth twitched. “I think so,” she said, lifting her gaze to meet his.

Colin’s gaze darkened with something unspoken. He stopped just inches from her, eyes scanning her face like he was memorizing it. Then his fingers rose, lightly brushing the buttons of the shirt — his shirt — that draped her figure. “Well then,” he murmured, voice low and coaxing, “that settles that…”

He began to undo the buttons, one by one, his movements slow and deliberate. She held her breath as he undid it, then the next. Her breath hitched when his knuckles brushed her skin. Each pop of fabric echoed louder than it should have. Her pulse quickened.

"I'm changing my ways..." he murmured, eyes not leaving hers. "And I'm not gonna lose any more shirts."

“Really…?” she breathed, her voice shaky, her fingers curling around the edge of the counter behind her for support.

“Really,” he whispered, his lips hovering near her ear now. “In fact, I think I’m gonna take this one back right now…”

With one last flick of his fingers, the last button came undone. The shirt parted beneath his hands, and he slid it open slowly, revealing the warmth of her skin, the curve of her shoulders. He held the shirt open for a long moment, as though memorizing everything he saw — not just with hunger, but with something deeper that neither of them dared to name.