𝐀𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧' |𝐭.𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐢

43- dates, dates, and dates!

He didn't lie. He just didn't say it.

So instead, he took another sip of his bitter coffee and gave you a half-hearted shrug.

"I just mean... some of us always saw you. Before all the noise. Before the headlines."

You swallowed. There it was again, that feeling. That ache behind your ribs like a puzzle piece that had been there once but now was missing, misplaced. Forgotten.

⸻

You headed back to your apartment, and you saw a folded note, taped a little crooked to your doorframe.

Your name was scrawled across the front in lazy, unmistakable handwriting.

"Meet me on the roof at *address* Tonight — k"

You stared for a moment.

Then you smiled, small and slow as warmth pushed against your chest. You remembered. your midnight rooftop talks with Keigo. And you remembered the last promise you made him, to choose a better rooftop next time you saw each other.

You slipped the note into your pocket. And flicked on the light inside your place, the air held the faint scent of lavender and something you couldn't name.

This was actually your first time coming back to your apartment since the war. You had been crashing over at Endeavor's house for this whole week, he insisted since Fuyumi always had warm meals for you and they had more than enough empty space in their home.

But you wanted privacy, you hadn't had practically in so long.

You walked slowly toward your closet to grab a fresh pair of clothes.

As you slid the closet doors open, you stood there for a long moment, eyes drifting across the familiar row of jackets, uniforms, and shirts. Your fingers moved absently along the hangers, one by one, until—

You froze.

There it was.

An oversized, dark hoodie hanging near the back, a little too big, a little too well-worn, the kind of thing that felt lived in. The sleeves were slightly stretched at the wrists, and the material was soft with time.

You didn't recognize it.

But your body did.

You reached for it slowly, heart beating unevenly as your fingers curled around the fabric and pulled it off the hanger. It was heavier than you expected.

And then the scent hit you.

Musky warmth. A trace of smoke. Something earthy and faintly electric. Not cologne, not detergent, something alive.

And everything in you stilled.

Your breath caught in your throat. The smell wasn't just familiar, it was intimate. It curled through your ribs like a memory trying to claw its way out.

You pressed the hoodie closer, unsure why your fingers trembled.

You closed your eyes.

And suddenly your senses betrayed you.

You felt it, arms around you from behind, strong and unsure. Fingers brushing over your hips, a low voice whispering into your shoulder. The scent clinging to your skin. The warmth of a body pressed against yours in the middle of the night.

A voice. Distant. Gentle. His?

You stumbled back slightly, heart racing as you clutched the hoodie to your chest like it might vanish if you let go.