#laundry fluff

Satoru watches you from the couch, chin propped on his hand, those beautiful, pale eyes tracking your movements with lazy interest. He's not actually learning. You're ninety percent sure he's just enjoying the view.

"Like this?" he repeats when you finished.

He picks up your favorite hoodie — the soft gray one with the worn cuffs, the one you sleep in when he's not there to steal warmth from — and crumples it into a ball. Actually crumples it. Then he tosses it onto the growing pile of "folded" clothes with a flourish.

You stare at him. Eyes half-lidded, unimpressed.

He smiles, all teeth, utterly unrepentant.

"Hopeless," you mutter, but you're already crossing the room, snatching the hoodie back, shaking it out with more force than necessary. "Absolutely hopeless. I don't know why I bother."

"Because you love me," he says, sing-song, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt rides up, bare strip of stomach, and he knows exactly what he's doing. He always knows.

You don't dignify that with a response. Just keep folding, methodical, determined, while he watches you with that heavy-lidded gaze that makes her fingers fumble the seams.

Later, you find him in the kitchen.

He's wearing the hoodie.

Your hoodie. The one you just folded, the soft gray one, and it looks ridiculous on him. Too small across his shoulders, sleeves barely reaching his wrists, hem riding up to expose a sliver of pale hip. He's barefoot on your shared linoleum, eating cereal straight from the box, looking down at her from his ridiculous height with the most pleased expression you've ever seen on a human being.

"That's mine," you say, flat.

"Is it?" Satoru crunches thoughtfully, not even pretending to check the label. "Feels like mine now."

"You stole it."

"Borrowed," he corrects, magnanimous. "I'm very cozy. You should feel how cozy I am."

You should not. You absolutely should not.

You do anyway.

You climb onto the counter beside him — he makes room automatically, hand settling on your waist to steady you — and fits you into the circle of his arms. The hoodie smells like your detergent and him, some combination of soap and something distinctly Satoru, warm and overwhelming. You press your face into the collar and breathes deep.

"You're still hopeless," you mumble against fabric.

"Mm." His hand cards through your hair, slow and deliberate. "But I'm your hopeless."

You don't have the heart to ask for the hoodie back. Not when he's warm like this, not when you can feel his heartbeat through the thin cotton, not when he tilts your chin up and kisses you with cereal-sweet lips and says, soft against your mouth, "Yours looks better on me anyway."

"Thief," you whisper.

"Yours," he agrees, and steals another kiss.

A/N. i'm only gonna write drabbles so far for the series, but don't worry!! i'll spoil you all soon... ♡