(Where something simple—a hoodie—becomes an anchor, a comfort, and a reminder that the smallest things often hold the deepest feelings.)
"Love doesn't always shout. Sometimes it smells like laundry detergent and still holds your warmth days later."
Sunday Morning
It was raining again.
Not the dramatic kind that pounded roofs and flooded gutters. The lazy kind. Like the sky didn't want to bother with a storm, but still felt the need to cry a little. The drops tapped gently at the windowpane in Viera's bedroom, steady and soft.
She lay curled up on her bed, buried beneath a sea of mismatched pillows and one oversized hoodie—the hoodie that definitely did not belong to her.
It was Kade's.
Black, worn, and slightly frayed around the sleeves. It still smelled like his shampoo—minty and plain, clean in a way that made her chest tighten.
She tugged the hood up over her head and let out a quiet sigh.
She hadn't planned to steal it.
She just… never gave it back.
Two Days Earlier
It had been cold.
Not the kind of cold that justified a parka or gloves—just the sort of wind that crept up your spine and whispered rude things. Viera had wrapped her arms around herself during lunch outside, rubbing her bare arms, pretending it didn't bother her.
Kade had noticed.
He always noticed.
Without a word, he shrugged out of his hoodie and dropped it over her head mid-conversation.
She'd squawked. "You trying to kill me?!"
"You looked cold," he said, deadpan.
"Ugh, it smells like you."
"Yeah. Tragic."
She'd made a dramatic show of gagging.
But she kept it on.
All afternoon.
All evening.
And then forgot to give it back.
Except she didn't forget.
Not really.
Now
The hoodie hung low on her frame, sleeves covering her hands completely. She held one to her face and inhaled deeply, her nose crinkling.
Still smelled like him.
Still warm.
She reached for her phone, flipped it open, and stared at their conversation thread. The last text was from him, last night.
"You okay?"
She hadn't replied.
But only because she didn't know how to say:
"I'm better when I'm wearing this stupid hoodie."
Instead, she texted:
"Still got your hoodie. It's officially mine now."
His reply came fast.
"That's a felony, just so you know."
She grinned.
"So arrest me. See what happens."
"Oh I will. You'll regret your crimes."
"Promise?"
"…Don't make me come over."
Thirty Minutes Later
He did.
Viera opened the door and immediately struck a pose in the hoodie, hands on hips, chin raised.
"I am unstoppable."
Kade raised an eyebrow. "You look like a five-year-old who snuck into their dad's closet."
"And I'm proud."
He stepped in, shoes squeaking on the hardwood. His own hoodie was gone. He wore a plain white T-shirt that clung to his chest in a way that was… distracting.
"You're not getting it back," she added, flopping onto the couch.
He sank down beside her. "Didn't ask."
"So you admit it's mine."
"I'm choosing to be the bigger person."
"I am the bigger person."
He glanced at her bare feet, toes tucked under the hem of the hoodie. "Debatable."
They sat in easy silence for a while. The kind of silence that only exists when you don't have to prove anything. Rain continued to paint quiet rhythms on the windows.
Kade leaned back, arms stretched along the couch.
"You ever think about how dumb it is?" he asked suddenly.
"What?"
"This. Us. How something so small… can make you feel not alone anymore."
She looked down at the fabric pooled in her lap.
"It's not dumb," she said. "It's warm."
His eyes slid to her.
And for a second, the air shifted.
No teasing.
Just… stillness.
She turned to him, and suddenly his face was closer than she remembered. Her breath caught.
Then—he booped her nose with the tip of his finger.
"Dork."
She blinked. "I was having a moment."
"And I ruined it. You're welcome."
Evening
They ended up curled under a blanket watching a movie neither of them cared about. Her feet were in his lap. His fingers lazily traced circles on her ankle.
"You're tickling me," she murmured.
"Am I?" He didn't stop.
She squirmed, just a little.
"Kade."
He looked at her with a smirk. "Fair's fair."
And then she yanked the blanket up over both of them and launched herself onto his chest, straddling him with all the force of a very tiny gremlin.
"War," she whispered.
"Oh no."
"Oh yes."
Her fingers went straight for his stomach, digging mercilessly into the soft spots she'd memorized. He twisted, wheezing, caught between laughter and betrayal.
"Mercy!"
"Never!"
When she finally stopped, he was flushed and panting, hair a mess, eyes bright.
"You're evil," he croaked.
"You like it."
"Maybe."
She leaned down, her face inches from his.
Then kissed his cheek. Just once.
Slow. Gentle.
Real.
Later That Night
As he stood at the door, slipping his shoes back on, he looked at her one last time.
"You really keeping it?" he asked, nodding to the hoodie.
She nodded, smug.
He smiled.
"Okay. But if you're stealing that… I'm taking something of yours too."
"Oh?" Her eyebrow lifted. "Like what?"
He stepped forward.
And kissed her—quick, soft, but undeniably real—on the lips.
Then he whispered:
"Your heart."
She stood frozen.
And whispered back:
"You had it a long time ago."
End of Chapter 24 – The Hoodie You Never Gave Back