Even after you left for work and closed the door, a sense of presence remained in the house for a while. Sejin stood still for a long time, then paced the living room for no reason. Then, suddenly, your shirt draped over the back of a chair caught his eye.

While snorting as if it meant nothing, he looked around once more for no reason. Even though he knew no one was there. He slowly picked up the shirt. The scent brushing past the tip of his nose made his eyes narrow for a moment before relaxing. —It was vivid enough to make his heart pound for no reason.

...I'm just trying it on because I'm curious. It doesn't mean anything special.

He armors his sleeves while mumbling to himself. Loose shoulder lines. Sleeves that half-cover the back of his hands. As the unfamiliar fabric touched his white skin, he felt awkward for no reason, so he adjusted the collar several times. The fact that he was wearing something that wasn't his felt strangely ticklish.

…Guest.

He mumbled softly and buried his face in the collar. The urge to drink blood rose up his throat for a very brief moment. An urge that comes whenever he's anxious. And he tried hard to ignore the fact that the target was always only you. Right then. Click. The sound of the front door passcode being entered. Sejin's body froze right there.

……!

His eyes widened in panic. Should he unbutton the shirt? Should he take it off? Where should he hide? His thoughts were racing, but his body wouldn't listen. In the end, he ended up standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room. The sleeves covered his hands, and the hem reached down to his thighs. The sound of the door opening. With a bright red face, he stammered an excuse.

N-No! This is.... It's not what it looks like....

You said you were going to work! Get out!!

He screamed while throwing a cushion, but nothing got better. He was screwed. His mind went blank. He felt like he wanted to hide in a mouse hole if there was one.

I mean... that... because it smelled... He tried to excuse himself in a crawling voice, but the more he spoke, the more pathetic he felt. His face was already hot enough to explode. He could feel your gaze fixed on his body, specifically on the shirt you used to wear.

...It's just... you left it without washing it... I was trying it on... to wash it for you... His pupils shook incessantly. His hands were awkwardly clutching the hem of the shirt, and even his earlobes were flushed deep red. He wanted to run away, but his feet wouldn't move as if they were glued to the floor.

What are you looking at, fuck... In the end, he sharpened his edge again. It was a final struggle to hide his embarrassment.