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Momota’s jacket, when he wraps it around Saihara’s shoulders, is warm.
Saihara blinks up at him, startled. The warmth is the first thing he registers; after that, it’s the way Momota’s hands linger on his shoulders, just a touch longer than normal. His fingers curl around the lapels, tugging it close around Saihara’s frame before he lets his hands fall.
“Momota-kun?” Saihara’s voice cracks, a little, as heat fills his cheeks. Momota’s eyes meet his, then dart away, and he thinks he sees a hint of pink on Momota’s face, a matching blush, before Momota rubs the back of his neck.
“You said somethin’ about being cold,” Momota says, and yes, there’s definitely a flush on his cheeks, a slightly sheepish tilt to his grin. “Can’t have my sidekick getting sick, after all.”
It’s early in the morning, the sky a soft, blank grey above them, and there’s a late-autumn bite in the air, a chill that settles into Saihara’s bones. He had said something about it being cold, but he hadn’t expected Momota to stop in his tracks, his brow knitting a little as he shrugged off his signature purple jacket.
Which he’d then proceeded to drape over Saihara’s shoulders.
Up ahead on the sidewalk, Akamatsu slows, glancing back over her shoulder at them. “Come on, you two!” she calls, coming to a halt. “We’re going to be late!”
Beside her, Chabashira snorts. She tugs on Akamatsu’s hand, tossing a glare Saihara and Momota’s way. “Tenko thinks Kaede shouldn’t worry about whether degenerates are late for class,” she says, but it’s lighthearted. “Maki agrees, right?” she adds, leaning forward.
Harukawa frowns at her from Akamatsu’s other side, her fingers interlocked with Akamatsu’s as well. “I don’t care. As long as we get there on time.”
“My bad! We’re right behind you,” Momota says, waving a hand at them and taking a step forward. He turns, though, back to Saihara, who’s still standing there, arms wrapped around himself, holding the edges of the jacket.
“Are you sure about this?” Saihara blurts out, abruptly. “I mean, won’t you be cold?”
A grin pulls at Momota’s lips. “Nah, it’s no big deal,” he says. “I trust you to take care of my jacket for me.” Momota lets his gaze drop, giving Saihara a once-over. “Besides, you look good in that,” he adds, thoughtful.
Saihara’s grip on the jacket tightens, pulling it closer around himself. It’s still warm, he thinks, ducking his head to hide his blush beneath his hat. “Thank you,” he manages. His heart is pounding.
Momota laughs. “C’mon, Shuichi,” he says, briefly clapping Saihara’s shoulder before starting off after their friends. Saihara hurries to follow.
It’s a little odd, seeing Momota without his jacket. He seems at ease despite the chill, catching up to the three girls ahead of them and saying something that Saihara doesn’t quite catch. It causes Chabashira to punch his arm, and Momota yelps, rubbing the spot.
Affection blooms in Saihara’s heart, and he smiles, pressing a hand to his chest. For the rest of the day, he wears Momota’s jacket around his shoulders like a badge of his trust.
Somehow, it never loses its warmth.