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Taehyun was a man of logic. He liked things that made sense: a well-structured workout routine, the precise notes of a vocal run, and his wardrobe organized by color and season.
The logic failed, however, when it came to his favorite slate-gray hoodie. It had been missing for three days. It wasn't in the laundry, it wasn't behind the sofa, and it wasn't under his bed.
There was only one other place it could be. Or rather, one other person it could be on.
Taehyun pushed open the door to the kitchen, the scent of over-steeped tea hitting him immediately. There, standing by the counter and humming a song that wasn't even theirs, was Beomgyu. He was currently trying to reach a box of crackers on the top shelf, his movements hindered by the fact that he was drowning in fabric.
Slate-gray fabric.
"You’re going to trip," Taehyun said, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.
Beomgyu jumped, nearly taking the cracker box down on his head. He turned around, his face flushing a faint pink. The sleeves of the hoodie were so long they completely swallowed his hands, leaving only the tips of his fingers visible.
"Taehyun-ah! You scared me," Beomgyu chirped, attempting to look innocent. He tugged at the hem of the hoodie, which reached halfway down his thighs. "I didn't hear you come in."
"I can see why. Your ears are probably covered by that hood," Taehyun remarked, stepping closer. "That’s my hoodie, hyung."
Beomgyu looked down at himself as if noticing the garment for the first time. "Oh, this? I just... found it. On the chair. It looked lonely."
"It was in my closet. On a hanger," Taehyun corrected gently.
Beomgyu pouted, the ultimate defensive maneuver. He knew Taehyun’s logic was no match for a well-placed Choi Beomgyu pout. "It’s soft. And it smells like that fancy detergent you use. Mine all smell like... well, nothing."
Taehyun sighed, but the corners of his mouth were betraying him. He walked up to Beomgyu, closing the distance until they were mere inches apart. Beomgyu held his breath, his eyes widening slightly.
Instead of demanding the hoodie back, Taehyun reached out. He took Beomgyu’s right arm and began carefully rolling up the oversized sleeve.
"You’re going to get it in your tea," Taehyun muttered, his focus entirely on the task. "And then I’ll have to wash it, and it won’t smell like 'fancy detergent' anymore. It’ll smell like chamomile."
Beomgyu stood perfectly still, watching Taehyun’s nimble fingers work. The air in the kitchen suddenly felt a little warmer. "You're not mad?"
Taehyun moved to the left sleeve, his touch light against Beomgyu’s wrist. "I’m annoyed that I had to spend twenty minutes looking for it. But I’m not mad."
He finished the second sleeve, revealing Beomgyu’s hands. Taehyun didn’t let go immediately; he let his fingers linger on the fabric of the cuff. He looked up, catching Beomgyu’s gaze. The older boy looked soft—hair messy, eyes bright, and swallowed whole by Taehyun’s clothes.
"It looks better on you anyway," Taehyun admitted, his voice dropping to a quiet, honest register.
Beomgyu beamed, the kind of smile that could power a small city. He hopped up onto the counter, kicking his legs back and forth. "Does that mean I can keep it for the movie tonight?"
Taehyun rolled his eyes, but he was already walking toward the kettle to make himself a cup. "Only if you share your snacks. And only if you don’t 'accidentally' lose it in your room for another week."
"Deal!" Beomgyu cheered, flapping his newly freed hands.
Taehyun just shook his head, a small, fond smile tugging at his lips. He knew he’d never get that hoodie back. But seeing Beomgyu look that comfortable—and knowing it was his comfort Beomgyu was seeking—was a trade he was more than willing to make.