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Jongseob's stolen many things from Jiung. Parts in songs. Leftovers. Keeho's attention. Trapped on the sagging living room couch, Jongseob can swear only one thing. He's never stolen Jiung's clothes, and no amount of Jiung's pacing will change that.
Jiung's stride drills holes in the wooden floor. He scrolls through his gallery. Peeks at the coffee table, squints. Scrolls again.
The coffee table, home of the supposed stolen goods. Draped over it: a navy hoodie, worn-out and bleached.
Jongseob tries again, his jaw tight. "Jiung."
Jiung doesn't stop pacing. Right, stop, turn. Left, stop, turn. With every pivot, his slippers squeak against the parquet.
Jongseob drops his shoulder and lets his face go slack. "Come on, this can't be that serious."
Jiung points an accusatory finger at him in response. "You have the right to remain silent."
Jongseob groans. He turns to Theo, eating ramyeon by the fridge, for help. Theo eats his noodles without a care, happily uninvolved.
The hoodie lies between them, faded lettering visible from Jongseob's spot on the couch. BELEAF IT, in a Naruto-esque font. Mocking him. Jongseob resists the urge to turn it over. Or, better yet, knock it off the table.
Jiung's circling comes to a stop. "Aha!"
He jabs the phone at Jongseob's face. "What'd I tell you?"
The screen comes into focus. Jiung from three or so years ago stares back at him. Wearing the stupid, cursed, navy BELEAF IT hoodie.
"I..." Jongseob mutters. "I can explain this."
"Mmm-hmm," Jiung teases. "I can, too: you. are. a. thief."
From the other side of the room, Theo holds up his phone. The Ace Attorney OBJECTION! blares through the speaker. He doesn't even look up from his noodles.
"There's something you're not considering." Theo points his chopsticks at Jiung.
Jiung doesn't look at him. "Impossible."
"If Jongseob stole this hoodie—" he points his chopsticks at Jongseob, "—and the last time you wore it was years ago—" back to Jiung, "—wouldn't you have known by now?"
Jongseob's heart stutters. Jiung tilts his head, screws up his eyes at the ceiling. One second. Two.
Then, he snaps his fingers. "He hid it. Thought I'd forget."
Jongseob drags his hands over his face. A sound escapes him, something between a sigh, a sob, and a groan. He leaves his hands pressed to his cheeks.
"So," he reasons. "Instead of, I don't know, buying a hoodie myself... I waited years to wear this one?"
Jiung flicks his wrist this way and that, as if shooing a pigeon. "No, no, I know what you're doing. You're trying to gaslight—"
The front door jingles open, interrupting Jiung's defense. Intak stumbles over the doorframe, convenience store bags swinging wildly. Keeho follows close behind. "Hello~", he sings, and abandons his own bags in Intak's arms. Shota kicks the door closed, which Keeho locks behind him.
Shota joins Intak at the kitchen island. He dumps the contents of the bags, the snacks piled up over each other. He cranes his neck and sweeps the room.
His gaze lands on Jiung. Then Jongseob. Then the hoodie on the coffee table.
Jongseob gives him a look. Don't you dare.
Shota snorts. Then coughs. Then chokes—a wet, hacking sound that has Intak slapping him on the back with increasing concern.
Jongseob tips his head back and counts to five. Later. I'll kill him later.
"Keeho!" Jiung snaps his fingers. "Come here. Now."
Keeho waltzes over. He slurs a honey-smooth "Yes, Jiung?"
Jiung points at the hoodie. "This is mine, right?"
Keeho squints at it. Tilts his head. Then nods. "Yup."
"Told ya." Jiung's eyes slide over to Jongseob, narrow and satisfied. "You stole from me."
"From you?" Keeho's face scrunches. He waves a hand between them. "You gave this to me. Like... three years ago."
A beat of silence. Then, three voices overlap:
"Huh?" from Theo.
"What?" from Jongseob.
"Eh?!" from Jiung.
Jiung blinks. "Did I?"
"Yeah," Keeho says, like it's obvious.
"So... Jongseob stole..." Jiung's gaze shifts to Keeho. "From you?"
Keeho's head snaps toward Jongseob so fast, it's a miracle it doesn't break. "You did what?"
"I didn't!" Jongseob throws his hands up.
Theo throws out his empty ramyeon cup and says, "You were wearing it."
Jongseob twists around to glare at him. "You're meant to be on my side!"
Theo raises an eyebrow. "I made no such claims."
Intak returns from the kitchen, two bowls of snacks balanced precariously in his hands. He's halfway around the coffee table when his elbow catches the edge of a lamp, his foot catches a stray shoe, and the bowls go flying.
He catches them. Barely. But in the process, his hand grabs a fistful of the hoodie's navy fabric to steady himself.
He freezes. Stares at the letters in his grip. BELEAF IT.
"I know this hoodie." He says it slowly, his brow furrowed.
Theo walks over, plops himself down on an armchair. "The plot thickens."
"Shota was wearing this." His eyes widen. "Last night. When we went out to eat. Jongseob and me and..." He gasps. "Shota."
All heads turn. Shota sprawls on the far end of the couch, feet up, thumbs flying across the screen of his phone. He doesn't look up at the attention. Doesn't even flinch.
"Shota," Jiung says, dangerously flat.
Shota's thumb pauses. He lifts his gaze, like he knows exactly what's coming. "What?"
"You're the thief?"
Shota blinks. Once, twice. "No?"
"Then why were you wearing my—" Jiung catches himself, "—Keeho's—hoodie?"
"I was?"
"Wait." Keeho's hands shoot out, like he's physically stopping traffic. "Wait wait wait. I remember now."
He snaps his fingers. Points at Shota. "I gave you this. A month ago. You were cold, didn't have a jacket, and I said—"
"You said I could keep it," Shota finishes for him.
Jiung's head swivels back to Jongseob. "I knew it. You are a thief!"
"But..." Theo starts. He holds up a finger. "If Shota was wearing this last night... how did Jongseob steal it?"
"I didn't steal it!" Jongseob's voice cracks.
"SHOTA."
Shota's head snaps up again, phone clattering against his chest. "Ohmygosh, what?!"
"Did you give Jongseob this hoodie?"
Shota's eyes track from the hoodie to Jongseob's face. Pause. Move to Jiung, pause again.
He gives a slow, deliberate one-shoulder shrug. Sucks in a breath through his teeth.
"Um... maybe?"
Jongseob closes his eyes. Updates his mental todo list: Shota: die. Shota: die again. Shota: revive so I can kill him a third time.
"I don't remember doing it," Shota says. He stares at the hoodie, as though it might move.
"Then it's settled." Jiung's voice rings with triumph. "Kim Jongseob is a thief."
Behind him, Theo's phone blares with the Ace Attorney GUILTY sound. He holds it above his head, like he's presenting evidence to a court.
"Hold on." Intak jabs a finger at the hoodie. "How exactly did he steal it? He doesn't have a key to our apartment."
"No key." Keeho frowns. "But no sign of a break-in, either."
"Then there's only one explanation." Jiung's voice goes low, dramatic. "Shota let him in."
Intak turns to Shota. "But why?"
Shota shifts on the couch. Grabs his phone again, suddenly interested in his home screen.
"To hang out," Shota mutters. Then, louder, defensive: "But I had nothing to do with the stealing."
"That's it?" Jiung presses.
"Yeah."
Keeho crosses his arms. "Uh-huh. You just hung out, in your room."
"In the middle of the night," Jiung adds.
"Alone," Intak finishes. His expression goes from confusion to something else, something knowing.
Theo's phone blares one damning sound: Ace Attorney BANG.
Shota's ears go red.
Jongseob claps his hands together, sharp enough to cut through the silence. Heat crawls up his neck. He's on his feet, weaving past Keeho, past Jiung.
"You caught me. I'm a thief! A criminal. A crook."
Without looking, he grabs his wallet from the kitchen island. Then, he snatches his keys from the hook by the door.
"In fact, to pay for my actions, I'll buy drinks for everyone!" He yanks the door open. "Shota! Come on!"
Shota's off the couch before anyone can stop him, vaulting over the armrest, phone already pocketed. "Yessir!"
Behind them, a chorus of protests: "Wait, what—" from Intak, "you can't just—" from Jiung, "Jongseob, get back here!" from Keeho.
Then, the door shuts behind them. Finally, silence.
Jongseob leans against the door, heart pounding, face on fire. Shota grins at him, lopsided, unbearably fond.
"I stole it, huh?" Jongseob pushes off the door.
"You did look good in it." Shota bumps his shoulder against Jongseob's.
"I'm so gonna kill you."
Shota laughs, taps Jongseob's chest, and starts down the hall. "Come on, thief."
Jongseob lets himself watch for a second, then follows.