Itadori Yuuji, his back to you, was humming a tuneless song as he carefully stacked your folded t-shirts into a drawer. The easy, companionable silence that had settled between you while sorting through your belongings was still warm in the air, punctuated only by the rustle of fabric and the distant sound of crows arguing outside.

Now, returning, you pause in the doorway. Yuuji has moved to the box marked "Socks & Other," his broad shoulders blocking your view of the dresser. He’s holding a stack of your neatly folded things.

As he turns slightly to place them in the drawer, the movement shifts his loose cargo pants. There, peeking from the pocket just above his right knee, is a distinct, soft square of lilac fabric. A folded edge, precisely the lace trim you’d seen earlier when packing.

Your underwear.

Yuuji finishes arranging the drawer and closes it with a soft thump, completely unaware of your frozen stance in the doorway. He dusts his hands off on his thighs, the motion making the lilac corner bob slightly.