Adrian's POV
The storm had quieted by morning, but its echo still lingered in my chest. I stood by the counter, mug warm in my hand, watching Amara stir on the couch. Her hair was mussed from sleep, strands falling across her face, and my hoodie hung loosely on her, swallowing her frame.
I shouldn't have noticed. Not like that. But I did.
She blinked awake, confusion flickering first before memory caught up. The way her cheeks flushed when she looked at me...like she remembered everything...made my grip tighten on the mug.
She thanked me. Simple, quiet. I nodded, like it was nothing. But it wasn't nothing.
She wore my hoodie as we left, tugging it tighter against the drizzle. Every time the sleeves slipped past her hands, something inside me clenched. People noticed. Of course they did. A few passing glances in the hallway, whispers not loud enough to catch, but obvious.
I told myself it didn't matter. That it was just clothes, just convenience. But when she stepped into class, sliding into her seat while Emily spotted her, I knew I was lying to myself.
Emily's expression said everything...eyes darting to the hoodie, then to me, then back to Amara. She knew. Or thought she knew.
I sat two rows behind, pen in hand, eyes fixed on my notes. I didn't look at her. Couldn't. But I felt it anyway....the awareness of her across the room. The way she tugged at the sleeves when nervous, the way the hood framed her face when she leaned down. She looked… comfortable. Like she belonged in it.
And that bothered me more than it should.
Because the truth was, I didn't know what I wanted. I hadn't meant to care about the storm. Hadn't meant to give her my hoodie. Hadn't meant to let her stay the night. But each decision, small and practical, had stacked until suddenly she was there...in my space, in my clothes, in my thoughts.
Why her? Why now?
I forced myself to focus on Harding's lecture, scrawling notes I wouldn't remember. My friends whispered behind me, and I caught fragments...Luke's laugh, Damian muttering something about "hoodie season." I ignored them, jaw tight, because the last thing I wanted was their commentary added to the mess already in my head.
When class ended, I stayed in my seat longer than necessary, letting the crowd file out. Amara left with Emily, her laughter faint as it drifted back. My eyes followed them until they disappeared through the door, and only then did I breathe out, slow and sharp.
The weight of a hoodie. Ridiculous. But it sat on me heavier than I cared to admit.
Amara's POV
By the time Emily and I reached our dorm, the drizzle had slowed to a mist. The hoodie was still warm against me, carrying the faint scent of Adrian's laundry detergent...clean, understated, unmistakably his. I should've taken it off the moment we walked in, but I didn't.
Emily closed the door behind us, arms folded, eyes gleaming with unrestrained curiosity. I braced myself.
"Okay," she said, dragging the word out, "explain. Right now."
I tried for innocence, setting my books on the desk. "Explain what?"
She pointed directly at the hoodie. "That."
I looked down at myself, pretending confusion, though my pulse thudded hard. "It's just a hoodie."
Emily arched an eyebrow. "A hoodie that isn't yours. A hoodie that belongs to a certain quiet, broody someone who just so happened to walk in with you this morning."
Heat rushed to my cheeks. "It's not like that. It was raining, I didn't have anything dry. He offered."
She gasped theatrically. "He offered? Adrian offered? The same Adrian who can barely form sentences around people?"
I grabbed a pillow from my bed and threw it at her. She caught it, laughing, then perched on the edge of my mattress, eyes still sharp. "Spill, Amara. What happened?"
I hesitated, then sighed. There was no escaping her. "I stayed at the library too late. The storm started, and I… panicked. He was there, apparently the whole time. He helped me get out and took me to his dorm because it was closer. That's all."
Emily's jaw dropped. "You stayed at his dorm? Overnight?"
"Yes, but not like that!" My voice rose, defensive. "I slept on the couch. He gave me a blanket, and we just… talked a little."
Emily tilted her head, smile knowing. "And the hoodie?"
I tugged at the hem nervously. "Mine was soaked. He lent it to me."
For a moment, she studied me in silence. Then her smile softened. "You like him."
The words landed heavier than I expected. My chest tightened, my stomach flipped, and all I could do was look down at the oversized sleeves covering my hands.
"I don't know what I feel," I murmured. "He's… complicated. Half the time he barely speaks. I can't tell what he's thinking. And yet…" My voice trailed off.
"And yet," Emily finished, "he gave you his hoodie. He let you stay. He doesn't do that for just anyone."
I thought back to his expression that morning...the way his eyes flicked to me and then away too quickly, the way he didn't argue when I thanked him. He'd been unreadable as always, but there was something beneath it. A flicker. A shadow.
Still, doubt gnawed at me. "Maybe it meant nothing to him. Maybe it was just practical."
Emily smirked. "Maybe. But you don't look very practical right now, sitting there drowning in his clothes."
I groaned, burying my face in my hands, but laughter bubbled beneath the embarrassment. She wasn't wrong. The hoodie was warm, yes...but it was also something more. A reminder of the storm, of his quiet steadiness, of the way his hand had pulled me forward when thunder froze me in place.
As the evening light slanted across the dorm, I leaned back against my bed, lost in thought. Emily eventually turned to her notes, humming under her breath, but I couldn't focus. My mind replayed every moment, every glance, every silence.
And when I finally lay down that night, the hoodie still wrapped around me, I couldn't help wondering: was it really just the storm that had brought us together?...