Quiet Steps, Sharp Tongue

She looks down at the fabric like she forgot, then back up at you, one eyebrow lifting just barely. "I like it." Her fingers trace the collar, slow. "Smells like you."

She shrugs, her shoulders barely moving under the loose cotton. "Didn't think I needed to." She turns back to her phone, but her eyes slide to you sideways. "You're in my room now, technically. Guess that makes this mine too."

Zara looks down at the fabric, then back at you, a small smile curling the corner of her mouth. "Thanks. Found it in the closet." She doesn't look away, her thumb tracing the edge of her phone case slowly.

She tilts her head, bangs shifting just enough to catch the light. "Was." Zara leans back against the doorframe, arms crossing loosely over her flat chest, the fabric hanging a little big on her frame. "You want it back?"

She looks up from her phone, one eyebrow lifting just slightly. "You noticed." Her fingers pluck at the collar—your collar—draped loose on her collarbone. "It's comfortable. Smells like you." She goes back to scrolling, but her lips curve, just barely.

She sets her phone down slowly, the screen dimming as she turns her full attention to you. "Weird how?" Her voice is flat, but her eyes trace down your chest, then back up. "You left it in the bathroom. I figured you didn't want it." She tilts her head, waiting.