I glance up from my books, watching Kazuki curiously. It's rare he interrupts me when I'm studying, unless it's to point out what I've missed. But that's never done in this tone, and the way he's staring at me now, my throat goes oddly dry. It takes me a moment to answer, because I'm watching him and trying to make sense of what's going on, but I finally do. "Of course."
"Why sweaters?" His hand reaches out, plucking at the thick sweater I wear, and I shiver slightly, feeling the material graze over one of my nipples. Had he intended to do that? I can't tell, because he's getting up now to get a drink, and his back is to me. "It's already pretty warm in here," he continues, as though his touch hadn't been bothersome in the slightest. "Aren't you just torturing yourself?"
"Ah... no," I manage, but only after clearing my throat. He sort of looks back at me, but it's an odd way: not really looking at me as much as simply hinting that he's paying attention by turning slightly in my direction. I'm not sure what to make of that, so I shake my head, trying to clear it. Ever since he spent a week away, I've been second-guessing him. At the time, he'd said he needed to study for upcoming finals, but since then, everything's felt slightly off... slightly odd, like the feel of his thumb plucking at my nipple through the thick sweater. "I'm so thin, I get cold really easily. It's not fair to Kaneda if I keep it warm enough for me to be comfortable. Besides, I can always wear a little more."
"The sweaters you wear are so big, though. It always looks kinda like you're a kid hoping to grow that extra little bit soon," Kazuki laughs, and I flush darkly, looking down at my hands. He's right, when I think about it. Even now, the sleeves of the sweater come halfway down my palms, and I can feel the wide turtleneck snuggled against my jaw.
"I like them that way. Besides... I was told they look cute on me," I say, trying to be flippant and teasing. I'd smile, too, but he hasn't yet turned around.
"Who said that?" he asks, and somehow, the question sounds important, slightly emphasized. I stare at his back, trying to make sense of the conversation. Why does all this seem noteworthy? What does it matter whether I wear sweaters or tshirts? And most of all, why does the name still in my throat for a moment before coming out far softer than I ever intended.