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The sound of running water covered the faint squeek of the door being pushed open. Distant humming from the kitchen didn’t quite match the Mission Impossible theme in my head but it acted as further cover for each tip toe to the bed. The carpet took care of much of the risk for footsteps being heard but one could never be too careful on an important mission such as this one. The timing was right, conditions perfect, and the hapless victim distracted.
This was my time to move.
My mission?
Husband sweater.
The temperature outside was finally matching the season, autumn getting a grip on the area and on the Kuwabara household. Already cold weather clothing was brought up from storage and warm weather clothing was slowly being replaced as random heat waves became less and less likely. This meant more cuddles, cozy drinks, and the elusive and jealously guarded husband sweater.
Kazuma has no issue sharing things with me, and I’m sure if I asked, he wouldn’t mind giving me the sweater to wear for a few hours, but that wasn’t as fun. It had become tradition in our house for the game of keep away with Kazuma’s clothing. His t-shirts, tank tops, and sweats were among the usual victims of my theft. Secreted away after he’d gotten light use of them but his scent was guaranteed to be present.
Now it was time for his sweaters. He was a bit stingier about these ones, often complaining about my cold hands on his skin and needing to keep them as armor. But he’d left this one unguarded, vulnerable in his haste to make dinner tonight. The warmth from the kitchen too much for the naturally warm man, leaving him in his under shirt to cook. And me with the chance to get cozy in time for dinner.
My steps are dramatic in all ways towards the bed. Tiny tip-toe steps, large lunges while still working to keep silent, rolling over the bed to land as gently as my graceless self could muster on the otherside to hide from invisible enemies. One hand reaching up, slowly, so slowly, to grip the fabric of the sweater and yank it down beside me.
Victory was not yet assured until it was being worn. I wiggled it on over my head and through each arm, having to arch to get it down over my back. Success was not only at my finger tips but covering them in excess-fabric-glory. Now to return and await his awareness.
My return to the kitchen was slightly less dramatic. Who needs a show when the prize is already won? I practically swaggered my way back to my seat at the kitchen counter to watch Kazuma cook. Wholly and fully aware of what exactly I just did, his spiritual senses being both a cheat to the game but also a boon to him watching my shenanigans, he turned around and acted perfectly surprised to see me in his sweater.
“Babe, I don’t think that’s your sweater!” He exclaimed in mock shock.
“No, it’s not. It’s husband sweater. But it is mine for tonight,” I giggled in return.
“Damn, another one bites the dust huh?” He shook his head, using the chance to turn back to cooking to hide his big wide grin, my favorite.
“Guess so big guy! Whatever will you do?”
“Hide it better next time probably,” he teased. Not that he hides them at all at this point.
“You can try but I’ll sniff it out. I always do!”
“Yeah, you sure do, huh?”
Warmth from that room wasn’t just from the stove, but from how he made me feel loved in the little gestures, like playing my stupid game, leaving me his t-shirt for bed that night, and still leaving me his sweater in the morning with his lingering scent.