Phoenix’s eyes never leave me as we right ourselves, and once he’s completely redressed, he digs through his bag until he pulls out a Leighton Baseball hoodie. “Here,” he says, holding it out for me to take. My throat constricts as I shrug into it, becoming enveloped in his scent, and God, if it doesn’t do something strange to my heart. It feels like he has his fist wrapped around it, and every time I catch sight of a new or innocent piece of him, he squeezes it a little harder. Claims it a little bit more.
