Danny Russo knew, without a doubt, that he was doomed the second he opened the door to their apartment.

It was an ordinary day. Classes were over, the campus coffee shop had given him the wrong order (again), and all he wanted to do was collapse on the couch and binge some garbage TV before tackling his mountain of assignments.

But then, of course, Jake had to be sitting there.

Sprawled out across the couch like he had no bones, Jake was wearing Danny’s hoodie—not just any hoodie, but his absolute favorite one. It was oversized and soft and a little faded from too many washes, but it was his. And yet, there it was, hanging loosely off Jake’s frame like it belonged to him.

Danny knew for a fact that Jake had his own hoodies. At least ten. Hell, Danny had personally watched him buy two more last month.

And yet, somehow, it was always Danny’s hoodies that went missing.

“Seriously?” Danny sighed, kicking the door shut behind him. He set his keys on the kitchen counter and shot Jake a look.

Jake, the audacity-having thief, simply yawned and stretched—stretched, like some kind of lazy cat who had no concept of personal property.

Danny tried really, really hard not to look at the way Jake’s t-shirt rode up, revealing a solid inch of toned stomach before the hem of the hoodie fell back into place.

This was his literal nightmare.

Jake blinked up at him with zero shame, like he didn’t have a single thought in his head. “Oh, hey. You’re home early.”

Danny stared at him. “That’s my hoodie.”

Jake had the gall to look down at himself, as if he hadn’t noticed. “Oh. Yeah, I guess it is.”

“I guess it is?” Danny repeated, incredulous. “Dude. This is the fifth one.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. I counted.”

Jake made an exaggerated thinking face, like this information was news to him. Danny was not buying it. “Are you sure? Maybe you just have a lot of hoodies.”

“Oh my god, I know how many I own.”

Jake just grinned. “Then what’s one more?”

Danny considered throwing his entire backpack at him.

Instead, he stalked over to the couch, flopped into the armchair across from him, and glared. Glared hard. He shouldn’t care this much. He shouldn’t care at all. It was just a hoodie.

Except it wasn’t. It was his.

And also, it was Jake, which made everything infinitely worse.

Jake Carter, his best friend since they were fifteen. Jake Carter, who had been stealing his hoodies for years like it was a normal thing to do. Jake Carter, who had no idea that every single one of his actions made Danny’s life a thousand times harder.

Because, as much as Danny tried to ignore it, he was in love with him.

Painfully, annoyingly, and stupidly in love with him.

And had been for years.

Jake reached over to the coffee table and grabbed a handful of chips from the bag next to him. Danny’s bag of chips.

Danny watched him crunch through them, completely at ease, and tried to remember a time before Jake made his life absolute hell.

He came up with nothing.

“You’re eating my snacks,” Danny deadpanned.

Jake nodded. “Yup.”

“My hoodie. My snacks.”

Jake nodded again. “Mhm.”

Danny narrowed his eyes. “Are you even aware of what personal property is?”

Jake shrugged, grinning. “Yeah. It’s yours, and now it’s mine.”

Danny groaned and let his head thump against the back of the chair. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

No matter how annoying Jake was, no matter how many of Danny’s things he stole, Danny couldn’t stop loving him.

And he had tried.

For years, he had tried to shove his feelings into some dark, unreachable corner of his heart, pretend they didn’t exist, pretend he wasn’t in love with his very straight best friend.

He’d even told him once.

High school. Junior year. The worst mistake of Danny’s life.

Back when he still had hope, when he still thought maybe, just maybe, Jake might feel the same. He had worked up so much courage just to tell him. Had spent weeks rehearsing the words in his head.

And when he finally said it—when he finally confessed—Jake had stared at him for so long that Danny had wanted to sink into the earth and die.

Then, finally, Jake had said: “Uh… I’m flattered, bro.”

And that had been the end of it.

Jake never made it weird. He never rejected Danny outright. Just said he was flattered, like it was some casual thing, and then never brought it up again.

So Danny had learned to pretend.

To push it down. To move on.

Except he hadn’t. Not really.

Because how was he supposed to move on when Jake did shit like this?

Like stealing his hoodies.

Or eating his snacks.

Or falling asleep in his bed on random nights because, “it’s more comfortable, bro.”

Or getting weirdly moody whenever Danny flirted with someone.

Or—

Danny snapped himself out of it, forcing himself back to reality. He wasn’t doing this again.

Jake was just being Jake. And Danny was just being an idiot.

“So,” Jake said, finishing off the last of Danny’s chips. “How was your day?”

“Terrible, thanks for asking.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jake grinned, leaning back into the couch. “Wanna tell me about it?”

Danny sighed, rubbing his face. “They messed up my coffee again.”

Jake gasped in mock horror. “The horror.”

“You joke, but this is the third time this week.”

“I mean, at this point, I think it’s a you problem.”

Danny shot him a flat look. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am! I’m also just saying maybe you should order something less complicated.”

“It’s literally an iced latte.”

Jake shrugged. “See? Too fancy.”

Danny groaned dramatically, slumping deeper into the chair. “Why do I even talk to you?”

“Because I’m your best friend, and you love me.”

Danny choked.

Jake said it so easily—casual, teasing, completely oblivious to the way it made Danny’s brain short-circuit.

And the worst part? He wasn’t wrong.

Danny forced a laugh, ignored the way his chest ached, and said, “Unfortunately.”

Jake grinned, smug as ever. “Sucks to be you.”

Yeah, Danny thought bitterly. It really, really does.