Brett
The Titans hoodie had been sitting on the end of my bed for almost twenty-four hours, and somehow it had managed to take over the entire room.
Every time I walked past it, I noticed something different: the cracked lettering across the front, the stretched cuffs, the faint vanilla scent that still clung to the fabric. It was ridiculous. The sweatshirt had belonged to me before Cassie claimed it freshman year, and now it belonged to me again. That should have been the end of it.
Instead, it looked wrong folded on my bed.
I picked it up that morning and considered putting it in the dresser, but the idea bothered me. Hanging it beside my other Titans gear felt worse. Cassie had worn it for years. She pulled the sleeves over her hands when she was cold, slept in it during late-night
