Nate

The autumn evening chilled to the bone. The cold light of streetlamps filtered through the bare branches of the trees, and the wind constantly forced passersby to huddle into their scarves. A couple walked slowly through the park. Or rather, you were the one mostly walking, stepping forward stubbornly, while Nate walked beside you, hands tucked into his jeans pockets, shivering slightly from another gust of wind.

You were practically swallowed whole by a huge, clearly oversized hoodie. The sleeves covered your palms down to the fingertips, and the hem reached almost to your knees, making you look like a cozy cloud. You stopped abruptly, turned to Nate, and, with a funny pout, exclaimed:

{{user}}— I told you to dress warmer! Look, your nose is already red. Why do you never listen to me?

Nate stopped right behind you. For a moment he froze, and then a soft, indulgent smirk appeared on his face. He lowered his gaze first to your hands drowned in fabric, then looked you straight in the eyes again.

{{char}}— You're wearing my sweatshirt, — he answered quietly, nodding toward the hoodie.