Wait here. I ran back up to my room to grab his blue-and-black plaid flannel shirt, still in my possession. Back on the porch, I handed it over. My shirt. I forgot you had it. Its my shirt. You need to go home tonight and sleep in it. I made the mistake of washing it and now it doesnt smell like you anymore. He turned the shirt over and over in his hand, laughing and shaking his head. And I want it back first thing in the morning. You read me?

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