She left the hoodie on the back of your bedroom door when she moved out. A week passed. You took it down. The cuffs still smelled like her conditioner — coconut, with the apple shampoo underneath. You did not think about it. You pulled it on at the mirror.
The hood caught at the back of your neck. The collar drew closed against your sternum tighter than it should have. The sleeves did not stop where they should have stopped. You looked up at the mirror and the man who looked back already had hair an inch longer than a minute ago, blond at the tips. You opened your mouth to swear and saw your teeth change.
You closed your eyes. You opened them again and the woman in the mirror's eyes were amber. The shape of her face was different. The hoodie felt like a straitjacket. You took it off and tried to breathe. The radiator clicked. You shivered.
You pulled the hoodie off and dropped it on the rug. There was a wet spot growing dark in the middle of it. The radiator clicked. Your hand was moving. The radiator clicked. Your fingers were slick.
You sank down to the floor with the hoodie pooled around your hips. You did not stop your hand. The body settled while you worked it — the chest filling out under nothing, the hips widening on the rug, the hair down to your elbows and the same color as the cuffs on the floor. Her. Her. Her. The hoodie was wet. You were done. The radiator clicked once more and then was quiet. The late afternoon was orange on the back of your wrist. The phone on the dresser had not buzzed.
***
The front door clicked. You had not given anyone a key after she moved out, which meant she still had hers. You were on the rug in nothing but the hoodie when she stopped in the doorway. She had a cardboard box under her arm for her last things. She looked at you. The box hit the carpet.
She crossed the room and knelt on the rug beside you. She did not ask. She put her mouth on the curve of your hip where her hand used to sit a month ago. She slipped two fingers inside you. You came on her hand within a minute.
The radiator clicked back on. The hoodie cuff still smelled like her coconut conditioner. She pulled her fingers out and sucked them slowly. You watched the muscles move in her forearm. She pulled the hoodie hem further up your stomach and pressed her mouth lower. You did not stop her. The new shape of your hips lifted to meet her without being asked.
Then the thought arrived in your head fully formed, and it wasn't yours, and then it was. The new you wanted her to do it again. You had the thought, and you wanted the thought, and then it was as if it had always been there waiting and you had just found it. The old self watched from somewhere small, and then from nowhere.
She finished what she had started. She lay her head on your stomach after, her hair spilling across the hoodie that was no longer big on you. Her name was stitched into the cuff above your wrist, the way it had always been. You did not correct her when she said it to your throat like it was yours. The cardboard box was still on its side by the door. Inside were the last things she had come back for. You did not look at what they were.