It was a gift.

Haphazardly thrown against the back of his wooden desk chair, the red varsity jacket lay. It was an odd piece of decoration for his otherwise empty room, but it remained — a constant: dark, wrinkled, and slightly dusty, a silent reminder of things left unsaid.

Jackets of this type weren’t usually his style. He was more of a hoodie kind of guy, where he didn’t have to worry about whatever he put under it (if he even chose to do that), and where he could use the hood to obscure himself from the world around him.

So, this jacket, with its lack of a hood, open front, and bright color, was a lot different than what he would usually wear. It was one he never would have bought himself, one he probably would’ve thrown out, and one that definitely wasn’t his proper size.

But… it was a gift.

“Hey, take this,” she had said one chilly afternoon, draping her red jacket over his shoulders. “I don’t understand how you never manage to dress for the right weather!”

She wasn’t wrong. The second the jacket was draped around his shoulders, as soon as she helped his arms into the slightly too-small sleeves, he was engulfed in warmth. Warmth from the thicker cotton fabric, remnants of warmth that was hers, and a warmth he couldn’t name — one too fond, too new, and so wonderful.

She fiddled with the lapel of his jacket, closing the small, circular buttons. When she was done, she smiled at him in the same caring way that she always had, looking at him as if he was the whole world, as her hands lingered against his collar for a second too long.

“…Whatever,” he’d mumbled, in his typical “above-it-all” attitude, but he hadn’t taken it off. That was her — persistent in her own quiet way, always wanting the best for him. At his words, she giggled, her laughter lingering in the air, filling the area around him with the warmth he didn’t know he craved.

It was a gift.

That was ages ago. He had tried to return it the next time he saw her. In fact, he had always carried it around, using it as an excuse to see her again. But she shook her head, even when he practically thrust the jacket into her arms, insisting that he keep it.

He hadn’t expected to wear it after that — especially not nearly every day. Each time he put it on, he told himself it was just because it was practical for the cool autumn days that were stretching into winter.

It totally wasn’t because, to him, the truth of this jacket was so much more than that. It was a reminder of her. Of the way she laughed, the way her fingers always smoothed his collar down, and the way her hand brushed his when she eventually had to pull away.

She was gone now, but the jacket remained.

He sighed as he sat up in his bed, automatically reaching for the jacket from its place on the chair. The weight of it settled on his shoulders, heavy like her absence and all the things he had to leave behind.

He always thought it carried a faint scent of her perfume. Or maybe that was his imagination, filling in the gaps that time had caused to fade.

“Hey,” he’d said back then, when it was just the two of them. The air had grown colder, and his breath caused a warm fog to rise into the air.

“Yeah?” she asked, her eyes twinkling. She stopped where she was stepping ahead of him, her own pink jacket hung loosely from where her arms were stretched out by her sides.

The jacket sat snug on his shoulders. It clung to him like glue — a bit too tight, a bit too much.

“Why don’t you want it back?” he asked. He reached forward, his hand extended between them. The motion caused one of the too-small jacket’s buttons to pop open, but he didn’t move, instead allowing his hand to hover in the space between them.

She didn’t immediately respond, instead smiling that all-knowing smile of hers. Instead, she leaned to the side, and instead of taking his hand, tugged on his sleeve so that he stepped closer to her.

“Well….” she lingered, reaching up and closing the button that had popped open. She stepped back to admire him with a proud smile on her face. “I love it on you.”

Her approval was a warm glow — subtle comfort he hadn’t known he craved. He had never cared about his clothes, opting for whatever was the bare minimum. But that day, with that confession, this jacket had changed into something more — it was her touch, her laugh, her smile.

But that was years ago, before life pulled them apart. Before she moved to a different city with the promise of keeping in touch and when hangouts became less frequent, until they stopped completely. Life happened, just like it always does, and the jacket became another random item in his room, gathering dust.

Feeling a million miles away, the jacket was all he had left of her. He wore it because it was the only thing that felt right, the only thing that made sense. Each time he pulled it on, it was like he still had some sort of connection to her — keeping her with him in the only way he knew how outside of a few fleeting text messages.

The fabric was thin and worn now, fraying from too much use. The cuffs had permanent wrinkles in them, and the buttons she liked to fiddle with had long fallen off. This jacket wasn’t just old and worn — it was unraveling, it was broken, much like he was.

Today, he stood there, tracing the frayed edges of the jacket with his knuckles. It was warm outside now, the sun shining bright even through his closed curtains. It had been a long time since he had seen her, let alone since it was cold out.

He wasn’t sure what he was even holding onto anymore. Was it her? Was it the person he was when he was with her — the man who wore this jacket because it made her happy?

Now, it was a weight — a reminder of what had slipped away from him. A reminder of smiles he didn’t deserve, a too-small red jacket that wasn’t supposed to be his, and her.

But she wouldn’t have wanted him to feel like this. He realized that now, with the sound of birdsong through the window, and the jacket’s faint scent of her rose perfume.

He took the jacket off slowly, careful not to lose any more of the buttons. He folded it onto the back of his chair, not throwing it there like he usually did. He stood up and picked a T-shirt out of his closet, a dark red one — a piece of clothing that wouldn’t let him hide himself in the way he had gotten used to.

For the first time in a while, he stepped outside. The warm air hit him as he stepped out, and he was almost glad he hadn’t worn a jacket. He felt lighter, as if the weight of the jacket and her absence had both finally eased.

He knew he would wear it again someday. Maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day, probably soon. But, at this moment, he just wanted to feel the air on his skin and to face the future feeling light.

In his dark room, the jacket was still there, waiting for him. Yet, as he stepped towards the sunlight, feeling its gentle warmth, he realized that some things, objects, feelings, or gifts, even when left behind, always found a way to stay.