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That did it.

The second he turned his back on the closet, every shirt he had just hung up dropped from the rod at the exact same time.

Yonas jumped at the sound and spun around. “What the fuck?”

I smiled.

All five shirts were lying in a neat pile on the closet floor.

He stood there staring at them before walking over and checking the rod. Nothing was broken. The hangers were still hooked around it, swinging slightly, but every damn shirt had somehow slipped clean off.

Yonas frowned. “I knew not to buy these cheap-ass hangers.”

He bent down, gathered his clothes, and started putting them back up one by one.

I let him.

Matter of fact, I stood there patiently and watched the nigga redo every single shirt. He even tugged on each one afterward to make sure it was secured.

“There,” he muttered.

I nodded.

Yeah… there.

He turned around.

I waited until he made it three steps toward his suitcase, then every hanger on the rod spun around backward.

All of them… at the same damn time.

Yonas stopped and slowly turned around, his forehead creasing as his attention settled on the closet. He stood there for a second, clearly questioning whether he had really seen the hangers move.

I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing as he crossed the room and reached inside, turning one hanger around, then another, then the next. The second his hand left the last one, I flipped every mothafuckin’ hanger backward again.

Yonas snatched his hand away. “Man…”

I folded my arms.

What’s wrong?

He stood there studying the closet for several seconds, clearly trying to make sense of what he had just witnessed. Then, apparently deciding he wasn’t about to let a closet punk him, he stepped forward and turned every hanger around for a third time.

I almost respected the determination.

Almost.

He stepped back to inspect his work, and I gave him just enough time to feel satisfied before slamming both closet doors shut right in his face.

BAM!

Yonas jumped so hard he nearly stumbled over one of his own shoes. “What the fuck?”

I bent over laughing while he grabbed the handle and yanked the door open again.

Nothing was out of place. His shirts were hanging neatly, his shoes were lined up beneath them, and all that expensive luggage was still sitting exactly where he had left it. He stood there for a second before looking around the bedroom.

“Lakelyn?”