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“That’s my church shirt!” Álvaro exclaims, looking at Isco who is pulling a shirt that is - admittedly - not his, over his head.
“Do you really sort your clothes by church ones and not-church ones?” Isco asks incredulously.
“You don’t?”
“No,” Isco shrugs. “I just wear stuff until it’s dirty or torn, and then grab something else.”
“Which case was it now, that it made you steal my church shirt?” Álvaro asks.
“Well, one of my shirts is dirty and the other one is torn,” Isco says.
Álvaro sighs deeply. “How about washing it or stitching it?”
“It would be great if you could…” Isco grins.
“I meant if you did it for yourself!” Álvaro snaps.
Isco just groans. Then he lifts his forearm to his nose and smells the shirt. “Why… why does this smell like… what is it? Flowers?”
“Herbs,” Álvaro says. “I put them in my clothes.”
Isco looks bewildered. “Why?”
“Because they repel the clothes moths, and the clothes smell nice afterwards.”
“Nice? It feels like I’m wearing a graveyard!” Isco says.
“Nobody obliges you,” Álvaro shrugs. “Give it back and wear your smelly ones.”
“My shirts are not smelly!” Isco shrieks.
“When you work with horses all day long? Sure they aren’t,” Álvaro laughs, but then abruptly stops and looks at Isco with horror. “You’re not wearing this to the stables, are you?”
“Where else? It’s not Sunday.”
“No. Take it off!” Álvaro says and actually tries to pull the shirt off of Isco.
“Are you mad? I have to wear something!”
“Wear a tablecloth. Or the curtains. I don’t care. But not this.”
Isco sighs deeply. Then he looks at Álvaro. “Undress,” he says.
Álvaro looks at him like Isco’s just gone mad. “What?”
“Take off your shirt,” Isco explains. “I take that one, and you take your precious church one. That way I don’t destroy it.”
“That way you’ll let myself destroy it and then hate myself for it,” Álvaro grumbles. “Clever.”
But he takes off his shirt and exchanges it with Isco, who pulls it over his head.
“Much better,” Isco says delightedly.
“Why better?” Álvaro frowns. “It’s nowhere near the fine…”
“It doesn’t smell like graveyard,” Isco says. “It smells like you.”
Álvaro just rolls his eyes, and then goes to chop wood in his church shirt.