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“You are wearing my shirt.”
“I don’t see your name on it.”
Lan Zhan had just entered the kitchen, fresh out of the shower and shirtless. He and Wei Ying had been playing basketball after Saturday school earlier, working up a sweat under the summer sun. Like every Saturday, Lan Zhan stopped by Wei Ying’s house to shower and then study with Wei Ying in his room until six.
Like clockwork, Jiang Cheng had always watched them, seniors who seemed to know all the ways of the world despite being only one year above him. Lan Zhan, Jiang Cheng’s brother’s best friend, had lingered in his periphery since they were children.
It was only natural that these run-ins occur. In the kitchen, in the laundry, wherever. Often.
“You’ve been stealing my clothes,” said Lan Zhan, more an observation than anything.
Ever the contrarian, Jiang Cheng: “You’ve been stealing my brother.”
Lan Zhan puffed out a hot breath; as close to a scoff as the ever-stoic man could conjure. He advanced, then, getting closer and closer to Jiang Cheng until the other boy’s back was pressed flat against the fridge.
“Would you rather I steal something else, Jiang Cheng?”
Lan Zhan was tall; Jiang Cheng was forced to look up, chin tilted towards the looming figure. He wasn’t scared.
“What ever would you steal, Lan Zhan?”
The corner of the older boy’s lips curled into a small smirk as he raised a finger and pushed a lock of Jiang Cheng’s hair back, the contact tantalising on Jiang Cheng’s flushed skin.
“Whatever I can.”
Jiang Cheng’s lips parted, then curled as Lan Zhan’s finger traced over his jawline and landed at his chin. In a low voice, Lan Zhan then whispered, somewhat conspiratorially: “Wei Ying is in the shower. He cannot hear us.”
A flutter reigned through Jiang Cheng’s heart at that. He chuckled, slipping his arms around Lan Zhan’s shoulders with practised ease.
“Missed you,” he grinned, genuine and sweet.
Lan Zhan hummed pleasantly, lowering his lips to Jiang Cheng’s ear to mumble:
“You look very adorable in my shirt, Cheng-er.”
Jiang Cheng trembled, the warm breath and words spreading down his spine like freshly brewed tea.
“It smells just like you,” he whispered back.
Finally, Lan Zhan’s lips landed home, mouthing at Jiang Cheng’s jaw with a tenderness that dizzied up both their heads.
“Now it will smell like you,” Jiang Cheng felt, more than heard, against his neck.
He hummed, hands smoothing through his brother’s best friend’s—no, his boyfriend’s—freshly dried hair.
“Now you will smell like me,” he whispered.
Lan Zhan nipped at his Adam’s apple, a smile in his bite.
“You are wearing my shirt. I am wearing your smell. One could ask for nothing more.”
It was true, Jiang Cheng thought. Summer was perfect with Lan Zhan. Arms wrapped together; sweaty, silly, and sweet.
He could see himself remembering the feeling forever, a hundred summers from now. To smell like Lan Zhan, to have Lan Zhan smell like him. He brushed a hand over Lan Zhan’s cheek, looked fondly over his face.
‘I like you,’ he wanted to say. Though he’ll save that one for later.