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“Is that what you’re gonna wear?” Jesse asked.
Bojan looked down at his Pasivision jersey. “Yeah, why?”
Jesse’s eyebrows were up. “Not exactly club attire.”
“I’ll change after the show,” Bojan shrugged, going for the dumb and innocent approach. Jesse shot him a knowing look.
Bojan wasn’t sure what the big deal was - it was meant to be funny. He had come to Glasgow to support his friend, so he was ready to go all in. He had tucked his Pasivision jersey in his luggage in hopes he’d have the courage to wear it, and when it was time to go to the venue, he had pulled it over his sparkly top meant for partying later.
Jesse was still saying something, but suddenly Jere came into view, in performance mode, ready to take the stage, and Bojan wasn’t listening anymore, because he had also noticed Bojan and was coming over.
“Hey there superstar, ready to blow the roof off?” Bojan said, offering his fist for a bump.
Jere tapped his knuckles into Bojan’s. “Look at you, fanboy.”
Bojan patted his belly. “Oh, this? My turn being the tour wife, I guess. You did so well, last time.”
Jere grinned. “Yes. You serve me drinks, after show.”
“Sure thing, hunnybunny.”
“Okei, gotta go. See you!” And he was gone. Bojan let out a sigh of relief, not sure why. Next to him, Jesse rolled his eyes.
*****
It was more than halfway through the show, and Bojan was watching from the balcony. Jere had exited the stage for a minute, letting the others take over for what Bojan assumed was a change of outfit, sip of water and a much needed breather. A new song started - Bojan wasn’t that well-versed in Käärijä’s discography that he would have been able to differentiate between the songs easily - and Jere came back on stage and.
And.
He was wearing - a shirt? That itself was unheard of, Käärijä did not perform in a shirt, ever, but on top of that, it was… something white.
Not just anything white, either. It was Bojan’s mesh shirt, the one he had worn at Tavastia, the one that he had left at Jere’s, the one that Jere had proudly waved and smelled in front of the entire internet, the one that had made the freaking news.
He hadn’t left it on purpose, mind you. He wasn’t even sure how that had happened, because it’s not like he was wearing it when they had crashed at Jere’s. Somehow, Jere must have stolen it from his bag, that bastard.
The boxers, on the other hand, he totally owned up to. He had taken a shower at Jere’s in the morning. He was not good at keeping tabs of his belongings, so it’s no wonder those had been left behind.
But that wasn’t on purpose, either. Or so he told himself.
He wasn’t super excited about Jere’s public stunt with the laundry, but at the time there wasn’t anything else to do than to take it in stride, share the story, and dm a bunch of skull emojis to Jere. This was their love language, was it not? Bojan was glad he had retaliated by sneaking the Bulbasaur beanie in his bag when Jere wasn’t looking, even though he couldn’t have known at the time it was to be revenge. He felt no need to flaunt his achievement for everyone to see, though. He hadn’t told or showed it to anyone, actually. He told himself he was waiting for the right moment to strike.
Jere was thrashing about the stage and the shirt - Bojan’s shirt - kept riding up and exposing his belly. Which shouldn’t have been as hot as it was, because Jere’s belly was always on display. Why did seeing it under - and through - a shirt suddenly made Bojan’s want to bite?
The same went for Jere’s nipples that were barely visible through the mesh. God, is that what he looked like, as well, wearing that? That shit should be illegal. Suddenly, the jersey felt too fucking hot on him, he could feel sweat pooling under his pecs and on his lower back. The song ended, and Bojan couldn’t be sure how the rest of the show went. All he could feel was… some kind of unfounded ownership, like he had staked his claim without even trying, like now everybody was able to see right through him, like now everybody knew.
Afterwards, backstage, they had a laugh about the whole thing. Mikke took pictures of them, Bojan showing the victory sign in his jersey, Jere tucked under his arm in the white shirt. Both of them were sporting wide grins. Jere enjoyed the frenzy it caused when he posted it; Bojan was not so sure about how he felt. He shared it adding a single heart - he didn’t even dare to try to put anything into words. It took enough effort to keep acting like his insides weren’t on fire.
They didn’t talk about it much, then or later. Jere said he had brought the shirt because he wanted to return it. Neither of them mentioned that it never actually made it back to Bojan. Instead, another pair of boxers was accidentally left behind, this time by Jere, who had to scramble to make it back to the tour bus after extended goodbyes in Bojan’s hotel room. Bojan didn’t feel the need to roast him publicly about it. Privately though, back in his apartment in Ljubljana, he made sure to send Jere a picture of himself wearing them, fresh from the clean laundry pile. And the reaction he got back - meant for him and him alone - was enough to sustain him for a good long while.