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Carl loves a lot of things about Ron. He loves the way the boy looks with his hair tucked into a beanie, with his face revealed in all its cute glory. He loves how Ron is so playful, and always finds the best (and worst) times to crack a cheesy joke. Loves how he can talk on for hours about any subject, and keep up the conversation going without missing a beat.
And he loves the way Ron smells.
He feels like he’s creepy for thinking such a thing, but Ron just has certain smell to him that’s homey. It makes Carl instantly calm down and feel safe. Whenever they sit a little too close, or they’re spending time in Ron’s room, he can smell the scent of the Anderson’s house and Ron all around him, and he feels at home.
They’re sitting in Ron’s room playing a video game when Ron pauses it.
“Gotta go to the bathroom, be right back,” He announces and jogs off, leaving his bedroom door slightly open.
Carl sits there, tapping his hand on his thigh and just waiting. He’s lost in his thoughts as he gets up and wanders around the room. He doesn’t snoop, that’s not what he’s doing. At least that’s what he tells himself when he opens one of the drawers on Ron’s dresser to reveal a bunch of the boy’s shirts, neatly folded into squares.
He runs his hand over the top of them, just feeling the fabrics. His mother must use a special detergent, because all of them are so soft.
He picks out one that’s long sleeved, the fabric a faded tan. He unfolds it and holds it in front of him. It still smells like detergent, not yet worn by Ron, but he still finds comfort in simply holding it; bringing it to his chest and hugging the garment.
“Hey, what’re you doing?” Ron’s voice snaps him back to reality, and he scrambles to put the shirt back into the drawer and close it. It’s no use, though, because Ron’s already seen him. He’s already seen him snooping around and being creepy, and Carl avoids Ron’s gaze as he turns around slowly.
“Uh, nothing,” Carl clears his throat. “Let’s go back to the game.”
“You know, if you want to borrow one of my shirts, you can,” Ron laughs, walking over to stand next to Carl. He opens up the drawer again and pulls out the shirt that Carl was interested in. “Here, you can borrow it for a while. I have a bunch of shirts anyways. Take it, really.”
Carl gives him a look, wondering if he’s really serious. He looks into Ron’s eyes and sees nothing negative, just trust and kindness.
The brunette takes the shirt and just looks at it in his hands.
“Thank you,” Carl smiles, looking up to Ron. “I promise I’ll give it back to you soon.”
“There’s no rush.” Ron closes the drawer, going back over to the television and sitting on the ground where they both were before.
“You can borrow mine, too.” Carl is giddy, and it shows by the way his eyes light up and he grins, holding the shirt close to his heart like it’s something precious. “I have a lot of flannels. I mean, a lot. And you’d look good in a flannel.” He realizes what he said in the last sentence, but it’s too late to take it back. He just waits for the glare back or the nasty question.
“I’ll have to steal one from you when we go over your house, then,” Ron laughs, picking up the game remote. He pulls off his beanie and runs his hands through his hair, and the way that it just falls over Ron’s eyes and is slightly messy makes Carl’s heart skip a beat. “You wanna continue the game or not?”
“Yeah,” Carl breathes, sitting back down. He lets the shirt just rest on his lap. “Yeah, let’s go. I swear I’ll beat you this time.” Carl grabs the remote, leaning forwards to concentrate on the screen.
“Try me,” Ron challenges, and they dive back into their game as usual.