Work Text:
The laundry room smells like lavender detergent and fabric softener sheets, the hum of the dryer a steady white noise beneath the patter of rain against the window. Logan stands in the doorway, blinking at the sight of Patton curled up on the laundry pile, wrapped in Logan’s favorite navy sweater—the one with the stretched-out cuffs and faint coffee stain near the hem.
"You’re wearing my clothes," Logan states, adjusting his glasses like the observation requires verification.
Patton buries his face in the sweater’s collar, inhaling deeply before grinning up at him. "Yep!"
Logan’s brow furrows. "May I inquire as to why?"
Patton’s cheeks flush pink, but he doesn’t hesitate. "‘Cause they smell like you."
Logan’s breath stutters. The sweater swallows Patton whole, sleeves dangling past his fingertips, the neckline slipping off one freckled shoulder. Rain taps a quiet rhythm against the glass as Patton tugs the fabric tighter around himself, eyes warm and unguarded.
"Oh," Logan says softly.
And then, because he’s never been good at resisting gravity, he sits beside him on the laundry pile, their shoulders brushing as Patton leans into him, still wrapped in stolen warmth.