Andrew and Neil share a single wardrobe. at first, Andrew reaches only for his own clothes out of habit, never even realizing he's doing it. It takes months of sharing the same shelves before the line between mine and yours begins to blur. Neil, on the other hand, adapts from the very beginning. he has no problem stealing Andrew's clothes because he's never paid much attention to what he wears in the first place. whether something belongs to him or not has never mattered all that much. after his evening shower, Neil flops onto the bed beside Andrew, face-first onto the mattress. he's wearing an old pair of shorts that only became "old" because Andrew finally insisted that "it's embarrassing to keep wearing that rag outside," along with one of Andrew's t-shirts that Neil stole months ago. by now it's become a routine: the moment it's washed, Neil claims it before Andrew even has a chance to notice it sitting in the clean laundry. It goes straight from the dryer onto Neil's back. curious, Andrew hooks a finger beneath the waistband of Neil's shorts and tugs them down just enough to glance underneath, letting out a quiet hum when he finds himself looking at his own boxers. "You're stretching out my underwear." Neil snorts. "You could always stop wearing any" he drapes an arm across Andrew's stomach and nuzzles into the warm spot over his heart before tilting his head up, those impossibly blue eyes meeting Andrew's steady brown ones. Andrew raises an eyebrow, waiting. without saying a word, Neil throws one leg over Andrew's, settling into what is apparently the perfect position. "You're stretching out my t-shirts,". Andrew counters: "You can't stretch out something that already fit you like a damn dress.”. Neil only huffs. Andrew knows full well that Neil knows that he [Andrew] likes to feel Neil's scent. even after living together long enough for all their clothes to carry the same familiar scent, Neil himself still smells unmistakably like Neil. there's warmth to it, something faintly reminiscent of cheap cologne mixed with freshly laundered cotton, lingering in the fabric of what used to be Andrew's old shirt. but the greatest trace of that scent isn't trapped in a piece of clothing. It's tucked into the warm skin just behind Neil's ear. every night before falling asleep, Andrew presses his nose there, quietly breathing in the achingly familiar scent of the person beside him. It's something tangible, something steady-something that, for the first time in his life, feels like home.
