“What did he say to you?” I asked, awkwardly tugging the bottom of the t-shirt.
“He doesn’t like that you’re wearing... my clothes.” He whispered while his eyes flickered between blue and red, and he pressed his lips into a thin line.
“I... I didn’t have anything... anything else to wear.” I stammered.
He coughed, clenched his fists together, and stared back at me, “No, it’s... it’s okay... you can wear my clothes.” He answered.
He likes that I’m wearing his clothes, I can see it in his eyes and the way his breathing became laboured. I think I feel something for him. I need to find out if he’s got a beloved, if he doesn’t, maybe we could take each other.
When we get out of here, and things have settled, we could see if we have something... unless my feelings are one-sided, but I don’t
