“That shirt is so wrinkled.”
Sora hissed out an irritated breath, stripped it off, threw it on the floor, and found a folded shirt in a stack he hadn’t worn in ages. It was a tighter fit; he’d need his binder. Marc watched as he struggled into that, then pulled on the other shirt. He didn’t like it as much, it wasn’t as comfortable, but it was clean and not wrinkly. “Better?”
“Yeah.” Marc smiled. “Sorry, I just…I’ve never had a boyfriend before. I want Ben to like you.”
“He wouldn’t like me if my shirt was wrinkled?”
Marc shrugged slightly.
“God, is neat freak in your DNA?”
“It’s just how we were raised, I guess.” Marc smiled. “Come on. Have you eaten anything yet today? You’ve gotta be starving.”
Sora wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of confirming that. The smells of cooked meat
