just friends

I turned my nose into the crook of his neck and breathed in. He smelled different. New detergent different. Or new shampoo different. No to both he said. “This shirt was in the back of my closet. I haven’t worn it in a while.” His hand touched the collar and stretched it to his nose. “It smells different?” “Yeah.” I said and leaned in again. Inhaled. “Still different.” He smiled. He shrugged.

“How about me? Do I smell the same?”

He stepped forward, his hands on my back. He moved in slow. His face turned to my neck. I could feel him breath me in. His lungs filling with cucumber and green tea scent. My hair sticking to his lips. I wanted to press rewind a thousand times. A thousand times. But he jumped back. Jumped. “Yes. Yes. You smell the same. You smell great.” He spun around to look at downtown. His stone building peeking through the blue glass skyline.