What is it about guy's shirts smelling nice?
Like, not even every guy's shirt would smell pleasant, but I swear, the blonde-haired boy's hoody smelt heavenly. I almost didn't want to wash it, or give it back.
My finger came away from the green material, sticky from the remains of hot chocolate.
Almost.
Nor the chocolatey scent or whatever cologne the boy used could mask his natural musk - it reminded me of early springtime in the countryside, fresh strands of grass sprouting from the moist earth, of daisies littering the emerald fields, of bubbling streams and the smell of wet rocks. His scent reminded me of life, which intrigued me to no end.
Smelling people's scents, society-based, is weird. Smelling people's scents in the grande scheme of being a literal living mammal is completely normal. I had learnt the other day in science that if somebody's significant other smells nice to them, then there is less chance of a miscarriage. There was a lot more science-y stuff to it, but I couldn't remember it at all.
So, I smelt people's clothes - and I promise it's not weird - but there certainly weren't any body odours that reminded me of life. Mostly just spices or fruits or just cooked pasta. But not life.
I made it home before I even realised I was walking down my apartment building's hallway, pulling the key out from my pocket and shoving it into the lock.
"I'm back, mum!" I called out as I shut the door behind me.
"So soon?" she replied, poking her head out of the kitchen. "You only just left. I thought you were out with Naomi and Aaliyah?"
"I was, but I accidentally broke my board," I confessed sheepishly with a shrug. "Claire thought it would be best if I went home."
My mother furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.
"Did she just?" she asked cryptically, scooping a spoon around in a carton of yoghurt. "I'm not sure if she's such a good influence on you, Y/n. She just appears out of nowhere, and suddenly she's telling you what to do?"
I snorted, shaking my head as I slipped off my shoes.
"Not true. Claire's the sweetest person I know!" I said with a grin. I raised the green hoody in one hand and jostled it. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a stranger's hoody to wash."
Mum dropped the spoon she was using for her yoghurt.
"What?"
"I'll tell you soon," I called from down the hallway as I turned into the laundry and with a last whiff, I reluctantly tossed the green item of clothing into the washing machine. After I turned it on to the right setting, I wandered my way back to my mother, who had her arms crossed, eyebrows raised expectedly.
"So, what's this about washing a stranger's hoody?" she asked humourlessly. I cringed, slouching into my shoulders as I bit my lip.
"I- uh, may have accidentally hit a stranger with my skateboard, and he spilt hot chocolate over himself because of it," I confessed with red cheeks, shifting my weight between my feet uncertainly as I burnt holes into the kitchen flooring from my embarrassed glare. "Oh, and uh, the hot chocolate was mine. He was trying to return it to me, but I got a fright and whacked him on the head with my board, which then broke."
My mother stared at me for a while, not doing anything.
"Where's your board?" she finally asked after a period of silence.
"With the guy," I replied, shrugging. "He said he'd fix it."
"But you hit him."
"That's what I said!"
"What's his name?"
