“You smell really good!” Matt says, over the music and the talking and the otherwise overwhelming party noises. If this were a movie, all of the noise would have cut out and he would have to leave immediately, possibly to jump into the Hudson.
This isn’t a movie, though, and all he gets is Foggy–who smells like books, which is wonderful, and coffee and other things that Matt likes–saying, “Wait, what?” and crowding closer, one warm hand on Matt’s arm.
“You–smell really good,” Matt says, weakly. He can just barely catch Foggy’s heart speeding up.
“Oh,” he says, laughing. “Thanks, dude. I’m not even wearing any cologne.”
Oh god, that’s just what he smells like, Matt thinks.
Oh GOD, I just told a guy that he SMELLS GOOD, Matt thinks. He’s been in college for a week and he’s already managed to humiliate himself. Guys don’t compliment each other like that–maybe not at all. It’s supposed to be manful pats on the back and ironic and very brief hugging.
He realizes mid-panic that Foggy’s asked him a question and asks him to repeat it. Foggy’s hand is still on his shoulder and he tightens his grip lightly when he leans in close to Matt’s ear to say, “I said–do you maybe want to go find a corner somewhere and make out?”
“Oh,” Matt says. He should probably say no, but…well, it’s college. Matt’s had one and a half beers and he could definitely make out with a guy named Foggy he met ten minutes ago if he wanted. There’s nobody here to stop him except maybe God, but he can always confess later.
He reaches up to find Foggy’s face and press a clumsy kiss to his mouth.
“Yeah!” he yells, stepping back, so Foggy can hear him. “Let’s do it!”
oh my god, they were roommates 