“Christ, Jim." Leonard groaned as he caught Jim walking out of his closet, "Don’t ya have your own damn clothes?”
“Sure,” Jim said, slipping a blue 'Ole Miss' t-shirt over his head, “plenty.”
“Then why ya always gotta wear mine?”
“Well," Leonard grumbled,"ya look like and idiot.”
“You know, you really shouldn't insult the alma mater.” Jim plopped down on his bed and smiled as Leonard grew more agitated.
“That’s not what I'm talking about. It’s way too big on you.”
“Only in the shoulders,” Jim pulled on the excess fabric, the well-worn cotton soft to the touch.
“Looks like you’re drowning in it.”
“Comfortably, I might add.”
Leonard glared at Jim for a moment before abruptly ducking into Jim’s closet. He returned moments later in one of Jim’s own favorites. The dark fabric clung to his body, especially his upper arms and shoulders where it looked almost painted on, highlighting his tanned muscles perfectly. Jim probably should have complained about how the fabric would be stretched beyond repair or how he’d never be able to wear that shirt out again but at the moment he couldn’t remember how to use words. Noting Jim’s scrutiny, Leonard swept a hand through his hair,
“Now we both look like idiots.”
"No! Uh, looks fine, I guess.” Jim said, suddenly flustered.
Leonard frowned and peeled the t-shirt off. Jim sat up like he’d been hit by a jolt of electricity. Leonard threw the shirt and it landed over his face,
“Looks better on you.”
Jim, too busy pretending to be fascinated by the fabric, didn’t notice Leonard's mischievous smile as he left the room.