Drunk Without Cause

Thirty-nine.

When Kiwi came over on that particular day, he asked if he could borrow one of Ilya's shirts. The problem was that Ilya didn't have any normal shirts, so the only option was a cropped one.

On Kiwi, it wasn't nearly as short as it would have otherwise been. That didn't stop Ilya from still drooling over the slightest hint of his midriff whenever he moved the right way. God, he had never wanted to run his hand over his warm skin as much as he did in that moment.

"This wasn't exactly what I had in mind." Kiwi said as he looked down at the shirt, tugging on it uncomfortably. "I thought it'd be longer on me than it is."

"This is even better than what I had in mind." Ilya replied, a sly smirk on his face.

Rolling his eyes, Kiwi took one of the blankets laying atop Ilya's unmade bed and draped it over his shoulders. "I should take it off."

"You should glue it to your skin. That way no one can ever take it off again." Ilya kept going, in a bit of a horny daze as he spoke.

"It makes me look..." Kiwi's face twisted into more discomfort as he tried to decide how to word it. Then he lifted his gaze to Ilya's and wrapped the blanket around himself so that he could hide way beneath it forever.

"You look so fucking handsome." Realizing just how anxious Kiwi was, Ilya sat down on the bed beside him and nudged him with his shoulder. "What's the matter?"

He didn't say anything right away, instead allowing for his gaze to wander around the bedroom. Recently adding a few new pictures to his collection — Bretman Rock in his playboy bunny costume, and seemingly all of Lizzo's modeling portfolio — it filled up his wall space even more than it already did. They were literally surrounded by porn, and Ilya couldn't have been more content with that fact. Besides, naked bodies were beautiful. He didn't keep those pictures up because they were sexual, but rather to prove the fact that no one should ever feel ashamed, or be shamed, due to their body.

"Where do you buy your shirts?" Kiwi asked, which was not what Ilya had been expecting to hear.

He furrowed his brow as he thought about it. "It depends. Women's cropped shirts barely even make it to my nipple if I'm lucky since I'm so damn tall. So I usually just buy men's shirts and crop them myself."

"Oh..." He nodded.

"If you don't feel comfortable in it, then you don't have to wear it. Don't feel obligated just because I'm right here." He told him gently, watching closely to see Kiwi's reaction.

What he didn't predict was a sniffle. Kiwi seemed to wilt in front of him, suddenly losing any hint of playfulness. "I'm sorry, it's not the shirt, it's me."

"There nothing wrong with you." Ilya pulled him in for a hug, holding him tight to his chest. He had no idea just how bad something like that would make him feel, and the guilt at the fact that he hadn't even noticed at first was buzzing around him like a fly.

"I haven't... wore something like this in so long." He mumbled, sniffling again, and Ilya knew that he was crying softly. "It feels weird."

"Shit, Craig. I didn't want to make you feel dysphoric or anything." He tightened his grip, wanting nothing more than to make him understand just how perfect he was. "Sometimes I forget that you're even trans."

"Like as if it isn't obvious." He snapped, wriggling out of Ilya's arms and pulling up the sweatshirt's hood so that he could hide his face in his knees.

"Who told you that?" Ilya quirked a brow, studying the boy he had been crushing on for what felt like forever.

"I don't need anyone to tell me for it to be true."