American Apparel Underwear

The Mix-up

It had started like this: the pair of them had decided it would be easier if just one of them took all the dirty laundry down to the wash once a week, because it would save energy or time or something, Lars had only been half sober when they made the agreement, so the details were rather fuzzy when he pushed the memory too far.

Anyway, they were to take turns with it. Lars would wash his and Mikkel's things one week, the next Mikkel would do it. And it was a good system, too, if Lars did say so himself. Occasionally, sure, there was a mix-up or two: Lars would forget if this shirt was his or Mikkel's, or Mikkel would forget if that towel was his or Lars’ or if those jeans were Lars’ or one of his idiot friends', because his friends were constantly leaving their clothes over, for some insane reason he had learned early on not to question. And it was all fine and good, the clothes would be returned to their original owner sometime over the course of the week and all was forgotten.

Right.

Until one week when it was Lars’ turn to do the wash.

He didn't quite remember if he'd been distracted by the phone he was holding between his ear and shoulder, his sister bitching into his ear about something or another, or the football game playing on the television screen up in the corner, or maybe it had been that cute girl who kept trying to grab his attention from three dryers down, but, whatever it had been, he had been distracted and wound up throwing his underwear into Mikkel's laundry bag and Mikkel's underwear into his own laundry bag without noticing. He had taken the bags back to their flat, threw Mikkel's into his room, threw his own into his own room, and forgotten all about it.

Until the next morning, when Mikkel yelled for him. Mikkel was always yelling about something or another, of course, so Lars chose to ignore him in favour of the delicious cereal he was eating at the time. Just a couple minutes later, Mikkel came stalking into the kitchen, still half wet and only in his—no wait, those were Lars’ boxers. He recognized the design and everything.

"Why the hell are you wearing—"

"Because," Mikkel interrupted with a sharp look. "It's all I have. You must have mixed up our underwear, and when I yelled for you to bring me mine, you ignored me. So, unless this is going to be some sort of weird new flatmate thing where we share our underwear, I suggest..." He gave Lars another of his looks as he trailed off meaningfully.

Lars rolled his eyes and ducked his blushing head as he pushed back from the table and walked past Mikkel to correct the mix-up.

"You can keep those." He grumbled as he walked past him.

Later on, when he was stepping into a pair of boxers that looked eerily similar to the pair Mikkel had walked into the kitchen wearing that morning, Lars reflected, very briefly, on the fact that Mikkel had actually looked pretty fucking good in Lars’ boxers. Like, it wasn't even the color or the design or anything, it just...knowing they were his and that Mikkel was wearing them... It had pushed a button in him that he hadn't even known existed before then, it almost turned him on at the very thought of it.

Honestly, they were only flatmates. One of them just so happened to look sexy as all hell wearing the other's underwear.