Skandar arrives at Ben’s house five minutes early and hangs around on the doorstep, feeling the back of his t-shirt rub against his lower neck.
It’s unusually hot this summer, and the air seems heavy all around him. There’s no breeze, and the air smells sweet, tangy - he knows the smell from student flats and dodgy parts of town - weed.
He smiles to himself, licks his lips without thinking about it, and rings the doorbell.
When Ben eventually answers it, Skandar’s eyebrows raise up so far that he’s sure he must look comical. Ben shrugs, and stands aside to let him in.
“How’s the holiday?” he asks, by way of hello, and Skandar laughs hollowly.
“Kinda boring,” he admits, his hands hanging awkwardly at his sides. He toes off his shoes and walks into the living room.
Everything looks exactly the same as it did last time he was here - although that was a very brief look around - the same movie posters on the walls,
the same odd collection of paraphernalia from Ben’s travels. It looks like a comfortable house, full of aged wooden floorboards and slightly shabby rugs.
Skandar looks back at Ben and sighs at the sight of him.
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