"That's my sweatshirt."
"Your observation skills are impeccable," Andrew retorts, heading towards the dorm door, an unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth.
"People might talk," Neil says casually.
Andrew shrugs, flicking his lighter to life, letting the flame ignite the tip of his cigarette. He takes a drag, blowing smoke into Neil's face, and says, "Five minutes or I'm leaving you."
"Can I wear your sweatshirt?"
"It is dirty."
"I don't care," Neil says stubbornly.
"Of course you don't." Andrew shrugs again and checks his phone. "Four minutes," he calls over his shoulder as he walks out the door.
"That wasn't a no!"
"It was not."
Huffing a laugh, Neil hurries into the room to grab Andrew's sweatshirt, sitting in a crumpled heap on top of his hamper, and hurries after him, letting the door close behind him with a soft click.
