; laundromat ;

; one ;

Unaware to the new person sitting behind the desk, who was immersed in what they were drawing, Tyler pushed open the laundromat door and smiled, walking past the front desk and offering a brief, shy grin in their general direction as well as a soft,

    "Hey, Linz."

    Tyler tried his best to wash as much as he could every time he went to the laundromat, so he usually came dressed in tiny pajama shorts and a pullover hoodie he got from the basketball team at his high school before he graduated. Not that he played, no, his brother Jay did. Tyler's dad always wanted him to play, though. Tyler had found himself so scared by the thought of playing a competitive sport and costing them the game and everyone being mad at him for screwing everything up and-

    Tyler cut himself off, shaking his head of the bad thoughts. Whenever he realized that he was thinking bad things about himself he would squeeze his eyes shut real tight and shake his head frantically, hoping that they'd fly right out of his head if he shook it hard enough.

    It hardly ever worked.

    So Tyler sighed, closing his eyes once more as a last-ditch attempt to change the subject that he was thinking of. When it proved futile, he set down the big laundry basket he was carrying and set up his speaker, connecting it to his phone via bluetooth. Putting his music on shuffle, "Corduroy Dreams" by Rex Orange County played softly from the speaker. He smiled softly and swayed his body back and forth to the rhythm, giggling softly at

"-cause that's just fuckin weird."

Tyler started swinging his hips, whistling along as he stuffed his clothes inside the washing machine and shoving six quarters into the coin slot. Pouring the laundry soap into the opening, he bumped the door shut with his hip.

The song changed to "Peach Pit" by Peach Pit and this time Tyler found himself singing along, grabbing the attention of the boy behind the desk.

"It's been a long season through,

all this rotten fruit with you."

Josh was entranced. The small boy's voice drifted up to where he was sat, unaware of the audience of one. And God, was it beautiful, to see such a gorgeous boy so carefree.

Hips swinging back and forth, light golden legs disappeared into tiny blue cotton shorts, so small his giant maroon basketball sweater nearly covered them up. The sleeves of his sweater were pushed up, revealing dainty wrists and slender fingers, the tips of which had glittery yellow polish. One hand buried in his hair, twisting and pulling, the other propped up in the air by his elbow, which was sat on the washing machine. He had a slender neck, one that was smooth, pale, and led directly to a soft jawline. Lips that were parted softly, singing, were bitten and raw, most likely from nervous chewing. A curved nose led up to partially closed eyes, lashes curving out daintily. His chocolate hair was pushed up fluffily in random tufts, his hand twirling strands and leaving curly spikes behind.

To put it shortly, Josh was short of breath.

Upon further inspection, it wasn't the first glance that had Josh swooning, nor the second, or third. Josh was transfixed by the small beauties of this boy.

The curve of the backs of his calves. The tiny washable butterfly tattoo on the back of one hand, and faded writing on the other. The chipping paint on his fingernails. The curve of his nose. The tiny stretch marks along the insides of his thighs. The soft padding noise that his little feet were now making, swirling in slow circles to the beat of the song.

And his voice, God, his voice, Josh could listen to him sing for days and days. It was crooning, soft, melodic. Josh wasn't even hardly listening to what he was saying, just the pattern of his voice, like the tide rushing in. It felt soft, warm, comforting, like Josh's momma's mashed potatoes, or when he was curled up on the couch with Jim. Josh could've watched this boy all day if he wasn't broken from his staring stupor by a gasp.