Jðkêr//Är†hµr x RêåÐêr ïmågïñê§ & ðñê-§hð†§

• Nobody Else Will Be There (pt.2)

--3rd person POV--

The apartment building's laundry room was situated in the windowless basement, making it stiflingly hot and stuffy.

The rickety, narrow bench that ran along the middle of the room was bolted to the floor, and tortuously uncomfortable to sit on for any great length of time. Obviously it wasn't designed for comfort, mores the pity, but after an hour or two it had you longing for the comfort of your couch.

You'd already washed one batch of clothes: which was currently in the tumble dryer, and your second lot was halfway through it's washing cycle.

You sat forwards; your elbows resting on your knees as you stared absently into the little portal in the front of your machine, watching as knots of colour swirled around in the foamy suds.

It's boring, and a lonesome chore, but in your present mood you were  content to be by yourself, with only the bump and churn of the machines, and the occasional metallic 'clink'  as a button or zipper thunks against the inside of the drum.

The room was full of steam and heat. That clean, laundry smell permeating the air.

It was actually a surprisingly soothing environment when you had the place to yourself, which was a pleasant surprise, given that it was a Sunday, but it was almost midnight. Most sane, sensible people would have no doubt finished laundering their work clothes for the next morning by now.

You'd spent the majority of the day catching up on chores; vacuuming the apartment, changing the bedsheets, then you'd cooked a Sunday lunch.

Afterwards you'd finally put the laundry away. The laundry that had been sitting in the hamper since Thursday night.

You should've known it was too good to be true. That Rick had actually followed your simple instructions for once.

Okay, so he hadn't folded the clean laundry, but you didn't make a big deal out of it. In all honesty it had amazed you that he'd even done the laundry as promised.

However it had only become apparent when you'd searched for your uniform to iron, that he hadn't actually done any of your laundry.

"What am I supposed to do for work tomorrow?" You'd fumed at him, sounding every bit the nagging girlfriend.

But with good reason.

"Look, the last time I washed your stuff you said I ruined it. There's no way I'm risking that again, I'd never hear the end of it." Was his feeble defence.

"And you think you'll hear the end of this?! For fucks sake, Rick, you didn't even tell me you hadn't done it! Do I have to do everything myself?"

For once the argument hadn't escalated, purely because you didn't have the time or energy to stick around, but you didn't doubt that it would have. Especially given your parting shot;

"D'you know, a customer actually stuck around the other night to make sure I was okay after an altercation in the store. A freakin' total stranger did that to look out for me, and yet my own boyfriend can't even be bothered to do my fucking laundry!"

"Was it a guy?"

You stared at him, stony-faced.

"I'll take that as a yes."

"So what difference does that make?"