I’m so right though. I’m so right!!!!!!
"Laura," Derek bellows when he sees it, a forlorn sock clenched in his fist. He’d been going to hang it up when he spots his own picture, dangling next to a grubby gym sock.
He hears her snickering in the back, and with a huff, he snatches the picture off, crumples it and throws it in the garbage.
"I need more quarters," Mrs. Kiblitsky says.
"You gonna do laundry, or are you taking them for the meter?" Derek snaps her. He instantly regrets it, as she gives him a ten minute tongue lashing he can’t escape from.
All in all, it’s a pretty bad day.
In revenge, he leaves her alone to handle the night shift, and takes himself out to dinner, eats a burger in the back row of the diner.
He doesn’t get back to the laundromat until the next afternoon, and the moment he walks in the door, a machine starts flooding. It’s one of the older, shitty models he told Laura not to buy, but she wanted quanity over quality. Shows her.
"Excuse me," someone says as Derek finally stands up, wiping grease from his forehead. He turns around to find a snub nosed college kid, pretty and exactly Derek’s type.
"Yeah?" he says, a moment too late.
"The machine ate my quarters," the kid says, waving vaguely towards the far bank.
Derek doesn’t say anything, just heads to the cashier counter, swipes the key and screwdriver and follows the kid over to his machine.
"I’m Stiles," the kid says, hopping up on the neighboring machine. There’s a sign, big and blatant, right next to Stiles that says ABSOLUTELY NO SITTING ON WASHERS. Derek is trying not to look at Stiles’s thighs, and the v they make, like he’s making space for someone to stand. He doesn’t say anything to make Stiles get down.
"Derek," he says belatedly, and jimmies open the tray, and hands Stiles his change. He flips the switch inside, starts the cycle. "Free one for your trouble," he says.
"Thanks," Stiles says, and smiles at him, bright and happy. His eyes lift a little, and focus behind Derek, and his smile grows into a full grin. "Clean and single, huh?" he says, pointing.
Derek turns, and sure enough, his picture is back on the wall.
"Jesus Christ," he says, and rips it down with a snarl. He’s going to key her car later.
"Does that mean you’re not so clean, or not so single?" Stiles says, looking at him. "Or is it the looking part?"
"It’s my sister’s idea of a prank," Derek says, sidestepping all of his questions. "See you around."
He stomps back to the desk and slumps down with his book. It’s a fruitless attempt, but he tries desperately not to glance over, to watch Stiles’s ass when he crouches down to load his dryer.
Laura’s in the front when he comes in the next morning, and she’s smirking, the one that makes Derek’s stomach turn. ”What,” he says, and then thinks, turns to look at the sock board.
There’s a picture hanging there all right, but it’s not his. Stiles smiles from his own glossy poloroid, and at the bottom, in a messy scrawl, is his phone number.
izzy806
tangentwithtanner
2087
gamechangershow
amandla
kianamaiart
