LAUNDRY STORIES WITH ZAYNE
ZAYNE WHO RETURNS TO YOUR CROSS-LEGGED FIGURE ON HIS BED HOLDING THE WHITE LATTICE-PATTERN LAUNDRY BASKET. He gives you a small smile as he comes through the doorframe and sets the basket on the bed and takes a seat himself on the mattress, already getting a start on folding the clothes freshout the dryer.
There’s a gentle light coming in through the window, and the sky such a pure light blue shade for the autumn.
The t-shirts and sweatshirts get neatly folded quite quickly with your two pairs of hands, and Zayne begins stacking them to store them. All that’s left in the apple-pie-latticed basket are a sea of mostly white socks.
Zayne turns back to you after storing everything where it should be in the wardrobe, quite inquisitive at the scene he’s now watching.
He flumps down again at the bed and already curiously grabbing one of the rolled pair of socks.
“Well this is unusual,” he says piqued in his hypnotic velvet voice, rotating the sock like if studying it will uncover something new. “I didn’t know you organised your socks this way.”
“Mhm. Foolproof for finding the right sock,” you comment.
Of course he won’t tell you that you can just make piled matching pairs. It’s cuter this way anyway.
He lets the little snowy ball smelling of fabric softener rest in his palms between his opened thighs as he queries back to you, looking a bit distracted making the little rolls.
Before you know, the side of your cheek is met with a small bun of white against your cheek, making you look up to Zayne extending his arm to a v-shape to let it reach you.
“It’s look like a little snowball,” he remarks, with his signature little smile on his face.
Now you’re clearly piqued by his behaviour, which you let know with a breathy smile.
IT’S VERY EARLY IN THE MORNING, AND THE SKY IS STILL GLOWING DARK INDIGO IN THE WET WINTER WEATHER.
Zayne is already risen for work, finishing with what he needs to get done before heading off to the hospital. He’s in the kitchen under only the dim white light of the range hood, looking at his phone for any updates in his schedule. He already transcribed a doodle response and short phrase to your mess on his wall-hung calendar, which he had to complete under the very same scarce light source because it’s so dark outside it illusions night time. There’s leftovers suitable for breakfast in the fridge in case you doze in for a few more minutes and don’t have as much time to prepare it.
The reminder to not forget his watch jolts to his mind, and so he enters the bedroom very quietly, so very slowly turning the door handle and slowly lifting it back up to lessen the recoil sound.
In the same cautious manner he slides open his wardrobe to find his watch. He can’t find it for a while, and turns his head around to where you’re still sleeping.
From his viewpoint looking at you, he can see a little further behind you something silver shine on your bedside table. Ah, he remembers now: when he came home last night, very tired, you insisted on giving him a well deserved hand massage before he head into the shower. With the both of you sat at the foot of the bed when he’d just come in the bedroom, gently kneading his hands…; you took the watch off him then.
But, then you did put it back in its correct place, because he remembers finding it there as he dressed into his loungewear whilst you took your own shower followed by him.
However, before closing the closet door, Zayne quickly began missing your touch on his hands again; which led to him fiddling with his watch, his favourite watch, engraved with his name in your handwriting and a heart.
Then he recalls how he had the watch on during dinner, and how you took it off him again when he settled in bed with you and you continued on his hand massage for a little while. That’s how it wound up there.
Zayne quietly steadies to grab his memento of you on your bedside table, and a very rumbled and near silent thunder brings a streak of light between the small gap of the closed curtains.
From the short-lived light source, he was able to catch glimpse on how your fluffy house slippers now appeared a bit stained and discoloured. He surveyed it was likely from the night you crept to the garden, still in your pijamas and slippers to let a collar-clad cat inside the solarium for the night; who was well received with food, water, and a woolly blanket. It was cold and the grass damp that late night, which is the reason why you let the cat come in and why your slippers got soiled.
Zayne grabs a page from a handy small notepad handing ‘round, clicks his pen once and starts writing on it. He clicks it once more and puts it away.
Zayne follows by lifting your hand that’s almost hanging off the bed and bringing it to his lips with a kiss, settling it back down gently, and turning to fasten his watch clasp secure on his wrist.
Your lover then bends down to pick up your slippers, his flexed index securing one slipper, and a flexed middle finger securing the other. Then he makes a job of toeing off his own slippers.
You wake up a few hours later, and notice the little note by your bedside: “Your slippers are in the washing machine. Wear mine.”
You look down and sure enough, Zayne’s slippers are facing outwards from the bed, just where your feet would naturally go to stand.
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