Ah shit, here we go again! 17 with kriity?
Last one of the night! Hope you enjoy <3
Ship: Krii7y Number: 17 Prompt: Folding their clean laundry and putting it away.
Love was...weird.
Smiity first bumped into him in the laundry room of their apartment complex. It had been late, nearly midnight, but Smiity’s shifts at the hospital made some of his days drag on far longer than his schedule said. The crazy hours meant that he’d gotten permissions from Brock, their landlord, to use the laundry facilities whenever he needed. After being in the complex for over a year, it was the first time he’d bumped into someone. John, as the other man had introduced, had weird hours working as a flight attendant. Sometimes, Smiity wouldn’t see him for weeks at a time, and others they synced up three times in one week. John liked to catch up with Smiity while their clothes were being washed and dried, despite Smiity knowing how precious sleep was for both of them.
Sometime, maybe three months ago, Smiity walked in to John sleeping on the fold-out chair against the wall, warm laundry waiting to be pulled out of the dryer. Smiity didn’t want to wake his… ‘friend’ (he hated how his heart lurched in his chest at the wry smile John got when rolling that word out between them), but he needed the dryer. The other had been broken, but Brock’s handyman, Brian, was still waiting for a part. Smiity could have tossed them into the orange laundry basket he knew to be John’s; it was how he handled most of his clothes. But he knew that John’s shifts had been longer, flying across the country and back countless times. He probably didn’t have time to breathe, nevermind worry about folding his laundry. Plus, Smiity had to wait for his own to dry; it could take up some time. So that’s what he did; while John finally caught up on his sleep, Smiity folded his clothes and organized them in John’s basket. John woke up right at the end of Smiity’s cycle, and Smiity had to bite back his smirk at the surprised blink John gave when looking at the neat laundry before he brought his basket (with unfolded clothes) out of the room.
He wasn’t sure when it became a...thing. John never asked, and Smiity didn’t feel obligated to do the chore. Sometimes it was when he caught John snoozing in his favorite chair, sometimes they were both chatting away while Smiity creased the towels and dropped them into John’s basket. His eyebrow arched at the sultry boxers John had in his load, ignoring the rush of red filling his cheeks when his thumb brushed the satin fabric before folding it quietly. He picked up on which shirt was John’s favorite, opening up conversation about their interests and hobbies. A lot of them were more similar than he’d expected, and phone numbers were exchanged to talk outside of the laundry visits. He wasn’t sure how the Pikachu t-shirt ended up in his basket, but he wore it to bed more times than he wanted to admit. Smiity praised John for his weight loss after seeing the size change in his work pants, and John looked touched by the awareness. Smiity didn’t think he’d learn so much about his neighbor by the simple task of folding clothes. But he enjoyed it enough to look forward to the taxing chore.
“You should pay me for folding your clothes,” he teased one summer night, both men buzzing from unspoken tension and the alcohol the two shared for the fourth of july. Neither man worked the next day, so laundry didn’t have to be done so late, but Smiity hadn’t wanted to share their time with others.
A firework went off in the distance, lighting up the half-lidded gaze John kept on him before taking a swig of his bottle. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Smiity said, eyes flickering down to the pants he was folding to drop into the basket before grabbing the next piece of clothing. Another crackle, another flicker, and Smiity slowly looked up when feeling a touch brushing against his cheek. His breath stuttered at the close proximity, stomach fluttering in pleasure.
“Yeah?” Eyes stared down at him, the repeated question having nothing to do with the shirt now balled nervously in Smiity’s hand. His body shivered, then swallowed as John leaned closer.
“Yeah,” he whispered, eyes closed at the first brush of lips against his.
The shirt dropped into the basket so Smiity could wrap his arms around John’s neck. Laundry was long forgotten, but for the first time, Smiity didn’t care.
