Chapter Text
An alarm rang, interrupting Logan’s game to tell him that his laundry had finished drying.
He considered leaving it to sit in the machine on the 13th floor. Few people wandered up to the eerie laundry room anyway, so it wasn’t like there was a real threat of anyone stealing his clothes.
Barely peeking into the corner of his vision, Logan caught sight of the obnoxious yellow t-shirt he currently wore. It was free, intended as a marketing ploy, from… an auto shop? Maybe?
Yeah no, he thought to himself as he flicked at the fraying red lettering. He needed his first-string clothes back.
Finally silencing his alarm, an act everyone in his headset currently yelled at him to do, Logan set down his controller. He stretched once, told his very best friends (ones that he loved dearly) to go fuck themselves, then took off his headset and left the lobby.
Standing, he patted down his pockets, reminding himself that he needed to grab his laundry bag and keys. No one was going to find him groveling at the front desk to be let back into his own apartment. Getting locked out was not on his to-do list. Not now. Not ever.
Swiping the necessary items, he set off.
He cracked his neck lazily as he passed Louise's door in the hallway. She'd been weird the last time he saw her. Weirder than usual, which was saying something because he already thought she was very weird. And annoying. With a short temper and too many good comebacks.
Caleb had told him once that that was his type, so apparently everyone Logan knew was weird and annoying.
Logan resisted a shiver when he made it to the 13th. Still creepy as ever. He sidestepped the perma-puddle to get to the laundry room as quickly as possible, eager to return home. Even with the growing sense of dread the entire floor planted inside each of its victims, he stopped in his tracks at the sight greeting him through the small window on the door.
In front of the row of dryers was Louise, folding her clothes as she plucked them one by one from the machine then laid them in her basket.
And, because it was laundry day, she was wearing her goddamn laundry day shorts.
Fuck.
He loved those shorts.
If he was a poet, he would write about how they clung at her hips like steam from the shower stuck to a mirror. If he was a musician, he would sing about how they always seemed to cover just enough to leave him in a state of want. If he was impatient, he would feel for himself exactly how smooth the expanse of her thighs actually were.
But he was none of those things, so instead he stayed put and admired the vision a little while longer. Maybe if he spotted Louise during a private moment then he might have a sense of shame, but this was a public laundry room. It was different. Everyone could leave him and his favorite pair of shorts (that he didn’t own) alone.
Logan admitted to having limits though, and he found his when she bent over to pick up a runaway sock.
Inhaling sharply, he turned away and tightened the muscles in his forearm a few times until he… calmed down.
He exhaled for what felt like the first time in a minute then did the unthinkable and entered the room.
After only a cursory glance his way, Louise abandoned folding to haphazardly scoop clothes into her basket.
“Umm, okay?” Logan tilted his head. Shit. Had she caught him peeking? He definitely didn’t make eye contact with her from the hall, but what if she saw him while he was, uh, getting a hold of himself? When backed into a corner, he did what he did best: said a cool line to misdirect. “I’m not trying to peek at your delicates. You can calm down.”
Still got it, he congratulated himself.
His satisfaction was short-lived. The only barb he got in return was a single word thrown over her shoulder.
“Banter.”
His confused reaction met her back, and she rushed out of the laundry room without so much of a mumbled “bye” or “idiot” to spare. Some people really could be so rude.
He looked upward and shrugged. This might actually have been the best case scenario for him, regardless of whatever his neighbor had going through her head. Now at least he wouldn’t be eye level with those damn shorts as he unloaded his laundry.
Taking his time, Logan set down his bag to empty the lint trap from the dryer.
Huh, he thought when it wasn’t a satisfying pull. This whole day would be full of disappointments it seemed. Tossing the minuscule lint ball, he returned the trap to the dryer then bent to a squat on the ground to remove his clothes.
Halfway through, the door opened. In his peripherals, he caught Louise making her way back in. Thank god because that earlier scrap of conversation really wasn’t enough to satisfy him.
“I can’t believe you wou-” Logan’s quip about showing her face died on his lips finally seeing how fast she barreled towards him. “What the-?!”
No time to fully register, all Logan could do was feel as one of her hands pushed the back of his neck down while the other grabbed hold of his sweatpants and shoved him forward until he had a face full of freshly laundered boxers.
“Louise?!” Logan yelled then winced as the sound reverberated through the machine to hit his own ears. “What kind of stuck in the washer step brother bullshit are you pulling??”
Nothing really kept him in the dryer except for pure shock, and, once he realized that, he wiggled out of the citrus scented pile and back into the harsh fluorescent lighting.
His shock continued when he saw that Louise had already vanished without a trace.
Fluffing his hair and straightening the ugly t-shirt, he decided he would have to get her back for… whatever that was.
It would be good, his eventual revenge. In the quieter parts of his mind, far removed from his bewilderment at being shoved in a dryer, Logan let himself hope that whatever he cooked up involved those shorts.