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Jesse sat on top of the dryer, a needle and thread in hand as he carefully patched a bullet hole in his favorite serape. His usual cigar was replaced with a toothpick, not wanting to add any burn holes while fixing the holes he’d already collected.
“Is the washing machine free?”
His gaze flicked up, falling on an enormous mountain of highly fashionable laundry being held by a tiny girl, a pair of headphones barely peeking up above the pile.
“Yeah. Dryer’ll be free in a few minutes, too, I reckon,” he added, rapping the top of the machine with his metal knuckles. “Need anything patched up?”
“Nah, I just get new jumpsuits when I need ‘em,” she said, Hana’s face finally emerging as the clothing pile disappeared into the machine.
“Seems fussy.”
“Eh, not as bad as patching ‘em up,” Hana shrugged, popping her gum casually. Jesse supposed it made sense that the girl who just got a new MEKA every time she needed one in combat would do the same with her uniforms.
“You got stuff in the dryer?” she asked, casually dumping a bunch of soap in the machine and knocking the lid shut.
“Few things,” he replied. “Gotta be up early on laundry day t’ get a good spot in the rotation.”
“So you just hang out in the laundry room?” she asked, hopping up on the washer as it began to fill.
“Patch up anything that anyone needs stitched,” Jesse grinned, holding up his metal hand. “Got a built-in thimble, after all.”
“Hah! Makes sense, I guess,” she shrugged, pulling out some sort of handheld game or another—Jesse certainly wasn’t going to lean over and bug her about it.
“Laundry day!” Reinhardt roared, carrying a basket into the room. “Does the line start here?”
“Looks like it,” Hana remarked, not looking up as her thumbs tapped away madly.
“Need anything patched?” Jesse asked, his gaze flicking up.
“Hah! I handle all my own mending,” Reinhardt grinned, showing a sloppily but firmly mended pant leg. “It’s difficult with big fingers, but I can’t get better without practice!”
“True ‘nough,” Jesse nodded, his stitches a good deal neater and narrower.
A few minutes passed in relative silence, the thrum of the washing machines a pleasant backdrop of white noise. The dryer finally stopped, a loud buzzer sounding. Jesse slid off of the dryer, pulling it open and dumping the warm cloth in his former place.
“…Hey, are those…?” Hana asked, looking at the pile of fabric and spying something that looked suspiciously like kyudo-gi.
“Are those what?” Jesse asked, dropping his mended serape onto the pile and blocking the clothing from sight.
“Hey!”
“Ain’t nothin’ t’ see in a man’s laundry, Hana,” Jesse said, bundling up the clothes and turning on his heel.
“Except when it’s not your laundry!” she called, huffing.
The incident had almost drifted from Hana’s mind by the time she swapped her laundry into the dryer, Reinhardt carefully measuring his laundry soap as another figure entered.
“Oh…I see the machines are occupied,” Hanzo remarked, holding a basket of clothes under his arm.
“It shouldn’t take too long, you can wait here,” Reinhardt smiled.
“Very well,” Hanzo shrugged, dropping the basket on a nearby table and beginning to sort his load. Hana hopped down from the dryer, inching closer and peering around Hanzo’s back as he sorted whites from colors, cotton, polyester—and unabashedly in the middle of it all, a few very well-worn flannel shirts.