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Red, Yellow and Green streetlights that George can’t discern flicker in pattern without end on the road from the hanging lights above the street. And a lousy light inside the laundromat continuously blinks down on him, leaving George to groan in dismay. He has an empty basket beside him waiting to be filled with garments from t-shirts to pants.
The night outside made the asphalt streets look misted and slippery, and perhaps it was misting, but George honestly couldn’t tell. All other shops in the vicinity of the window had their interiors hidden in the dark of the night, and the street lamps were as ever so courteous to shine brilliance over the cracked sidewalks.
He’s been staring at the washing machine in front of him, swiveling his clothes in circles with soap and hot water. Curling his toes in exasperation with every second that it takes the numerals on it to decrease, he’s even begun to fiddle with the coins in his pocket. Feeling the harsh grooves of quarters and dimes rub against his fingers.
The glass windows of the laundromat reflect the speckled sky reminding him that it was far too late to be here, and the dispensing machines lining the walls had nothing of interest to offer him apart from hard pale fruit candies and capsules with stickers.
Fifty scents for a capsule with glimmering stickers.
The linoleum floor under him appears to have too much grime consisting of pebbles and dirt for him to even fathom the idea of sitting down. His legs burn and the bottoms of his feet feel swollen from how long he’s been standing here. And it’s just so quiet, not even a classical piano emanates from any speakers to aid his wait.
Carrying his messy noodles of earbuds would have been a good idea; he scolds himself, rapping his shoe against the floor before shifting his weight again. He peeks at the analog clock with black stencils as fingers, it’s now midnight.
He returns his attention to the washing machine in front of him and pleads at it with his desires, “c’mon now, please. I just want to go home and watch some film or even just sleep like a normal person, so just please.”
The timer on the machine subtracts a minute of his time, and the wait continues.
It’s better than nothing and he shows it with the toothy grin that crinkles his eyes. He flinches out of his jubilant state when he hears the bell from the front door twinkle melodically, he removes his hand from his pocket and stands with a postured back.
Through the door comes in a man with sandy hair and a stippled face with freckles, his hair is held up by a messy bun and he wears black cargo pants with a plain lime T-shirt tucked in. Along with him he carries his own laundry basket that’s near to spilling with clothes and other garments as well.
George catches a glimpse through the hamper he carries and smiles as he sees a pair of socks with cats imprinted on it, he manages to find it quite endearing. His own cat is most likely nuzzling into his bed, sleeping soundly as he waits for him to return.
He’s hastily pasting his gaze back onto the washing machine though when the man glances up and nearly catches him in his analysis.
His heart erratically knocks against his chest, and his knees wobble ever so slightly as he hears the padding of shoes approaching him. He resists wiping his hands onto his pants when the man is standing besides him crouching down to open the circular door of the machine.
He’s wearing a baggy hoodie and pants at a laundromat, and yet he still feels underdressed under the circumstances he’s in. He silently hears the thumping of clothes entering the machine and then the thrumming of the rumbling machine begins.
And another person now waits.
George scuffs his shoes against one another, sighing when one of the laces comes undone from it. His ears burn at the prospect of crouching down to tie his laces so he leaves them be and settles for slipping his phone out of his pocket.
Twelve o’ seven reads his phone.
He unlocks it and watches the man beside him from the peripheral of his vision. He loads up some random social media app and mindlessly scrolls through posts depicting images and captions, double tapping the posts to act as though he’s paying attention and not currently eyeing the man beside him.
His hands look nice grabbing at his own phone, and wrapped around one of his wrists is a bracelet with threaded yarn that ties together verdant beads in different shades. There are some block beads with faded letters on it though that spell out a word.
‘Dream’.
He murmurs the word aloud under his breath unbeknownst to him and the man beside him hums in answer as he speaks out a quizzical, “yes?”
He stumbles out of his reverie as his neck heats up far too much, “oh… I was just reading your bracelet is all, sorry:”
He hadn’t seen this man around town, but then again he’s only been here for a good two weeks. Learning the sidewalks around the small neighbourhood and shops outside, and pondering how far the nearest city is. At times he’d even find acorns laying around the sidewalks, that delivered a satisfying crunch when stepped on.
The man looks at him with a small smile and he responds to George with a fruity voice that tickles his stomach, “I don’t mind, see.”
Despite having stood next to him for a while now, George still feels astonished by the man who has to look down to make eye contact with him. He’s tall, and lanky but his shoulders are broad in just the best way. And now he’s offering his hand, showing him the bracelet around his wrist.
Tentatively he asks, “May I?” He gestures at it with his hand, and pockets his phone once the man in front of him gives him an acquicising nod.
He furrows his brows at the way his hands tremble weakly, the AC inside the laundromat isn’t even on and even then he wears his own hoodie to keep him warm.
Hesitant, he takes hold of the man’s wrist, somewhat startled to find how warm it is under his touch. He runs a finger over the beads, noting how the shimmering plastic is also concealed in warmth from its owner. Once again he reads the name, but this time he keeps his lips pressed together to capture any sound.
“Is your name Dream? Like actually?” He ponders, glancing up at the man.
“Well I mean…,” the man contemplates his next words, scuffing his shoes against the floor and George’s own flushed face warms even more when the man’s ears begin to tint pink as he answers sheepishly, “my friend and I actually gave each other names when we were around like five maybe?”
“So it is your name then?”
“Yes,” Dream finally decides to say.
“Dream,” he tests the name out, loving how it curls from his vowel pronunciation.
“Pretty boy,” Dream responds, letting a smile tug at his lips more as he gazes at George. He even goes through the notion of fluttering his eyelashes at him, coaxing a large smile to appear on his own face.
“Hey you liked that!” Dream exclaims, surprised by what his words did to George. Dream runs his free hand over his hair, pushing back any stray strands while he turns his head to look at the side.
“How about..”
“No, no stop, my name is George,” he interrupts before Dream can fabricate a new name.
Dream redirects his eyes back to George, who’s back to paying more attention to the bracelet he’s still toying with. A shimmer of embarrassment runs through his body at having not let go of Dream’s wrist, causing him to do so, so he can return his hands inside his own pockets.
“Ah, okay. Though I still think you are very pretty, George.”
George returns back to watching the washing machine, giddy when he sees that only ten minutes remain for the load to finish, but then comes the dread of having to wait for it to dry. Which would be another thirty minutes of waiting, adding up to an hour basically.
“Fuck,” he groans, stomping his foot against the floor in irritation.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s just,” he pauses to hold his face in his hands, and squeezes at his warm cheeks before he continues, “I’ve been here for fucking ever, and it’s still not done, have they always been like this?”
He looks at Dream, who is already looking back at him. A mirthful smile at play as he responds, “they’ve always been slower than a tortoise.”
“Is there anything to ease the pain of waiting?”
“Actually there is,” Dream answers readily, he gestures at George to follow him. Together they walk towards the back of the laundromat, at the back of the laundromat is a door that reads ‘storage room’ and some posters advertising soft drinks stick to the walls loosely with thumb tacks.
“Just, let me see if it’s still unlocked,” Dream says, and George is somewhat mildly surprised when Dream tugs at the door handle. It opens and inside the room is a bucket with a worn down mop, along with some more cleaning supplies.
The most crucial of the items is the two vending machines that are snuggled tight into the cramped closet.
“Dream, what the fuck.”
“It tastes better than those hard candy bananas and apples,” is all Dream replies with, already stepping into the closet. He flicks on a switch near the door, causing the measly light bulb that hangs from the ceiling to light up.
A hideous yellow.
“I guess that’s a good argument,” George comments, he walks close to one of the vending machines and looks through the glass to see what’s available.
Some chocolate bars, crisps, gummies, boxes of flavoured gum, as well as some sunflower seeds.
He peeks at the other vending machine where Dream stands by already pocketing out some spare change, the ugly light along with the dimness of the vending machine’s light give Dream a, well dreamy look.
But he’s here to look at what the vending machine has to barter him, inside that vending machine is a wide assortment of beverages made up of soft drinks and water.
“What coin is that?” George asks, when he sees Dream holding a seemingly large golden coin.
“It’s a dollar coin, worth well, a dollar,” Dream amusedly chuckles, holding it between his thumb and index finger to show George.
“Oh okay, it just looked weird.”
“What’re you gonna get?” Dream asks instead, inputting the numbers into the keypad.
“I guess some crisps or some fruit gummies,” George shrugs, slipping out some coins himself.
A loud whistle of a laugh startles George, and he almost ends up spilling his coins on the floor.
“Crisps!” Dream exclaims, out of breath.
“Yes crisps?”
His ears warm harshly once again, bashful of his previous word use. Nevertheless he slips the coins into the machine and types out the numerals and letters onto the keypad. Smiling when a bag of crisps falls from its spot, then a packet of gummy fruits stumbles down as well.
Dream is busy clearing his throat by now, stuffing down any stray sniggers that may escape.
“Oh I’m sorry, I meant ‘chips’,” George replies, escaping from his bashful stupor.
“Yes, yes exactly,” Dream says, with a strained voice.
“Unbelievable,” George crouches down to grab at his ‘chips’ and gummies, hearing the plastic crackle under his hands makes his stomach fizzle with a slight hunger.
They leave the storage room eventually, switching off the hideous light and shutting the door behind them as if nothing occurred, along the way back to their respective washing machines George asks curiously, “how’d you even find that?”
“Just some snooping around…” is all Dream replies with, nonchalantly shrugging as he pops open the cap to his soft drink.
At last during some more banter the washing machine beside George finally chirps in completion, allowing him to sag his shoulders in relief. He’s finishing up his bag of gummies as he reaches into the washing machine, tossing the sopping wet clothes into his hamper. They make a slapping sound against each other as they pile up, with Dream chuckling at the noise every once in a while.
He carries the heavy hamper across the room where the drying machines are, and tosses the clothes inside, setting the time for thirty minutes and again begins the wait.
When he turns back around he sees Dream sitting atop one of the washing machines, watching George, before he beckons him over to sit with him.
“C’mon George, sit, you’ve been standing for who knows how long by now.”
He reluctantly agrees and walks his way over, jumping onto the cold washing machine. He unconsciously scoots closer to Dream beside him, feeling how his warm arm touches against the fabric of his hoodie. Trespassing the polyester and allowing him to think he’s actually feeling Dream’s skin.
He resists the urge to let his head loll against Dream’s shoulder and breathes out, moving his hand inside the pocket of his hoodie to pull out the bag of crisps he has yet to open.
For a while it’s just them, and the crunching of crisps along with the silently ticking clock along the wall. The dryer’s rumbling continues throughout the whole time, and George begins to feel drowsy from the soft lifting and dropping of Dream breathing beside him.
“Dream?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m sleepy,” George admits, adding a yawn afterwards.
Dream laughs softly, “sleepy head.”
“I am sleepy,” George mumbles, at last letting his head lean against Dream’s arm.
“Just a few more minutes,” Dream says.
George gives a quiet hum in response, and rubs his cheek against Dream’s arm. Sighing calmly, he swings his feet from where they dangle above the floor. Silently wishing for Dream’s legs that touch the floor beneath him with ease. His vision is smudged in the way that sleepiness usually rubs at your eyes.
And the dryer’s digital clock reads ten more minutes, ten more minutes and he can crawl into bed afterwards.
“You’re so warm,” George blurts out, the late night beginning to loosen his restraint.
He glances up at Dream who doesn’t respond, noticing how his cheeks are red from George’s comment.
“You’re so pretty,” Dream replies eventually, he beams back at George though afterwards. Red cheeks flushing more when he’s glancing at George.
He averts his eyes back down to his lap, where he brings his hands onto to fiddle around with his fingers. Interlocking them and discerning his nails for any grime that might have accumulated, Dream laughs again besides him and George likes how his laugh deepens every once in a while, lulling him to sleep.
George startles though when Dream abruptly sits up.
“What? What’s going on?”
“We should get some stickers!” Dream exclaims.
George blinks blearily at the dryer in front of him as he processes his words, “what?”
“You know from that shitty dispenser,” Dream continues, gesturing with his hand towards the sticker dispenser by the tall glass windows.
Fifty cents for once capsule . George recites to himself.
“No, they’re too expensive,” George grumbles, slouching against Dream more.
He’s so warm.
“George,” Dream drawls, fruity and deep, stirring butterflies in George’s stomach.
Goosebumps tickle him, and he tentatively sits up and jumps off the washing machine. Dream getting off it as well.
“Here I’ll be back,” Dream says, scurrying off to the ridiculous machine. George lazily watches as he slots about a dollar in total, turning the locket twice. Allowing two capsules to drop out, Dream is walking back to him soon, a bounce to his step as he hands him one.
The plastic capsule is light in his hands. It wears a blue cap atop that George pops off, which causes his nails to sting a little from the harsh plastic. Inside the cap is a glimmering sticker that reflects the ceiling’s lighting back to him.
It’s a pineapple sticker.
Nice.
“Look George,” Dream calls to him.
He looks at Dream who holds a mushroom sticker in hand, it too shines with sharp sparkles under the dim light.
“Was it worth it?” George asks.
“Totally,” Dream approaches him closer, and leans down slightly and without a second thought peels the paper from the back of the sticker and sticks it onto George’s cheek.
George hurries to move his hand up to his face, feeling the sticker warm from his flushed cheeks. He’s ready to peel it off but Dream stops him with a whine to keep it on.
“It looks cute on you,” Dream reasons.
George raises one of his eyebrows unamused and beckons Dream to lean down, George looks at him. His speckled cheeks and nose, endearing him along with his expressive eyes that smile at him from the way they crinkle at the edges. Peeling the paper from his own sticker he hastily pastes it in the middle of his eyebrows.
Dream flinches from the sudden movement, blinking. Then drags his hand up to his face to touch at the sticker curiously.
“It looks cute on you,” George mimics back, smiling mischievously.
“Aw c’mon now,” Dream groans, pushing a hand through his hair, causing a few strands to slip out his messy bun.
The dryer is chimes.
And George doesn’t feel as relieved as he would have wanted to be the past hour or so. He’s still looking at Dream who smiles at him, with the faintest frown on the corner of his lips.
“It’s bedtime for you now,” Dream teases, his voice wavers somewhat, scratching George’s heart slightly.
“Yeah, yeah alright,” George says.
The rest of the time is spent with George tugging his clothes out of the drier and dropping them down into his hamper with the intention of folding them in the morning. Dream all the while, hums in his soft voice, leaving tremors to run down George’s spine.
Once his clothes are all messily inside his hamper he lifts it and pinches his lips together, legs wobbling unbeknownst to the both of them.
“Well… bye, Dream” he whispers.
“Pretty boy, we live in a small town. I’m more than sure, I’ll be seeing you sooner than later, just go get some sleep,” Dream assures, slipping hope into George's ears.
“As long as you sleep as well, dream boy,” George warns, walking towards the glass door to push it open.
“Oh? Dream boy? This is new,” Dream pesters, following behind George.
He opens the door to help George walk out the laundromat.
“Just sleep later too,”
“I will, I will,” Dream assures, hearing the twinkle of the bell attached to the door.
“Goodnight, Dream.”
“Goodnight, George.”