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(1)
The second thing Louis notices is the dried blood, which is a damn shame, because it makes the first thing almost entirely irrelevant.
“Mate,” he says, because he's never had a great brain to mouth filter to begin with, and the chronic lack of sleep has eroded any self control he might've had left. “Am I gonna be, like, an accessory to a crime here? Shouldn't you get rid of the evidence before you go around collecting eye witnesses? Not to judge, or anything, but you seem like a rubbish murderer.”
Slowly, the bloke standing next to him at the laundromat lowers the blood encrusted shirt he'd been holding up to the light, looking at Louis with something like disbelief. “I honestly have no idea what to say to that,” he says after what might be described as an awkward pause, if Louis believed in that sort of thing.
“Was kind of hoping you'd deny the murderer thing, actually,” Louis says. He's just started his spin cycle, so he's got a solid thirty minutes before he can make a getaway, and that's only if he wants to hang wet clothes all around his flat to drip dry. He brought extra quarters today for the dryer, but they can just as easily be spent on biscuits if it means saving his own life. Louis' thrifty like that.
“I'm not a murderer,” the bloke replies, which would have been a lot more believable had Louis not just fed him the line. Honestly, it's like this guy wants to get caught.
“Then maybe you could explain why you're holding onto a bloody shirt? Pretty damning evidence, if you ask me.”
The bloke blinks at him before dropping his gaze to the shirt in question. “Um, I didn't ask you, though? And it's – I'm not – christ, I didn't kill anybody. One of my kids got a bloody nose and seemed to think hugging me was the only cure.” He stares at the shirt for another few seconds before adding, “I should probably just throw it out, shouldn't I? There's no way bleach is going to work.”
Considering the shirt is gray, Louis thinks no, bleach is not going to work. He opens his mouth to say so, but “how many kids do you have?” comes out instead.
Face scrunching like he's trying to do the math, which is way nicer than telling Louis off for being so nosy, the bloke says, “Uh, about – twenty, I think?”
Well. That's. Hmm. It's certainly been a roller coaster of a conversation, hasn't it? Shame the bloke is so fit, because he's striking out all over the place in every other category. “I've only got one myself,” Louis says with as much cheer as he can muster. “Not sure how you're managing twenty, but I'm… slightly horrified? No, that's rude. I'll go with impressed. Final answer.”
For a long moment, the bloke looks like he's a little unsure what to do with that, then suddenly something must click, because his eyes widen comically. “Oh my god, no, I don't – I didn't mean – I'm a teacher. Primary school. I've got twenty kids in my class?”
It's Louis' turn to process. “You're a teacher. Not a murderer, or a harlot.”
The bloke laughs. Giggles, really, his attractive face going all crinkly and his eyes actually twinkling. It's rude.
“Sorry,” the bloke says, choking back what's likely another giggle. Louis glares. “It's just. A harlot, really?”
“You told me you had twenty kids! What was I supposed to think?”
“The evidence was pretty damning,” the bloke tells him, lips pressing tightly together like it'll keep Louis from noticing the way he can't help his smile. It's ridiculously attractive like the rest of his face. No one would blame Louis for admitting defeat and holding out a hand for the bloke to shake, and anyway, Louis' mum didn't raise him to be a complete barbarian.
“I'm Louis.”
The bloke has a firm, warm grip and his hand engulfs Louis' entirely. It's completely unfair.
“Liam,” he says, and despite himself, Louis can't help smiling back at him.
(2)
“You again. Trying to wash away more evidence?”
Liam glances up from his mobile, mouth curling into a grin when he sees Louis. It's been two weeks, and Liam hasn't forgotten him. Louis feels a flare of pride in his chest. He's still got some game, even if the laundromat is the only place he gets to use it these days.
“Hi!” Liam says, then he cocks his head to the side. “Sorry, you've got something--” he gestures to his own face, and Louis reaches a hand up to touch his cheek. There's something crusted there that he strongly suspects is baby food. At least, he really hopes so. The alternatives are a lot less attractive.
“If I told you I hadn't showered in forty-eight hours, would you judge me? This is a test, mind, and the future of our entire friendship depends on your answer. No pressure.”
Liam doesn't miss a beat. “You were there for me when you thought I was a murderer. The least I can do is overlook some poor hygiene on your part.”
Nudging open a washer door with his foot, Louis says, “I feel like you're mocking me, but I'm going to choose to be the bigger man here and accept your words as a sincere declaration.”
“That is big of you,” Liam says, sounding amused. Then, significantly less amused-- “Mate, what are you doing?”
Louis glances up from where he's shoveling as many clothes as he can fit into the washer. “Uh, laundry? This is a laundromat, Liam. What else would I be doing?”
Shaking his head, Liam stands up, slipping his phone into his pocket. “No, I meant – you can't just throw all your darks and lights in there together.”
Louis frowns at the washer. Then he frowns at Liam. “Pretty sure I can.”
Liam's eyebrows do something truly incredible that makes Louis feel extremely judged, and then Liam's elbow is digging into Louis' side to push him out of the way, and then Liam is carefully sorting Louis' laundry into neat piles. It all happens so quickly; Louis feels a bit winded.
“It's like you want the colours to bleed,” Liam mutters, dropping a pair of Louis' trousers into the darks pile. The next piece clothing he picks up takes a moment for him to sort out, and when he does, his whole face lights up. “Oh my god, Louis, this is adorable.” He glances at Louis. “You meant it, didn't you, when you said you had a kid?”
Freddie's shirt looks tinier than normal in Liam's big hands. “Be a weird thing to lie about, wouldn't it?” Louis says, as Liam carefully sets the shirt down into the lights pile. The next thing Liam picks up also looks small in his giant hands, and then it's Louis' turn to elbow him out of the way.
“Think I can manage from here, mate,” he says, snatching his briefs from Liam's grip. He knocks Liam's empty laundry basket onto the floor so that Liam knows he's not actually mad, and it doesn't occur to him until it crashes loudly to the floor that Liam could very easily interpret that as Louis being mad.
No one's ever accused Louis of being a clear communicator.
Liam just laughs, though, picking up the basket and settling it on a machine far enough away that it's safe from Louis' reach.
“Your kid will thank me, when they have clean clothes to wear that aren't ruined,” Liam says happily.
Louis snorts. “Freddie's ten months old. I doubt he cares.”
“Still,” Liam insists, and ignores the buzzer on his own load to make sure Louis gets his clothes sorted properly.
(3)
“This is starting to become a habit,” Louis says, pushing his way through the laundromat door.
Liam's pouring detergent into a washer, and there's conveniently an open one right next to him. Technically, there are open machines all over the laundromat, since there's no one there save for him and Liam, but Louis doesn't get a lot of adult contact outside of work. At least, that's what he tells himself as he hefts his overflowing basket of clothes onto a table, pulling out a red sweatshirt to start his darks pile.
“A good one, I hope,” Liam says, beaming at him. “Look at you, sorting your clothes. Freddie must be so happy.”
“His grandmum is spoiling him rotten right now, so I suspect he is,” Louis replies, frowning at a gray shirt that's too dark for the lights, but too light for the darks. He tosses it back into the basket to deal with later.
“Oh,” Liam says, and there's something hesitant in his voice when he adds, “Is there, um. I don't mean to pry, or anything, but...”
He trails off, screwing the cap back onto his detergent and focusing his attention onto the washer settings.
Louis waits patiently for eleven entire seconds. “Well?” he prompts. “You can't lead in like that and not follow through. What'd you want to pry about?”
As far as Louis can tell, Liam is an expert at doing laundry, so it's a mystery why it's suddenly taking all of his concentration to flip the tab to cold wash. He clears his throat loudly, then says, “Um. Is there a – a Mrs. Freddie's mum?”
It's too easy, and Liam's fun to play with. “Well, yeah. Obviously. What do you think, I just spawned a kid on my own?”
“Obviously,” Liam echoes. His cheeks are an interesting shade of pink, and he's turning the washer knobs hard enough to snap them off. Louis finally takes pity.
“But if you're asking, if me and Mrs. Freddie's mum are still together, the answer is no,” Louis says. “I'm basically a single dad, me.”
Liam finally glances up. “Basically?”
With a loud sigh, Louis shoves his load of darks into the nearest open washer, pouring in what is probably the right amount of detergent. Liam's eyebrows only get slightly judgy, so it can't be far off. “Freddie's mum is… not very involved, I guess you could say.” Louis leans in so he can whisper conspiratorially, “Hard to be, when you're an astronaut on an important mission… to Mars.”
Liam blinks at him for a few moments. “Fuck off, you're lying,” he finally decides, but then cocks his head. “You are lying, aren't you?”
It's hard to keep a straight face when Liam's busy resembling a confused puppy, and Louis bursts into laughter. “Fine, I'm lying. She just travels a lot for work. We didn't think it was fair, lugging Freddie all over the place, so I have custody of him most of the time. Since my mum helps out quite a bit, we live here. His mum visits when she can.” He sighs as dramatically as he can manage. It's impressively dramatic, not that he'd ever brag. “It's a much better story, though, about her being an astronaut.”
“I mean, I don't disagree,” Liam says, smiling again now that he's on the inside of the joke. “If you wanna sell it, though, you might wanna drop the mission to Mars part,” he suggests helpfully.
That just sets Louis off again. “Says the guy who almost believed me.”
“Hey!” Liam protests. “I saw that Matt Damon movie last week, all right? It was proper realistic. How do I know there aren't secret missions to Mars happening right now?”
“I suppose we don't,” Louis agrees, unable to help grinning at Liam. It's alarmingly easy.
(4)
Louis is expecting Liam again next week, which is probably his first mistake. The laundromat is crowded for a Sunday morning with an entire two other people inside, but since neither of them are Liam, it doesn't even count.
Feeling grouchy, Louis dumps a full load into an empty washer, not bothering to sort out the darks from the lights. Maybe it's Liam's bat signal, and he'll come running to scold Louis.
He doesn't, and that just makes Louis grouchier. He'll probably turn all his clothes pink on accident, even though he's never actually seen that happen outside of a sitcom.
There's about ten minutes left of his spin cycle, and he's debating whether or not to use his extra quarters on a dryer or a kebab from the vendor down the street, when someone bursts through the door, breathing heavily.
It's Liam, dripping in sweat and winded, like he's run the whole way here.
“Sorry,” he says, stumbling inside and sliding a laundry basket full of clothes onto the washer next to Louis'. “I had a kickabout with some mates this morning and lost track of time.”
Louis is momentarily tongue-tied, his brain unable to settle on a retort. It's not like we had a standing appointment nearly wins out, which is much better than holy shit have you always had that many muscles? What ends up coming out is, “Who sucks at hygiene now?”
Wrinkling his nose, Liam frowns down at his sweat-soaked shirt. “I totally deserve that. I would have grabbed a quick shower, but I was afraid I'd miss you.”
Louis' stomach definitely does not flip over itself at Liam's words. “Yeah, be a real shame if I missed you at your worst,” he manages, and promptly swallows his tongue when Liam peels his shirt over his head, dropping it into the washer. He's got a lot of muscles Louis didn't know about. A lot of hair, too. His whole… everything is a lot.
Liam doesn't seem to notice that Louis is busy having an aneurysm, methodologically dropping garments into the washer until it's full and starting his spin cycle. Louis' own washer buzzes, and he grabs the entire load, shoving it into a dryer.
“I gotta confess something,” Liam says, turning his sincerest expression on Louis. Louis swallows thickly, careful to keep his eyes above Liam's neck. It's surprisingly challenging. “I have a horrible habit of letting my laundry pile up, but knowing you're here each week has helped me stay on schedule. I'm really glad we met, you know?”
“Yeah,” Louis says, his palms suddenly damp. “Yeah, me too.”
Liam opens his mouth like he wants to say something else, but then he snaps it shut. “Anyway,” he says after a moment. “That's what I wanted to say, so. Thanks.”
“'Course. That's what friends are for, innit?” Not Louis' friends, mind, who tend to just wear whatever's cleanest that they pick up off the floor, but.
Liam's not really like Louis' other friends, is he?
(5)
Freddie's sick, dribbling snot and tears everywhere, and even though the laundry's piled up twice as much as usual, Louis calls to cancel his mum's standing babysitting appointment.
“Shh, shh, you're all right, you're all right,” he murmurs, bouncing Freddie on one hip and holding his mobile to his opposite ear. “Sorry, mum, he's poorly. Kinda just want to keep him with me. No, yeah, if he doesn't stop coughing by tonight I'll take him to A&E. No, it's fine, I can handle it. Yeah, yeah. Love you too, bye.”
He doesn't have Liam's number, since they've never thought to exchange them, but then Freddie sniffles pathetically, big eyes wet with tears, and Louis forgets about everything that isn't making his baby son feel better.
The cough stops, but the tears don't, and one trip to A&E later, Freddie's diagnosed with an ear infection. Louis doesn't get more than a handful of sleep at a time for the entire week. By the time the weekend rolls around, Freddie's all smiles and Louis' dead on his feet.
He drops Freddie off at his mum's with bags under his eyes Sunday morning, and all he wants to do is go straight back home and flop into bed, but he's got one clean towel left. The laundry must be done.
Jaw cracking with a wide yawn, Louis stumbles inside the laundromat with an overflowing basket in his hands, and even more dirty clothes stuffed into a dufflebag slung over his shoulder. He doesn't see Liam at first, too busy yawning, but Liam swims into Louis' line of sight as soon as he manages to crack his eyes back open, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.
“Louis? Mate, are you all right? No offense, but you look like shit.”
Louis rubs his eyes. “None taken,” he croaks.
He doesn't realize how close Liam is until Liam's thumb brushes over his cheek, just beneath the tender skin under his eye. “I was worried that maybe you didn't want to see me anymore, or something,” he says softly. “But now I think maybe I was overreacting.”
“Why wouldn't I want to see you?” Louis asks, confused. “You're like my favourite person.” It's not until he says the words out loud that he registers what he's actually said, and by then it's really hard to backpedal. “I mean, uh. My favourite… laundromat person? That would be weird, if you were my favourite person person. I mean. We barely know each other. Right?”
Liam bites his lower lip in a completely unfair move. “I, um. I actually have another confession, if it's all right.”
Louis waves his hand around. “Don't let me stop you.”
“The last time, uh, when I was gonna – I didn't say everything I meant to say,” Liam starts. “I wanted to say that not only do I come here each week because of you, but that, um. Well, you might be my favourite person, too? My favourite person person. And I'd kind of like to see you outside of the laundromat. Like on a date.”'
“Oh,” Louis says. “Oh,” he repeats, once the words sink in. “That – yes. Yes. I'm about to fall asleep on my feet, so not right now--”
“Obviously not right now, you twat, I want to take you out for a proper romantic dinner, what do you even, we have laundry to--”
“--but yes. Please. Soon?”
Liam grins, and Louis' heart tries to skip a beat like a damn cliché. “Yeah,” Liam says, “that I can do.”
(+1)
“What do you think?” Liam asks, fiddling with the cuffs of his button down shirt. “Is it too fancy? It's too fancy. Let's just go somewhere else, I don't even know what I was thinking--”
“Liam.” Grabbing for Liam's hand, Louis squeezes gently. “It's perfect, all right? You could take me anywhere, and it'd be perfect.” Freddie's enjoying an evening of being spoiled with his favourite aunt, and with any luck Louis' going to get lucky tonight. It's his first real date since before Freddie was born, and nothing is going to ruin it.
“You could be a murderer, or a – a harlot, even, and it would still be – Liam. Why are you laughing? I'm being serious, here.”
Squeezing Louis' hand back, Liam ducks in to press a chaste kiss to Louis' cheek. Louis catches Liam's face with his free hand, dragging his fingers over Liam's stubbled jaw just because he's always wanted to know what it felt like. He holds Liam still so he can find Liam's mouth with his, kissing him soundly.
“Perfect,” he repeats, and Liam grins back at him, eyes crinkled and actually twinkling.
It's perfect.