Chapter Text
It wasn’t his ideal Saturday night, but Armie knew that if he wasn’t here he would probably be at home binge watching a random series on Netflix and eating his weight in bad chinese food and equal amounts of beer, so he’d chalk it up to being just one step lower than what he was looking forward to all week.
and here? here was, shifting his head side to side, surveying his surroundings, the local laundromat just down the road. He could have sworn he saw a couple of roaches fighting over a solo french fry on the floor, the television hanging off the ceiling to the side seemed to have on an informercial looping on repeat. When it replayed the same “Please dial now, and This. This could be all yours.” scene he made a mental note to bring his earphones next time.
After dizzying himself watching his load be spun tumultuously in the grey sudded water, he walked the length of the laundromat and back, then back again.
When he got bored of that, he fished his fists into the depths of his pockets and fiddled with his loose change. There were no vending machines, unfortunately, but there were machines that offered single-serving soap and various brands of dryer sheets. He made it a point to buy the four different dryer sheets available, busying himself with the clink and clatter of dropping in a single quarter at a time.
He spent the next few minutes going through his dryer sheet haul, sniffing each brand to find a scent that suited him the best. He didn’t think twice before tossing the rest in the trash bin right bellow the machine.
The laundromat was getting busy, and for a guy with his height and stature, any crowded place could make him feel quite claustrophobic fast. He momentarily checked on his load and praised the heavens above when it was on its last rinse cycle.
His gaze fell upon the swinging entrance door and two stacked laundry baskets atop flimsy, fumbling limbs. He vaguely makes out a mop of brown curls and a green eye that seems to peak its way out from behind the baskets, clearing his own way. One slender arm leaves the basket for a moment, and swats around his surrounding.
A low voice, subdued by the clothes in front of his face, he hears the man exasperate an “Its okay. Its okayyy people. I got it.” To no one in particular, no one really paying him any attention.
But Armie is.
Its like a circus act, almost. This lithe thing juggling two heaping baskets, hopping over others belongings, dodging washing machines to his left and carts and kids to his right. He makes it unscathed and finally sees the face behind all of this, when he drops his baskets to the floor in triumph.
His lips snakes into a full teeth grin and he hears a loud “HA!” before they lock eyes and Armie grins along with him.
The mans grin quickly starts disintegrating and he is frozen for a minute before he checks if someone is behind him. He takes a step back then completes a twirl towards the soap vending machine.
“Oooh you got to be kidding me?!” Armie hears. Apparently the machine is now all out of dryer sheets and Armie suddenly feels foolish for being so wasteful with them earlier.
Armie had one hand on an extra sheet, about to run over and offer it when a little old lady beat him to it. He watches as he thanks her and the man is so thankful he all but nuzzles her shoulder. Armie feels bad, but now he feels bad because that could have been his shoulder getting nuzzled if he just had made it to him sooner.
“What kind of wasteful asshole just throws away unused sheets anyway?” Armie hears just as he turns away.
He spends the next thirty minutes trying to make eye contact with this curly haired-green eyed man but is wholly unsuccessful. Armie still feels bad about the dryer sheet fiasco earlier, and he knows that it is crazy, and knows he wouldn’t even know that Armie was the perpetrator, but feels like he should make it up to him somehow.
He wants him to know that hes not wasteful and certainly not an asshole either. Certainly not a wasteful asshole. So he makes a B line towards the man, and when he doesn’t acknowledge Armies presence, Armie fake coughs.
Still, nothing.
Armie stands up and paces a few steps and sits down next to him again.
Nope. Nothing, still.
Armie grips his dryer sheets anxiously and his perfectly crafted speech about the dryer sheets are now jumbled in that anxious brain of his and he yells out, “MY ASSHOLE IS NOT WASTEFUL!”
and Armie is mortified now. Everyone around does that slow motion turn to face him and it is seconds before he hears snickers and murmured gossip. A mom is seen cupping her child’s ear while shaking her head at him. Tumbleweeds blow in the wind.
Everyone is looking, but the man isn’t. This offers Armie a momentary pang of relief. The man brushes a tendril of curl from his forehead and places this curl behind his ear, unveiling the whites of his earphones.
Armie unloads the dryer in record time. He makes off running with the TV marketer’s worlds “Dial now and this could be all yours...” trailing behind him.