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Wednesday is laundry day.
It has been ever since Clarke had started college at the beginning of the year, and she’s managed to maintain a pretty consistent routine in the six months since then.
Every Wednesday at half nine in the evening she hikes her laundry bag over her shoulder and makes the short trek to the closest of the college campus’ three laundromats. After loading the machine, she’ll usually grab a coffee from the café next door to help get through the hour and half of assigned reading she’ll have brought to work on whilst her clothes wash and dry.
Sometimes one of the others will tag along with her. Monty’s the best company, because they’re able to catch up as they each get their own work done. Bellamy tends to spend the two hours complaining about the majority of his history classmates (‘seriously, they’re so stuck up their own asses I’m surprised they can see the material well enough to debate it’) and the one time Raven came along she got into a heated argument about the most effective type of wrench with the poor technician who’d been sent to fix one of the machines.
So, generally, Clarke prefers spending her Wednesday nights doing her laundry on her own, free to work on her assignments and enjoy the quiet.
Today, however, the universe had other plans for Clarke.
Everything had been going perfectly well up until five minutes ago. She’d been pleased to see that the laundromat was totally empty, and according to a text from Jasper, the campus café had a batch of the brownies on display that they were both obsessed with.
(Jasper (21:28): omg clarke the brownies. they have those heavenly slices of gooey goodness in today.
Clarke (21:34): never say ‘gooey goodness’ ever again, but fuck yes I am ON IT)
Looking back, maybe she could blame it on the distraction of soon to be devoured baked goods, but really, she has no idea what the fuck happened.
One minutes she’s digging in her jean pocket for change for coffee after pressing start on the washing machine, and the next she’s aware of a distinct wetness seeping through her boots.
With an undignified yelp, she jumps back and searches for the source of the water, to see the washing machine she’d just loaded freaking out as soapy water somehow comes rushing out and slowly flooding more and more of the floor.
‘Shit, shit, not good, shit.’ Clarke rushes forward and pushes at the machine door, hoping it will somehow fix everything. All it does is make an alarming groaning sound and her foot slips on the wet floor, making her land painfully on her knees and completely soak her jeans.
Just when she thinks things can’t possibly get any worse, she hears the door to the laundromat open, and looks up in a frenzy to see a girl stood in the doorway, staring at Clarke with a look of confused horror.
‘I can explain,’ is all Clarke says.
The girl doesn’t respond, just raises an eyebrow and continues to stare down Clarke down.
‘Okay, so I actually kind of can’t explain. That’s the thing. Everything was going totally fine and then it just started spewing water everywhere. This isn’t my fault!’
‘I need to wash my clothes.’
‘You could always throw them on the floor. You know, just wipe them around in the water.’
‘I hope that was meant as a tasteless joke.’
‘Uh, yes, tasteless. Very bad,’ Clarke falters, hurriedly turning her attention back to the problem at hand, picking up a shirt and giving it a tentative sniff. ‘Oh God,’ she chokes, throwing the offending item back into the machine.
She turns to find the girl still standing there, nose crinkled at the smell.
‘I think it’s safe to say that machine is definitely out of service.’
‘This is a nightmare,’ Clarke says. ‘My clothes are soaked and filthy, I’ve flooded half the damn place, and now-,’ she sniffs, ‘yep, my jeans also smell like a sewer.’
She groans and moves to rest her head in her hands, before realising that they are also covered in dirty water, and instead waving them around in front of her face and making a series of distressed whining sounds.
The girl lets out a huff of amusement at this, and Clarke looks up to shoot her a glare. It’s half-hearted, though, as she’s aware of how utterly pathetic she must look right now. The girl standing by the door is dressed in a leather jacket, brown hair pulled back in a few braids, and clutching a laundry bag in her right hand.
‘Shit, you want to do your laundry. Obviously, I mean, why else would you be in here.’
The girl says nothing, just raises an eyebrow in poorly disguised amusement.
‘Well, I’m really sorry, but it looks like you might have to go across campus to one of the others. Unless you don’t mind drowning in a tidal wave of filthy water.’
‘I think that may be a bit of an exaggeration,’ the girl replies, switching her bag to her other hand. ‘But I think that’s probably a good idea.’
She turns as if to leave, hand resting against the door, but she turns back towards Clarke.
‘And what exactly are you planning on doing?’
‘Uh, I have no idea, actually. I might just lie here for a while. Drowning in my sorrows.’
‘Or, perhaps a somewhat more appealing prospect, you could accompany me to another laundromat. Preferably a functioning one.’
‘You’re right, that’s a much better idea,’ Clarke says, hastily grabbing her clothes from the machine and shoving them into her bag, doing her best to ignore the smell.
She stands, groaning as she’s reminded of the water seeping through her jeans, and heads for the door, shooting a grateful smile at the girl.
‘I’m Clarke, by the way,’ she says once they’re walking down the street, passing the college bookshop and late-night coffeehouse (Clarke shoots a mournful look through the window, thinking of the brownies), illuminated by the looming street lamps.
‘Lexa,’ she replies. Close up, Clarke can’t help but notice just how pretty this girl is. But then she’s reminded that she currently smells like something died, and knows she shouldn’t even think about the possibility of anything happening in her current state.
On the ten minute walk across campus, Clarke learns that Lexa is a poli-sci student and on the women’s soccer team. She also finds out that Lexa’s laugh is low and light, and fills Clarke with a warmth that makes her smile. When Lexa shrugs her jacket off, claiming it’s a particularly mild evening, Clarke also finds she has an intricate tattoo stretching across her upper arm. That fills Clarke with a different kind of warmth, one which has her looking away, cheeks red, and wondering if she has any more hidden from view.
As the North laundromat comes into view, Lexa explains that she lives in the dorms in Polis building, about a minute or so away.
‘Wait, how come you didn’t go to this one in the first place then?’ Clarke asks.
‘The other ones are usually emptier at this time. It’s easier to get work done.’ Lexa says, pushing the door to the building open, and Clarke sees that she’s right as it reveals a handful of students spread out on the benches, heads buried in textbooks or their phones as their clothes wash.
The two of them head to a couple of machines beside one another, and Clarke doesn’t hesitate in emptying her bag. Once it’s empty, she looks at the bag, realising that it, too, is now drenched. ‘Screw it.’ She mutters, and throws the bag in with the clothes, figuring she’ll work out the rest later. Then she adds the detergents and shoves her quarters into the slot, heaving a sigh of relief when the machine seems to start its spinning in a normal, not-breaking-down-and-flooding-the-place fashion.
To her right, she finds Lexa leaning against her machine, a smile tugging at her lips as she watches Clarke’s shoulders relax.
‘Well, thanks for talking some sense into me,’ Clarke tells her. ‘But now I should probably head home and change. And then I’ll have to wash these too,’ she motions to her soggy jeans and wet sleeves. ‘Today is seriously the worst.’
‘Don’t you live in Ark Dorm?’ Lexa asks.
Clarke lets her tired groan answer for her.
‘That’s like a twenty minute walk. I only live next door, you can shower and change at mine, if you’d prefer. I’m sure I’ll have something you can borrow.’
If Clarke wasn’t in her current situation, she’d be intently focused on the fact that Lexa just invited her to her room to shower, but Clarke is tired, and drenched and smells pretty fucking terrible, so instead she just says, ‘oh my god, really? You’re an angel,’ and follows a laughing Lexa outside.
A couple of minutes later, Lexa is letting Clarke into her room. Polis are the best dorms on campus, emphasised by the single rooms and ensuite bathrooms. Clare glances around and takes in her surroundings. There’s an overflowing bookshelf, and a couple of jackets flung over the desk chair. A noticeboard has a handful of photos pinned to it and some flyers for some of the college groups: the soccer team, the feminist society and the Pride group. Clarke takes extra note of that one.
She’s pulled from her thoughts by Lexa rifling through her drawers. She turns and presents Clarke with a small, neatly folded pile, which Clarke takes like it’s the Holy Grail, prompting a laugh from Lexa.
‘Here, these should fit you. And just shove your dirty clothes in this plastic bag. Use anything you want. Take your time.’
‘Thank you,’ Clarke yelps before darting into the bathroom, desperate to get clean.
Once she’s showered, smelling significantly less like a drowned rat and more like Lexa’s lavender soap, she towels off and pulls on the clothes she’d been given: some loose sweatpants and what looks like one of Lexa’s soccer practise shirts with the college’s logo emblazoned on the front.
She steps out of the bathroom to find Lexa sitting on her bed, checking her emails; music Clarke doesn’t recognise playing softly from the portable speaker on her bedside table. She looks up upon Clarke’s entrance and smiles, looking her up and down.
‘These are great, thanks,’ Clarke says.
‘No worries. We’ve got another forty minutes or so until the cycle is done. You can just hang out here for a bit, if you’d like,’ Lexa offers, patting the space on the bed beside her when Clarke nods.
Clarke perches beside Lexa, back to the wall, and all too aware of the way their arms are pressed together. She brings her knees up to her chest and glances at Lexa’s laptop.
‘Whatcha’ doing?’
‘Just finishing off this email to one of my lecturers. It won’t take long.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Clarke mumbles, supressing a yawn. ‘Take your time.’
It’s cosy in Lexa’s room, and the warmth of having the other girl pressed against her side combined with the soft melodies and rhythmic tapping of laptop keys have Clarke’s eyelids drooping within minutes.
The last thing she remembers is meaning to ask if Lexa likes coffee and whether she could maybe take her for one as a thank you, and then the next thing she knows she’s being shaken softly by the shoulder, and opens her eyes to find Lexa peering down at her.
‘Hey,’ she says with a small smile. ‘Didn’t want to wake you but I figured you might not want to top your night off with having your clothes stolen.’
With a jolt of embarrassment, Clarke realises she had fallen asleep on Lexa’s shoulder. Well, there goes any hope that tonight had just been one long, stressful nightmare.
‘Come along, Clarke,’ Lexa says, handing Clarke the bag of her wet clothes after she had pulled her boots on.
Clarke tries really hard not to appreciate the view before her as Lexa leads them back to the laundromat, but hey, she’s only human.
It doesn’t take them long to empty their machines, and soon enough they’re standing outside Lexa’s dorm building, both reluctant to leave, but neither speaking. After a few moments, Clarke breaks the silence.
‘So, I’m guessing when you decided to do your laundry tonight you didn’t expect all of this.’
‘What? You mean, finding out a cute girl had somehow managed to successfully flood the entire laundromat? Or then having her fall asleep on my bed after having to use my shower?’
‘Yeah, this night has already kind of been completely ridiculous.’ Clarke’s gaze darts to Lexa’s lips. ‘Might as well push the boat out, you know?’
‘I’m not sure I do.’
‘Oh, screw it,’ Clarke says, before leaning in and pressing her lips against Lexa’s.
It takes less than a second for Lexa to kiss back, dropping her laundry bag to the floor, and bringing her hands to rest on Clarke’s waist. Her fingers tighten their grip on the material and Clarke’s hand moves from its place on Lexa’s cheek to tug her in closer by the neck. Not wanting to be outdone, Lexa pushes forward, nipping Clarke’s lower lip and grinning and the sound it elicits.
Clarke makes herself pull back, resting their foreheads together as she laughs, trying to catch her breath. She slips her hand into Lexa’s pocket and snatches her phone, glad to see she doesn’t have a passcode (that would make the whole thing way less smooth) and adds her number to her contacts.
‘Text me,’ is all she says, slipping the phone back into her pocket, and giving her one last quick kiss before turning and heading in the direction of her own dorm.
Twenty minutes later, she’s in bed and ready to sleep for a hundred years (or at least until eight, she has a nine am art history lecture) when her phone buzzes next to her head. She’s still in Lexa’s shirt (so what, she was really tired, getting changed wasn’t worth the effort) and she unlocks her phone, squinting at the bright light.
Unknown (23:50): coffee tomorrow? ark grounds. 4:30.
Clarke (23:51): i’ll be there
Lexa (23:51): try not to flood the place
Clarke (23:52): shut up.