As if your stay in New York couldn't get worse, you soon found that you had to walk seven blocks to get to the nearest laundromat. Not to mention the fact that you lived in a not-so-nice part of the city.
Like you had texted your friend in North Carolina, before you set off to do your chore, FML.
Well, you thought to yourself once you had arrived, at least they have a TV here.
You got to work prepping your dirty laundry, taking your built up anger of the past week out on slamming the clothes in the washer.
I go to college for eight years just so my job can put me on reception duty. Slam.
Lisa is living high on life in Raleigh with her new oh-so-perfect husband while I live in a crappy apartment and haven't had a date since before I got here. Slam.
And now I'm just figuring out that I have to basically walk a freaking 3k just to wash my clothes. Slam, slam.
You calmed down a bit once the load got started and you could sit down and watch SVU on the television. Nothing like a strong dose of Elliot Stabler to pick up your day.
Eventually, your wash beeped. You tried not to let it piss you off as it happened at the worst moment; the episode had just gotten good with a plot twist.
As you went to retrieve your wet clothes, you wondered when you started letting stuff get to you so much. Maybe it was everyone's New York attitude. Growing up in a small, country town, you were used to knowing everybody and having people actually smile when you passed them on the street. Here, it was hard to find somebody who would even say "bless you."
You'd transferred the clothes to the drier and had started a new load when you noticed some guy near you giving you sideways glances. You decided he was kind of cute, at least from what you can tell from the side. He had his hood up, but you could make out a nice jawline and mellow brown skin. You met his eyes straight-on at one point- they were huge and earthy and gorgeous- and lifted the corners of your lips into a slight, friendly smile. He gave you a short look and quickly turned away.
That got under your skin a bit. And to think you'd let him pick up your day just a bit because you thought he was nice looking. You started to add detergent the wash, smoldering all the while. God, you were starting to hate New York.
"Shit."
The word came from the man next to you, and you started to roll your eyes (Why is everyone here so vocally vulgar?) until you saw why he'd said it.
He was digging around in his pockets; nothing came out except a bunch of tissues, a couple of dimes, and a wallet. You soon realized his problem- he couldn't find any quarters to start his wash. He frantically opened the wallet only to pull out a single hundred-dollar bill. The change dispenser wouldn't take that and even so, what would one do with a hundred dollars' worth of quarters.
"Shit."
You started to feel a little bad. He was a little rude earlier but he was obviously having a bad day. How hard would it be to drop him a few quarters?
He was crouched down now, picking through a black backpack in search for the change. With his back turned to you, you made your move. Eight quarters on top of his washer. You were gone and back at your seat, drooling over Detective Stabler and feeling a buzz from your good deed, before he stands up again.
***
"Here."
You'd been checking your mailbox, back at your apartment, when the guy from the laundromat approached you. You'd nearly jumped out of your skin as it had been silent just moments before.
"Oh my Lord, you scared me," you said breathlessly, hand over your beating heart.
He had a hand full of quarters, two dollars' worth, no doubt.
"Did you follow me here just to pay me back?"
"I live here."
"Oh," you said, slightly relieved you didn't have some stalker, bent on having no debts to anyone, on your hands. "Well, you didn't have to pay me back. I was just doing you a favor."
"I don't want any favors."
"Fine," you replied curtly, and scooped the quarters out of his hands. "You know the next time I do something nice..." you muttered to yourself.
You began to turn away, ready to head off to the stairs to go home and fume some more, when you heard him sigh.
"I'm...sorry. I was just upset about something from earlier." He looked at the ground not meeting your eyes. It occurred to you that maybe he was just more awkward than rude and angry.
"I'm (Y/N)," you said, slightly invitingly, once again trying to offer up a smile.
He briefly met your eyes, and you swore you could see one corner of his mouth quirk upwards. Just a little bit. "Elliot."
You giggled. "You know what's funny; that just happens to be the name of my favorite TV cop."
