Laundromat

Final Word Count: 572

.i do not own sailor moon.

Mamoru hated laundry day. Hated it with a fiery, burning passion. But it needed to be done. He was out of clean underwear, after all. And it wasn't socially acceptable to wear a dirty pair after taking a shower.

Coins were placed in the machine, clothes loaded, and detergent added before he was watching the suds wash away the dirt and grime that clung to the fabric. His knuckles pressed to his cheek, azure eyes looking but not seeing. The laundromat was relatively empty, save for himself and the elderly couple that lived on the third floor of his apartment building. He thought he also saw a trail of long, golden pigtails that zoomed in and out, but that could have just been his imagination.

Twenty-eight minutes passed before the washers he'd claimed for his clothing dinged, indicating that they were done washing. One by one he unloaded the washers, before transferring the wet clothing to the dryers to dry. Dryer sheets were added, coins slipped into the slots before he returned to his seat to wait. This time he's positive that he saw blond hair and heard the laughter of a young woman. He didn't see her when he looked around. Perhaps he was going crazy? Motoki had expressed concern for his mental health once before in the past. Maybe he actually was losing it.

Forty minutes in the dryer his clothes spent, before the water had been completely evaporated from the fabric. He unloaded one, folded the clothing and moved on to the next. A cycle he repeated several times. By the time he made it to the last of his clothes, he'd started to notice… some of this stuff didn't belong to him.

Pink flannel pyjamas with a bunny emblem stitched on the breast pocket, shorts that he couldn't fit a leg through, several pink and white tank tops. His face coloured a bright, cherry red when he noticed the lacy bra and panty sets that had found their way into his clothes. Had he unloaded the wrong machine somehow?

"Excuse me."

There went that laugh again, so soft and pretty and oh so inviting. He turns a moment later to find a woman with hair that looked like spun gold, bright blue eyes and the widest smile on her lips as she pointed a dainty finger at the lace in his hand.

"Those are mine."

He wasn't sure it was possible, but the heat in his face increased tenfold and he was quickly pushing the clothing towards her. "Sorry about that."

"No worries. I think our machines got mixed up."

He notices, a moment later, that she's holding a basket filled with men's cloths. She hands it to him, he dumps them in his pile before handing it back. Her clothes are gathered and placed in the basket a moment later before she smiles and turns to walk away, looking at him over her shoulder.

"Sorry about the mix up. I figured I unloaded the wrong machine when I noticed the heart print boxers."

And then she's gone again and he's even more embarrassed because now the elderly couple is eyeing him suspiciously. He offers a smile, albeit a bit awkward, before his attention turns back to his clothing and he finishes his folding. He can hear the pretty angel with the golden hair laughing as he practically runs out of the laundromat. He really hated laundry day.