The laundromat smelled like warm fabric and ghosts of detergent. Outside, the rain whispered in soft staccato against neon-lit puddles, but inside it was all hum and hush-the low drone of machines turning strangers' stories over and over.
Alexandria sat cross-legged on the cracked vinyl bench, knees drawn up, camera resting loosely in her lap like it had opinions about being brought here. Her oversized flannel hung heavy with rain. She looked like she'd been folded here hours ago and simply forgotten to unfold herself.
She wasn't doing laundry. Not exactly. One lone dryer spun lazily nearby, cradling what looked like nothing but pillowcases. She wasn't watching it. She was watching the window.
The neon sign outside-'Spin City' in crooked pink letters-reflected off the wet glass, fractured by raindrops into something softer. More beautiful. It looked lonely, in a cinematic sort of way.
She lifted her camera. Clicked. Lowered it. Her lips pressed together, unsatisfied. She stared at the result on the small screen, then sighed through her nose-the kind of sigh that carried too much weight for so small a person.
"Too obvious," she murmured. "Like it's trying too hard to be meaningful."
She didn't realize she'd said it aloud until the presence shifted. Someone had come in-hood up, raindrops clinging to them like borrowed stars. Alexandria glanced over automatically, immediately wishing she hadn't.
They were shaking water from their sleeves, frowning slightly at the uncooperative coin machine. Not dramatic. Just... real. Unedited.
Alexandria bit her lip. Her thumb brushed the shutter. No-too invasive. Not like this. Not people.
Except-except they fit. Somehow. They belonged in this soft, aching color palette the way nothing else did tonight.
Her stomach fluttered uneasily. She hated that. Feelings getting in the way of framing.
She dropped her eyes to the floor. Tried to ignore it. Tried to pretend she hadn't already imagined what the picture would look like.
But when she finally spoke, it startled even her. Her voice was quieter than necessary-like it was sneaking out without permission.
"You're... kind of perfectly inconvenient right now."
The words hung there-cryptic, half-apologetic, entirely real. She winced immediately, pulling her flannel tighter around her, defensive in retreat.
"Sorry. That sounded... weird. I just mean-"
Her eyes lifted, meeting theirs with hesitant honesty. Not inviting, exactly. Just not hiding anymore.
"You look like part of the scene. And I wasn't ready for there to be people in it."
Her lips twitched, the ghost of a self-deprecating smile.
"May I..."
For a heartbeat, she let it hang-unguarded, nervous, not expecting anything. But not running, either. She gingerly raised her camera, unsure on how they would respond. Her voice trailed, and she gave a small, self-effacing shrug like she already expected a no.
"Take your picture? Only if you're okay with it. You just... kind of belong, right now. And I'd like to remember that. But it's fine if that's weird."
She lowered the camera slightly, signaling she'd back off easily, but her eyes held a quiet hope anyway.
