Sunday
11:36 A.M

LARK tried her best to do laundry despite the fact she sucked at measuring the detergent and pushing the right buttons. She couldn't leave the dirty pile of laundry overflowing in the bathroom hamper, so it left her with no choice.

The apartment building laundromat was downstairs, and you instantly could tell where it was from the strong scent of detergent and dryer sheets. Lark went there every Sunday and got her wash done by the manager Steven. Steven was an older man in his late fourties, but he knew how to run the machines and did a mighty-fine job not questioning Lark about her capabilities. Also, Steve was a good friend of hers since she had moved in.

Steve had just finished the second load, already running off back to his post on his stool. Lark was an expert at folding and collecting the clothes, and seeing that Steve did so much for her, she took that responsibility for herself. As she sat on top of the washing machine, eyes glued to her phone, a familiar snort caught her attention.

"That's a look," Finch mimicked a sassy girl voice as he gestured at her outfit. It was pretty hot where they lived, and Lark had swapped her fancy summer clothes for a pair of shorts and a t-shirt so baggy she had to ball it up. Her long hair was also lumped on her head in its usual knot, and her bangs were pinned away from her forehead.

"Lark Ferris, you remind me of a little kid," The boy teased, setting his basket beside the washing machine Lark sat on. Finch wasn't wearing his usual flannel pajamas and shirt, but a pair of shorts and a hoodie so not fit for the weather. He also looked more put together than Lark had. Suddenly, fire crept up Lark's cheeks in embarassment.

"Shut up," She muttered, crossing her arms in a mock pout. Beside her, she heard another short laugh. "What are you doing here?"

"My laundry," Finch replied. "I have responsibilities too as a broke college student."

"Of course you do," Lark rolled her eyes. "I'm not dumb."

"Then why did you ask?" He let out a laugh, his dimple-less smile creeping onto his mouth. This only made the fire on Lark's cheeks burn more, the embarassment making her cringe so hard she almost didn't feel the washing machine violently churn from beneath her.

It felt horrible. Underneath her, the washing machine roared violently as it shook her around. Lark held on for dear-life as the machine only increased in force. Finch's contagious laughter didn't help the fact she was technically riding a mechanical bull, and when the machine finally flung her off, the laughter stopped.

Lark glanced up at the body her arms had coiled around. Her arms were slung tightly around Finch's neck, their faces a good distance apart. She could see his face up close rather well, his dark brown eyes evidently black in close proximity. His lashes were thick but short, and a splash of pale freckles decorated his fair skin. So close Lark noticed a tiny beauty-mark underneath his eye. It was no doubt Finch was good looking, so good looking Lark pulled away as fast as she got on.

"Now I know to force you on mechanical bulls," Finch joked, his laugh now rather choppy and forced. Lark barely nodded, her eyes meeting Finch's for a split second. It was an odd clash of blue and brown, but staring into his eyes made her smile.

"Why are you smiling?" Finch asked, curiosity glinting in his irises.

"Because you're ugly," Lark stuck her tongue out at him, "and you made me realize how suited I am to be a model!" At this, Finch threw a pair of his dirty boxers at her face, their laughter continuing to erupt throughout the laundromat and as they walked back to their apartment after for some coffee.