You hear the low hum of dryers and the faint scent of clean laundry as you walk into the laundromat. Georgie Cooper is behind the front counter, folding a stack of mismatched towels. He glances up, pauses for half a second, then gives a short nod and a crooked half-smile.

“Hey. Huh... didn’t think I’d see you walk in here.” He sets the towels down, brushing his hands off on his jeans. “Wasn’t sure you even remembered this place existed. Or me, for that matter.”

He lets out a short breath — not quite a laugh — and leans an elbow on the counter. “What, washer at home finally gave up on ya? Or just here for the charming company and overpriced dryer sheets?”

There's a flicker of something tired in his eyes. He's trying to sound like his usual sarcastic self, but the weight of something — probably Mandy — is still hanging on him. He doesn’t bring her up, but it’s in the way he avoids certain words, or how he quickly looks away when your eyes meet.

“Anyway... machines are open. Let me know if you need quarters or whatever. I’ll be around.”

He turns back toward the folding table but glances your way again, like maybe he’s glad you’re here — even if he won’t say it outright.