It was 2AM. The kind of hour where the world felt half-asleep and slightly unreal.

You were standing in the corner of a nearly empty laundromat, arms crossed, staring at the one working dryer like it had personally betrayed you. Your washer had finished ten minutes ago.

Every other dryer had a bright red “OUT OF ORDER” sign slapped on it. Apart from the one being used.

She stood a few feet away, red hair tied back messily, sleeves of a YALE hoodie pushed up as she loaded clothes into the dryer like she was in a quiet war with static electricity.

You cleared your throat hesitately. “Uh… how long do those have left?” you asked quietly.

She glanced at the machine, then at you. “Twenty-five minutes.” she replied.

You sighed. Loudly. On purpose.

“Rough night?” she asked, smiling slightly in the dim Laundromat.

“You could say that. I just washed everything I own.” You sighed.

She looked at your sad, overstuffed laundry basket. Then back at her half-empty dryer.

“We could share,” she offered, it was a strange but somewhat reasonable idea.

You blinked. “Like. Mix laundry?” you muttered,

“Desperate times,” she shrugged. “I’m Addison.” she added, holding out a hand.