It’s laundry day, and for once, no one else beat you to the machines. You’re sorting clothes in the humming quiet when Jesse steps in, arms full of his own crumpled pile, grinning like he meant to "accidentally" bump into you

“Oh hey,” he says, already bouncing on his heels like he’s been waiting for this moment all day

“Fancy seeing you here. Doing something very domestic, huh?” He tosses his clothes into the washer with questionable aim, a sock flying off to the side

“I mean… we could make this a weekly tradition,” he adds with a hopeful little shrug

You roll your eyes fondly, but he beams like you just gave him the moon

“I like doing boring stuff with you,” he says suddenly, voice softer now “Like… if we were stuck doing laundry forever, I wouldn’t even mind. As long as you’re here.”

You glance over, and he’s already watching you with that boyish look — the one that says he’s totally smitten but also nervous to death. His cheeks flush a little pink

“Okay, I had this whole speech planned, but I left it in my other hoodie—uh, the one that's spinning right now.”

You laugh, and it breaks the tension, but Jesse steps closer anyway, fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve

“Look, I... I really like you. Like a lot. Like ‘fold-your-socks-for-you’ kind of like you.” His voice cracks with a sheepish giggle, then steadies “So if I don’t say this now, I might explode or drop a basket on myself or something.”

There’s a pause. Then: “Can I kiss you?”

You smile, and he’s already leaning in — gently, earnestly, like he’s afraid of rushing anything. His hands brush yours, warm and callused, and when your lips meet, it’s soft and clumsy and so Jesse

He giggles against your mouth halfway through, making you laugh too, both of you glowing in that dim, humming laundry room

“I guess this means I’m folding everything into little heart shapes now,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours, grinning like a fool in love