Disclaimer: I own nothing involved in this story unless I invented it myself. This is written for fun, not for profit. All forms of feedback eagerly accepted. Concrit is loved the most, but everything is welcome.
Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh GX
Title: You Washed My Jacket?
Characters: Manjoume
Word Count: 845 ||Status: One-shot
Genre: Humor, Supernatural||Rated: PG-13
Challenge: 31halloween: prompt #22, "Thing"
Summary: [one-shot, 31halloween, prompt #22, "Thing"; Manjoume] Obelisk Blues get their clothes washed for them. Manjoume would prefer to pass up the privilege.
"Where is my jacket?" Manjoume's bellow didn't quite shake the foundations of Obelisk Blue, but not for lack of trying. Towel wrapped around his hips, he stalked out of his dorm room and glared at anyone who might be around for him to glare at. "My jacket. Where. Is. It.?"
Students scattered no matter where his attention fell. No one wanted Manjoume Thunder angry at them. He hadn't actually been seen throwing lightning bolts at anyone, but rumors abounded on what happened to people who weren't Yuuki Juudai and yet who got on his nerves. No one wanted to find out if those rumors were true first-hand.
Obelisk Blue featured many amenities the lower dorms didn't. One such amenity was laundry service: servants checked each dorm on a regular basis and took away dirty clothes left in hampers and brought back clean uniforms. Manjoume, given that he had one jacket that he wore and would never have considered wearing another, ignored the laundry service altogether. Or at least, he had up until now.
"You." He stopped the first laundry worker he saw, completely uncaring of the fact he wore only a dark blue towel and nothing more. "Have you seen my jacket? It's black." He didn't feel he needed to describe it other than that. It was his jacket, after all.
She blinked at him, not a shred of recognition in her eyes, but a faint hint of blush across her cheeks. "I took a black jacket down to the laundry room about ten minutes ago, sir. It was filthy, I had them put it through as a rush job. The pants and shirt, too. They reeked!"
Manjoume couldn't have been more frozen if he'd stood at the North Pole. "You...washed...my jacket?"
She nodded in confusion, taking a step back. "Did I do something wrong?" She shuffled her feet, not meeting his eyes. "I'm new here, sir. If I made a mistake, I'm sorry."
"You washed my jacket?" Manjoume didn't think he could get his brain wrapped around this fact. Two and a half years and someone had washed his jacket? He'd come back to Obelisk Blue and this happened?
The laundry woman lifted her head, just barely meeting his eyes. "But it was dirty. It stank. I think it could've moved before I touched it!"
"So what if it did?" Manjoume didn't care about any of that. No one needed to wash his jacket! "No one needs to wash my coat. And that wasn't dirt. That was valuable patina!" He could've named every single stain on his coat if he'd had to. Not just named them, but known where he'd been when they happened and what he'd done when they happened.
She swallowed some, then raised her head. "I'm sorry, sir. I won't let it happen again."
"You'd better not. I want it back here as soon as possible." Manjoume staked back to his room, muttering under his breath about people not understanding simple facts that should be handed out as soon as they set foot on the island. You did not wash his coat! Right up there with dueling solved problems and something strange would happen at least once a year, if not twice, whether they wanted it to or not. Valuable lessons for life in this place.
Two hours. Two hours of sitting in his room wearing little more than a towel, as he absolutely refused to touch any of the standard Obelisk Blue uniforms so kindly left behind. He thanked every star he knew of, as well as some he was only mildly acquainted with, that Fubuki had chosen to spend the day with Kaiser in the infirmary. If his love mentor found out about this, he didn't know what he'd do.
Probably lend me his coat. Fubuki could be a pain at times, there was no doubt about it, but he would also give someone the shirt off his back if they needed it. Or if he thought it might fit them and wanted to see if he was right.
A quiet tap on the door preceded the laundry servant's return with his property. She said nothing at all, but merely handed over his coat, shirt, and pants, and left. Manjoume suspected she would ask for a transfer to the girl's dorm after this. So long as his precious black outfit didn't get washed again, he didn't care.
He ran his hand over the jacket, wrinkling his nose at the scent of fabric softener, detergent, and dryer sheets. I'll have to start all over again.
He wriggled into his clothes, feeling the warmth as he settled the jacket into place, almost like comforting arms wrapping around him. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, breathing in the still faintly there scent of old food and sweat and grime. After all this time, it couldn't be completely gotten rid of.
For a single moment, he thought the jacket tightened, not uncomfortably, but as if he were hugged. He brushed his fingers across one sleeve.
"Good to see you again, too."
The End
Note: I originally posted this back in October 2012, but now am reposting these ficlets separately instead of as a collection, in order to have each listed under their proper character and rating.