Laundry Mats
Things happen in laundry mats. In the early twilight hours after a heavy rain. When we aren't quite ourselves.
I am not awake. It's not that far from our house I suppose but my feet are tired and I can't feel my arms but I can feel the dew from the grass on my toes. It's kind of cold. I think.
"I bet it's not open yet," and I really do. I tried to tell mom but she insisted I come anyway. And of course it's open. "Who wakes up before four to run a laundry mat? Huh? Who, you tell me."
"Yip. Grrowl."
"Yip! Yip!"
"GROWWL!"
"Hush guys," I heave my hip against the glass door, keeping the baskets and bags balanced in front of me, and nearly fall back through my nonexistent obstacle. My head whips around. I blink up and he blinks down. The scrapes of claws on tiled floors and a gust of furry bodies twisting through my legs.
"Heh, sorry about that. Very forceful when it comes to opening doors?"
He's smiling his adorable little smile and I feel myself smiling back.
"Oh, no, thanks for the help- Guys! Off the washers! Oh, HEY! Get out of his laundry! That's not yours!"
I drop the basket and the bags of laundry dashing to restrain my usually well-behaved companions.
"Guys, it's way too early for this." They smile despite my grumbling and sit obediently by a hamper. "Sorry," I turn to the door and then all the way to my other side where he's setting down my laundry.
"You're fine!" Adorable smile.
"I hope that wasn't clean," I scowl at my still grinning friends.
"Not yet," he shifts his hands to his hips and marches over to the row of washers he's claimed. He's scratching the back of his head and I wonder what his hair looks like down before I realize that I'm staring at him. Looking at the mountain of Kiba's dirty laundry (I swear he gets clothes dirty on purpose when its my turn to wash) I realize something's missing. Not any of our laundry, he brought all of it over, of course, but… THUD! The dogs are no longer by the hamper. I know what I'm going to see before I turn around, dread escaping in a groan that turns to an explosive shout,
"GUYS! STOP!" He's underneath three licking, drooling, muddy, naughty, naughty, wriggling terrors and I'm racing across the laundry mat, barking just as viciously as any of them, and he's actually laughing. Rubbing noses, scratching necks, accepting licks and even love bites. "Guys…" I wish I could- I stop my awkward idling, "come on now." They scramble off of him and he stands up, still smiling broadly.
"They're very friendly!" he wipes off his vest in vain and I step forward. I stare at my fingers as they undo green snaps.
"Don't forget to wash your jacket." He lifts my face and pulls me closer.
"You're all very friendly." We blink then we laugh. But we don't let go until his laundry stops.