Professor Layton does not belong to me, nor do any of its characters, settings, and so forth.
Clive would always do the laundry for the Professor and Luke when he stayed on breaks. With some smooth-talking, he'd be allowed to stay with the Professor on weekends or breaks, to get out of prison, lest he go stir-crazy and find himself in the mental ward again. Flora washed her own laundry, and that was that.
On the one weekend that Clive washed everyone's laundry- to do Flora a favor. It was her birthday, after all, spare her a little work, he reasoned. He paid no attention to what was what, no attention to the textures of fabric, only the colour when he separated and loaded things into the washer or the dryer. When he did notice, he was folding the clothes. (Ironing was just as automatic as separating, really.)
When he did notice the clothes that Flora had avoided letting him or anyone else wash, he understood quite why and had to laugh. It was a gut-busting laugh and he didn't understand quite why , but this wasn't expected at all.
Flora, considering how she acted and her childish aesthetics, had some of the damn laciest lingerie Clive had seen in a while. He had seen his fair share of magazines, (What man his age hadn't?) but damn.
For Flora to have such a thing? That was unexpected, to say the least. He expected bloomers or something more modest, at least. But no, these were borderline see-through, made nearly entirely of lace itself.
Luke walked through after a minute of Clive's laughing, thinking that Clive had snapped again, or something of the sort. When Clive explained through giggles and snickers, Luke went to the Professor, who didn't say anything, save for, a typical "You'll know when you're older, my boy."
The Professor didn't bat an eyelash, and Clive had to laugh just as hard when he heard the Professor mumble something with the name Claire in it.
When Luke started poking his arm, Clive looked up and reduced his laughing to giggles, seeing Flora herself in the doorway, with the question of "Clive, where's my laundr-" dying on her lips as she saw the older man, doubled over on a stool with a pair of lacy, lacy panties in hand, his face red and chest heaving with laughter.
"Sh- Shit," Clive said, between giggles, as Flora's expression went to something between indignant, pissed, shocked, embarrassed, and I-will-fucking-castrate-you. His laughter died when Flora simply walked out the doorway, and he heard her calling out to the Professor,
"Hey, Professor, I'm making dinner tonight. Since Clive's here and it's my birthday."
Her tone was so sugary-sweet, Clive could swear he heard that passive-aggressive malice that her expression held before.
A/N: ...This, I'm not even sure.
I really liked that idea, though, to have Clive laughing his ass off to find that Flora wears frilly lingerie.
I think Clive would do laundry as a "Hey, man, you're letting me stay here, it's the least I can do."
And Flora would be like, "Bitch, you're not touching my laundry, no way."
It's short, but I think I like how it turned out. c:
...I might make a second part, I don't know. Maybe. If people want me to, I suppose. ;;;;