Pieces of Love

Chapter 4 - Laundry

Cameron sits on his bed in the centre where it sinks in, his back leaning against the wall and his feet covered in his quilt cover as he watches Oliver get ready for work. Usually, he would be getting ready too, throwing on his work shirt and hopping into his black shoes that were supposed to be good for his feet.

Oliver would remind him to grab his wallet, and if he was running late, he would even get a lift. But now that he didn't have anywhere to go, he felt a little bit left out. He'd been living here with Oliver for some time now, and they'd created a sort of morning ritual together. It felt wrong to not be a part of that. To not pick out Oliver's tie or toast a piece of bread for them both,

"Do you have any plans for today?"

Cameron shakes his head, his toes curling beneath the blankets.

Oliver sighs, leaving his tie loose around his neck as he steps forward and runs a hand through Cam's bed hair.

"You could go out? Go get some ice-cream while the weather is still warm? Or you can head over to Lia's. Someone will be home."

Cam offers half a shrug, relaxing at the comforting touch while staring blearily at the white plastic buttons on Oliver's work shirt.

He hums. "Maybe."

He didn't particularly feel like going anywhere. Especially not to Lia's where someone would no doubt grab him in a sad comfort hug. He didn't want his friends to pity him or ask any questions about how or why.

The hand drops from his head, and he's left to lean his head back against the wall with a soft pout. Oliver raises an eyebrow, tightening his tie before grabbing his laptop bag.

"You shouldn't stay home all day. You need to get some fresh air at least."

All he can do is nod and watch as his roommate and friend leaves, closing their bedroom door softly behind him.

Cam's eyes wander over their shared room, noting how Oliver managed to not only make his bed, but also tidy up Cam's side of the room as well by removing the clothes strewn across the grey carpeted floor and piling them up in the washing basket that has a fairly permanent position by the wall with the light switch.

Pulling the quilt away from his legs, Cameron heaves himself to his feet, pyjama pant leg falling back to its original position as he shuffles over to the basket of washing. He should to a load. Get a job done; something productive for the day.

Lifting the rather heavy basket, Cam makes his way out of the bedroom and to the skinny room that held the rusted washing machine and a dryer that only worked sometimes ... when it felt like it. Kneeling down, Cameron goes through the tedious task of sorting the washing into piles, separating Oliver's light coloured work clothes from their darker jeans and band t-shirts. He picks through their socks until his hands hit his old work shirt, a slightly faded black.

His teeth bite into his bottom lip, sinking into the skin as his chest tightens. It's just a shirt. A shirt for the job he had since his last two years of high school, yet just like that it was gone and all he had left was a lousy t-shirt and the promise of his last week's pay.

"This is stupid."

He tosses the shirt aside and begins shoving in the rest of his and Oliver's clothes into the machine with a renewed vigor, pointedly ignoring the work shirt now tossed in the corner. His boss had already taken his name tag, something about reusing the pin for the next employee.

The next one. The one that would replace him.

Shutting the machine door with a bit more force than necessary, Cameron heads back to his room, burying himself back into bed and under the covers. He'd been productive. He'd left the room. Now he would focus on wallowing for a bit, until the washer decided to beep loudly and one of his other roommates decides to barge into his room to yell that his washing was finished.