Heavy [H.S. au]

Prologue

There was always something about reading a book on top of the dryer that was strangely inviting to me.

I liked organization and consistency. Laundry day was always on a Saturday. I'd wake up at 9:30 in the morning, throw on a pair of leggings, throw my stupidly long blonde hair in a messy bun on top of my head, and fix myself a cup of the same brand of tropical green tea. I'd walk over to one of the two bookshelves on either side of my tiny couch, pick a book, throw it on top of the heaping pile of clothes in my laundry basket and mentally prepare for the day. With my hot mug in one hand and my other helping to balance the basket against my hip, I'd go down to the laundry room in my apartment complex, always struggling to close the door behind me.

It was the beginning of spring in Brooklyn but the cold air still nipped at my neck and any exposed skin and the linoleum flooring of the laundry room allowed its icy temperature to seep through my wool socks as I padded down to the end of the room. I always used the same washer and dryer; it had the fewest dents and was conveniently placed in the corner of the room.

I set my mug and book down on the dryer. After sorting my clothes between normal, delicates, and whites, I loaded the first pile of clothes into the washing machine. Once I was done I routinely moved the mug and book over before hopping onto the top of the neighboring dryer and sat cross-legged, reaching over to routinely insert two quarters in order to start the machine.

I sipped my tea and read my worn-out copy of one of Charles Bukowski's poetry books. It was always my go-to when I had read everything in my queue of books but it never got old.

"Bukowski fan, huh?" A voice echoed throughout the room, nearly making me drop my mug from surprise. I reluctantly looked up from my book to see whom the voice belonged to.

"Who are you?" I asked the boy bluntly, dismissing his observation and studying him closely. I got to know all of the people in the complex over the last four years and I definitely hadn't seen him before.

His hair was long enough to be pulled back into a bun, allowing his sharp jaw to be unconcealed. There was slight stubble there; I wasn't sure if it was intentional or if he just hadn't had the time to shave yet. His green eyes were framed by dark under eye circles and I decided then that the reason for the facial hair was the latter. He wore a tattered black t-shirt that showed off the dark tattoos covering his arms and his jeans and boots were the same worn-out fashion. I raised a brow at him in both suspicion and his lack of an answer, but my eyes never left his once they met mine.

"Are you new here?" I asked, hoping to get an answer this time.

"Yes," he said simply, swallowing harshly before putting up his own laundry basket that he apparently set down on the ground in front of him without my acknowledgement. "I moved here on Tuesday from England."

"Never would've guessed England from the accent," I muttered, taking a sip of my tea and switching my gaze back to my book. I thought I had said it too quietly for him to hear but shortly after I spoke I heard a snort.

"You're funny," he commented, and I glanced up for a second to see that he now had his back to me as he started his laundry across the room from me. "Do you always sit on top of the machines when you do laundry down here?"

"Every Saturday," I replied simply, pursing my lips after to try to retain a yawn that threatened to escape but it was no use as I couldn't help but yawn anyway.

"Tired?"

"You're quite inquisitive," I commented dryly, hearing him insert coins into his machine.

"You started the questioning," he responded childishly, making me roll my eyes in an equally childish manner.

"You still haven't answered the question," I reminded him, fixing my gaze on him once again while I waited for an answer.

"Wouldn't it be more exciting if I left it a mystery?" He asked simply, turning around to lean against the washer and face me.

"No."

"That's a shame, then," he smirked. "I'm Harry."

"Cool. Nice to meet you," I replied.

"Aren't you going to tell me your name now?" He asked, looking at me quizzically.

"Wouldn't it be more exciting if I left it a mystery?" I smirked, mocking his previous statement. "I'm Luna."

"Cool," he mocked back before stepping forward. "It was nice meeting you and I'll see you around, Luna," he said, stalking out of the room before I was even able to respond.

a/n: Hey, everyone! I'm really looking forward to writing this story. I've had the plot in my head for months now and I'm pumped for when things start to get going!