Shassie oneshots, i guess

Laundry Day

Summary: Shawn is out of his own clean clothes. Luckily, he's a shirt stealing – and in this case, outfit-stealing – expert.

Notes: I've done something like this already, except I had Lassie wear the stolen shirt instead of Shawn. So I thought it might be fun to do it a slightly different way.

Flufftober day 15: "What are you wearing?" "It's laundry day!"

Word Count: 1,327

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Shawn rummaged through his laundry basket, picking random pieces of clothing and sniffing them. He reeled back at a particularly foul smelling pair of jeans, ones that he distinctly remembered wearing when he took an unexpected dive in the ocean just yesterday (don't ask).

Behind him, every single one of his dresser drawers were opened and showed absolutely nothing. He'd gone through every single shirt, button up, jean, and even that one pair of sweatpants he owned. All of his clothing was currently in the large basket he was desperately digging through, trying to find something that smelled as close to clean as possible.

And so far Shawn was coming up with nothing. Everything had at least one unforgivable smudge somewhere very noticeable, and the ones that didn't sure smelled like they did.

The only decent clothes he had on were the undershirt and boxers he wore to bed every night for the past week. And it was starting to show, too.

Laundry day was well past overdue, and now he was paying the consequences.

Shawn began pacing his tiny room in his apartment, trying to think if there were any clothes at all that he could wear. He was starting to get desperate. Not enough to wear something as dirty as the clothes he'd already rejected, but enough that he'd wear anything as long as it was clean.

Then a lightbulb went off in his head, but was quickly extinguished. "No, no, he'd kill me."

But it was the only idea he had at the moment.

Resignedly, he threw on a pair of pants that had a large ketchup stain on the knee (it wasn't like he was going to be wearing it for long). He grabbed his motorcycle keys from his nightstand and headed out the door

———

Shawn strutted through the bullpen, tugging slightly at the cuffs of his sleeves. Why did Gus have to have such small wrists? He felt like his were suffocating. At least he didn't have to borrow Gus' shoes, thank god. His sneakers were still in decent condition. Maybe a few holes here and there, but other than that it was like he'd bought them yesterday.

Whatever. He needed a case for psych. And he hadn't gotten any phone calls from the chief whatsoever. So that meant he had to waltz down to the station himself — without a ride from Gus, as he was away on some boring business trip — and get one by any means necessary.

As he walked in the general direction of the Chief's office, his eyes caught a file sitting innocently on Lassiter's desk. And with no head detective in sight, either.

Shawn quickly looked around the immediate area, and sat down in Lassiter's rolly chair. Just a quick peek, nothing more. Who knew, maybe it was something interesting that needed a psychic's help?

Taking one more quick glance around to make sure no one was looking, he began to thumb through the pages.

"Carla Gomez... up-and-coming actress... missing... yesterday... Sunshine Motel... signs of distress..." Shawn mumbled to himself, scanning through and picking out the key pieces of text. "Well well well, looks like a job for me."