Catalyst Encounters // Brallon AU

1. Late Night Laundry

The sterile lighting of the laundromat clashed harshly against the near-black background of the midnight streets. The enclosed building was bounded by a series of other little independent outlets which collectively made up the centre of the residential district. It was however, the only facility still open in the small hours of the morning, catering to desperate college students and pitiful adults who were struggling to keep their lives together.

Of which Dallon was unfortunately the latter. Standing alone in the tiny dry cleaners, wearing a thrift store sweater and no pants was really a testament to how his life had gone to rack and ruin. Not that he'd grown up poorly, but only a minute group of people would consider his shoddy apartment above the local newsagents and a communications degree a financial success.

These were the moments when Dallon's only company was the low humming of the washing machines surrounding him that he questioned why he thought he needed four years at college to be taught how to become an 'effective communicator'. Granted it had helped in breaking him out of his six foot three shell, but in turn it had handed him one of the vaguest degrees on the market.

Hence why Dallon was now working in a uptown bar to make ends meet. The gruelling night shifts killed his social life and drained all his motivation for recreational interests like a sadistic leech. This was evidenced by the fact that Dallon had, for the last half hour, had nothing better to do than watch his only pair of jeans spin sadly in the dryer.

Having stood in front of the machine like a hypnotised ingrate for so long, he had forgotten a whole word existed outside of the laundromat. Until another customer barged through the door that is. The brittle glass shook in the door frame when it swung shut while the man, completely oblivious to Dallon's presence, yanked open the adjacent washing machine and shoved in what appeared to be a balled up paisley shirt soaked through with blood.

He shook half a tub of detergent into the machine compartment and stuck in three half dollar coins before he seemed to even notice another person standing next to him. Dallon was still concernedly frowning.

"Damn you're one tall glass of water!" the man exclaimed. "Should've seen you as soon as I stepped through the door." His voice was rich and held a zest, undeserving for the early morning hours.

The flirt didn't even process before Dallon blurted out, "Sorry can we wait a second for common sense to reassert itself? Was that blood all over your clothes?"

The man blinked as if it was completely normal to stride into a public facility with clothes saturated in blood, and then offer no explanation to the innocent bystander who quite clearly saw them. "Oh uh... yeah. I may have gotten into a fight at the restaurant three blocks away - my nose was gushing everywhere," he chuckled slightly. "I kind of need this shirt for tomorrow though and there was a very convenient blackout throughout my estate."

In fairness it was a more reasonable explanation than Dallon had cooked up in his head, those involving murders, vampires and even a combination of the two. He nodded slightly in response, opting not to ask for further details since he hadn't seen the condition of the other guy in the supposed fight.

Dallon relaxed at least a little with the clarification and stole glances at the man when a silence fell between them. He was shorter than Dallon, though that wasn't hard, and boasted dark hair which sat in an unfairly perfect quiff despite having just 'been in a fight'. His defined profile was highlighted by the wall lighting of the laundromat and caused Dallon to swoon. Internally of course.

"So I'm not getting to hear about why you're not wearing pants then?"

Dallon turned back to the man, confused. The comment completely passed over him before he realised he was literally living the pinnacle of nightmares by standing pant-less in front of a hot person.

Despite having a high tolerance for embarrassment, Dallon still wanted to hang on to his dignity in front of this guy who could model for Elle. Speaking sarcastically he said, "Well, I'd try to spice it up with some blood but it's just a classic scenario: one minute you're holding coffee, the next minute you're wearing it."

The man snickered and offered up a calloused hand, "Yeah, I know how it goes. Name's Brendon."

Dallon clasped his hand, trying to avoid noticing the attractive way Brendon's eyes crinkled when he smiled, "Dallon."

"Interesting name," Brendon chirped, giving Dallon's hand a quick squeeze before retracting it. Everything about Brendon was so infuriatingly perfect, from the lopsided grin on his face to the deep timbre of his voice. So frustratingly attractive that Dallon only returned a small smile while he inwardly refused to fall for another pretty boy hook, line and sinker.

Yet Brendon seemed to be an expert fisherman as he made casual conversation, leaning against one of the inactive dryers. Big brown doe eyes shone at Dallon through every word and the occasional cheeky smirk enforced that this wasn't just meant to be normal banter between two strangers, but instead set flirtatious undertones. With each passing minute Dallon seemed to be dedicating more brain cells just to holding off on appearing too eager.

Previously Dallon had only had a few flings with other guys, but one in particular had occurred while he stumbled his way through college. The guy bore striking similarities to Brendon physically - large too-innocent eyes and practised simpers reeling Dallon in instantaneously. Of course it had ended in tears, and Dallon wasn't going to fall for the same type twice. One experience of unironically listening to Destiny's Child to get over a heartbreak was enough, thanks.

Just as Dallon thought he might cave in anyway however, the dryer in front of him startled him with a monotonous beeping alert.

"Oh, I guess that's me then," he said after the noise interrupted Brendon's chatter. Brendon stayed quiet then, making for an extremely awkward display while Dallon pulled his jeans on in the resulting silence.

Upon righting himself, he found Brendon's eyes still lingering on him and offered a small wave while his other hand slipped his phone back into his jeans.

"See you then," Brendon replied somewhat disappointedly, though he still managed to sound charming.

The walk to the door felt disgustingly long as each step of Dallon's long strides were punctuated by his shoes clicking against the tile floor. He closed the door properly behind him to get one last look at Brendon who playfully waved from over one of the plastic chairs.

Now outside, Dallon was finally able to breathe, after feeling like he had been drowning the entire conversation. He could now calm down, allowing him to feel more like a capable twenty-six year old than a thirteen year old fangirl.

Yet there was still a huge part of Dallon that loathed to leave that laundromat and by extension, Brendon's company. Wrapping his long arms around himself and stalking home, Dallon gave in to the urge and replayed the entire encounter in his head, going through the details with a fine-toothed comb.

On the compromise that it would be pushed from his mind once he got back to his roommates, when he would resume his role as the pessimistic giant of the friendship who absolutely didn't have a crush on anyone.