A Touch of Detergent

Baz-

Simon is wearing another new shirt today. Every single day this week he's been sporting a new shirt. Today it's a dark green shirt that reads: "I'm Pawsome!" in obscene orange block letters. As if that isn't enough, directly below the letters a large cartoon tabby cat sprawls across his ribcage. It goes without saying that this is by far the worst shirt I've ever seen.

Bunce only left for America two weeks ago, and I know there's no way she would let Simon spend money on this, meaning he's purchased it recently. I finally snap after letting my terribly thick boyfriend walk around in this disaster.

"Snow," I start, "What are you doing?"

The scone in his hand stops halfway to his mouth, "Whaddya mean?"

I gesture to the obscenity he's wearing. "I can only take so much of this Snow, why do you look like a poorly planned thrift shop catalog?" Simon's brow scrunches and I huff, exasperated. He drops the scone into his lap and stares at it like it might answer my question for him. "I ran out of clothes," he says.

It must be too early for me to understand because all I can do is stare at him. His eyes dart to my face but quickly beeline back to the scone. "Snow, what am I missing here?"

He picks the scone up in one hand and crumbs roll down his trousers and onto the (recently vacuumed) carpet and I stifle a wince. "I ran out of clean clothes this week, so I bought the first ten shirts on the value rack." When I don't say anything he continues, "I never had to do laundry in the Home and at Watford I had my magic, so-".

I push my hand through my hair, "You've been magicless for months now. How hasn't this been brought up sooner?"

He sighs and more crumbs roll to the carpeting, "Penny spells her basket clean so I leave my clothes in with hers."

"So, instead of asking for help or googling it you bought these horrendous shirts?"

He doesn't say anything, just shrugs, his moles rolling with the skin.

Simon-

Baz tugs on the collar of his shirt.

"Go get your laundry."

"Baz?" I say, confused.

Baz levels a glare at me, "If I see my boyfriend walk around in one more animal pun shirt I'll consider it a personal failure. Get off the couch Snow, we're doing your laundry".

~~~~

We go to Baz's flat since I don't have any detergent or know where the nearest laundromat is. Baz ran upstairs to grab some things in a large paper bag. He even brings me a grey cotton shirt to change into ("Please Snow I can't take it any longer"). I change into his shirt and we head down to the basement. Baz doesn't even slow down for me as I struggle down the stairs with a mountain of clothes piled in my hamper obstructing my view. At least he spelled my wings away.

I bump into his back as he unlocks the door to the building's public laundry room. He stumbles a bit and clothes teeter on the edge of falling. Baz opens the door into the dark and damp room. He makes his way into the room, pulling a cord hanging from the ceiling. The light bulb illuminates with a pop and washes the room in a stark light.

Two metal washers sit side by side and a dryer sits adjacent. The tiles are checkered black and white with chipped edges. The smooth curve of Baz's leather shoes look out of place on the linty tiles. The room is small, barely large enough to fit both of us. It reminds me more of a broom cupboard.

A sock tumbles from the top of the mountain and lands in a small cloud of lint. Baz raises an eyebrow at it, then grabs the hamper from me and sets it neatly on a small table next to the dryer. Baz grabs the detergent and softener he brought down from his flat. When I asked him about the softener he snorted and said, "I'm not a neanderthal Snow."