A/N: we've reached 100 subbies!! thanks guys, i know this story is quite short with each update being under 2k words, but hopefully you're enjoying it, even if not much happens in them. it probably frustrates you guys that irene hasn't even met seulgi yet, haha sorry for the long tease, but we'll get there! 

There's nothing like spending a Sunday afternoon in the thickly humid small crawl space that her complex calls the laundry room. It's musty at best and the paint is peeling off the walls from the never-ending presence of moisture clinging to the air. Irene would like to believe that the original colour of the wall is what it is now, piss yellow, but she'd be playing blind and dumb if it wasn't obvious that it was meant to be white. The room has two sets of washing machines and dryers lining the walls and one table for tenants who wants, or rather dares to, fold their clothes right then and there.

Just like the paint flaking off the walls surrounding her, everything in this room is falling apart, quite honestly. Like right now, she could be riding a bull for all she knows from how the washing machine is jostling her about violently. The lid of said machine had decided to die on them last year or so. Unless you wanted the room to be a foam and suds wonderland, or just have drenched, unwashed clothes, you had to have found something that could hold it down during its run. Not one to trust leaving her clothes unattended, Irene found that solution by sitting on the juddering beast.

She had made that mistake once, though, of leaving her clothes on their own. Once bitten, twice shy, right? It was during her first few months at the complex, when the walls were still yellow and didn’t somehow gain its acidic looking tinge. She had left her clothes for half an hour maximum after transferring her clothes into the dryer, just to run back upstairs to drop off her detergent because her arms were too weak to carry everything back up in one go. It was just one shirt out of her entire load, as if someone really needed a shirt then and there. But it was missing, and Irene got spooked when she realised its absence during her folding session.

She had found it though. Because unless Ms Riley enjoyed the same band she did, and had attended the same concert as well, Irene was certain that the burn stain on the right shoulder was from when she trusted Joy with curling her hair, and not from Ms Riley doing whatever she did in her spare time. To say the least, it was odd seeing and knowing that her neighbour had stolen her shirt. Sure, she loved that shirt. It was one of her favourite pyjama shirts, and held great memories of her youth, but god damn would it have been awkward to confront Ms Riley about it. So, she let her have it.

So never again will she leave anything of hers by itself in this complex.

However, it does get awfully boring. Just sitting here, waiting for her clothes to be done. That’s why she leaves it to Sundays to do it. Weekdays are too hellish to try to do her laundry before or after work. And Saturday is spent more or less dead in bed. So, what’s better than spending a slow Sunday afternoon, building better motion-sickness tolerance in a cruddy room.

Usually, Joy would be here to entertain her with her rascality, but apparently something came up. Not enough to not allow her enough time to drop off her share of clothes at Irene’s apartment this morning though. So, whoopee, Irene gets to experience the joy of sitting here, by herself, for two loads of clothing to be done.

What does entertain her though is the other washing machine going off. Rookie mistake, she silently laughs, watching as the other machine spit suds like it were blowing bubbles. Whoever left their clothes must have been in a hurry and forgot to put a dumbbell on the lid or was new and knew nothing of the extra feature that comes with the machine. Irene has half the thought of being a friendly neighbour and help out by tossing the yellow pages, that someone had left it down here like the saint they were for others just in case they forgot their weights, onto the lid, but that meant getting off her machine and allowing hers to go rabid.

So, she sat there, whirring with her machine, as the other one began dribbling like a baby.

More entertainment came, though, in the form of a woman sipping on a slurpee, too busy sliding her thumb across her phone to notice Irene staring at her. She’s donning a faded grey fire brigade shirt, the arms rolled up to her shoulders, allowing for Irene’s eyes to dance down the tattoo sleeve she had going for her on her right arm. It was dominantly black, the shade so contrasting against her pale skin, with splashes of dark blue aiding as the only colour throughout the entire piece. She had jet black hair, the entire left side buzzed off into a nice fade. She’s not usually a people watching person, but it’s like she’s caught some sort of bug recently, she’ll name it after Joy if it hasn’t been discovered yet, because she continues her gaze. Dropping pass the denim shorts where her shirt was tucked into, she chances by another tattoo piece, covering the entire expanse of the woman’s left shin. What is it with people and tattoos lately, Irene wonders? Because she swears, she’s been seeing them more lately than ever before. The woman continues by her, not once catching onto the fact that Irene was blatantly staring at her, or that she was there at all. What she does notice is the puddle she steps in, leaking from the washing machine she was heading towards.

“Shoot!” The phone she was holding, alongside her slurpee cup, is quickly placed onto the table before she jogs over to the frothing machine.

Obviously stunned at her predicament, she stands there, hands held out in front of her, muttering swear words like a sailor under her breath. Irene can relate, because she did the exact same when this first happened to her.

“Throw that yellow pages on it,” she gives her the tip. At this point, it feels like some family secret heirloom that’s passed down from generation to generation. Or in this case, from tenant to new tenant.

Whipping her head around, Irene can’t help the amused smile she has when she catches the wide-eyed stare. Someone finally realised she was there. Without missing a beat, after of course, standing there shocked that she wasn’t alone, the woman whizzes towards the hefty book Irene nods her head at. A cloud of foam flies up into the air at the impact of the book hitting the lid, causing the woman to yelp and Irene, of course, to laugh.

“What now?” She turns back towards her, staring with such expecting eyes as if Irene held all the answers to the world.

“That’s it. The water will pool and drain later, don’t worry. But that’ll stop any more water from erupting from the machine.” She shrugs, because that’s all they could really do.

“Ah, okay. Thank you,” she gives Irene a smile before turning back to the chaos created. “Man, she’s not gon’ let me live this down.”

Maybe Joy’s people person personality rubbed off on her, finally, because Irene finds herself engaging in a conversation with someone that isn’t Joy and Ms Murphy for the first time in a long time. “You new here?”

“Oh,” the woman turns to give Irene her attention. “No, no. I live downtown. Just here to help out a friend,” stepping out of the puddle, she kicks her sneakers a bit to rid of the excess water clinging to them. “Not much help, it seems,” she mumbles as she does the same action with her other shoe.

“I see. Your friend didn’t tell you about the weight trick?”

Palms on the edge of the machine, Irene leans forward, watching the woman cross the room to grab her discarded items. She sees her smile before letting out a hearty chuckle.

“Oh, please. If she wasn’t sleeping all the time, maybe she would tell me. That’s if she even explored her own apartment. Woman uses the couch more than her own bed,” she shakes her head with a tut. “My friend’s new to the complex. Even if she wasn’t, I wouldn’t trust her to know where her light switches are, let alone how to work the washing machine here.” At the way she’s making fun of her friend, a complete stranger to Irene nonetheless, she can’t help the small laugh that leaves her as well.

“Guess you know more about this place than she does, then.” They share a smile.

And it’s a beat after that smile that the woman lets out a loud, “Oh!” as if realising something important. The sudden noise takes Irene by surprise. “How rude of me. I’m Wendy,” she moves forward, offering Irene an outstretched hand.

Smiling at her friendliness, Irene takes it and gives it a good shake. “I’m Irene. Welcome to the complex, I guess.”

Taking a good sip of her drink, Wendy gives the laundry room a good glance before turning back to her. “A mighty fine complex, if I do say so myself.” They share a laugh at the sarcasm. “But I’ll pass the welcome to my friend, whenever she’s awake.”

“That’ll be much appreciated. Hopefully she isn’t stuck on my floor. We’re a complete mess. She wouldn’t be able to sleep, as it seems like she does a lot of it.”

Wendy rolls her eyes in good nature at the thought of her sleepy-headed friend. “Oh, most definitely. But that girl could sleep through an earthquake, however strangely enough, could wake up to the slightest noise of beeps.” Irene doesn’t fully catch onto the inside joke, but she nods along with a smile, nevertheless. “But, if you ever want to welcome her yourself, I might be there too to make sure she’s still alive, swing by whenever you’re free.” Irene nods along, even if she doesn’t think she’ll ever find herself knocking on a stranger’s door. But maybe with Wendy there, she can possibly expand her friendship group. Finally kick that Joy out of it while she’s at it.

“She lives at apartment room 203.”

The washing machine finishes its cycle and everything stops moving, Irene’s mind included.