Laundry

Casey's been doing his own laundry since he was twelve. He just couldn't stand the indulgent smiles from his mother and knowing smirks from his father every time his sheets were washed. It's not like he needed any more humiliation.

He disciplined himself to get up early every Saturday morning and spend a few hours daydreaming his way through the ritual wash-rinse-spin-dry. Oddly enough, he started to look forward it. His parents usually slept in on the weekends so the house was quiet. There were no meaningless conversations, no looks of disappointment, no wheedling, no dictates. There was just the white noise of the washer and dryer and the comfort of not having to think for a while.

In the weeks after MaryBeth, the laundry ritual helped keep Casey sane. It was a bit of the mundane in his suddenly surreal existence. Thankfully, the press and Delilah had short attention spans.

Even when almost everything had settled back into routine, the Saturday morning laundry was a welcome respite. The first time Zeke had invited him to stay over for the weekend, Casey had almost refused so he wouldn't miss out on his laundry time. He'd felt like an idiot trying to explain it to Zeke - fully expecting harsh words or disappointment. Zeke had just laughed and grabbed him in a one-armed hug.

Casey still does laundry every Saturday morning. He arrives at Zeke's house every Friday night with his duffle bag of dirty clothes. They watch movies, eat junk food and talk. When Saturday morning arrives, Casey fills the washer while Zeke makes breakfast. They watch cartoons for a while, leaning against each other, the washer providing background noise. While Casey tosses the clothes into the dryer, Zeke clears away the dishes. They meet in the bedroom.

Zeke's sheets don't get washed until much later.

::end::

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