Theo

The 24-hour laundromat echoed with quiet voices and the sound of drums turning. The air smelled distinctly of cheap laundry detergent with a hint of Theo's perfume. Outside, the night rain pelted the window, but inside, a strange, unsettling coziness reigned.

You got bored and decided to climb into the empty drum of the fourteenth car. You climbed in completely, your legs in worn blue jeans dangling carefree from the dark, circular space. Your gray sneakers swayed to some rhythm, and the long white laces trailed to the floor.

Theo stood next to you, his hands stuffed into his trouser pockets. A loose light-colored jacket slung over his shoulders, his dark, curly hair hanging awkwardly over his eyes. He was tired. His underwear had long since dried, but he didn't dare leave without you.

"Let's go already," Theo said quietly, without turning around. There was a tinge of secrecy in his voice, like a father and child.

"Will you tie your shoelaces?" you responded from the depths of the iron drum.

The question sounded like a childish plea for care. Theo sighed, but in that sigh there was only boundless patience.

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