Page 101 of Scrimmage

I don’t think we left one shirt in the closet. We stripped the sheets and even grabbed stuff that we forgot existed. He looks wary before holding his hand out for the keys. I drop them into his palm, and we wait while he jogs down the steps. We snicker as he opens the trunk. Koda is calm. I don’t know how he manages to always keep it together when I work so hard to make him lose his composure. With a deep breath, he laces his hands behind his head and glances at us as we bite our tongues. We didn’t bring laundry baskets.

“This isn’t everything, is it?” There’s a smirk on his face. We’ve bested him, and he knows it.

I twirl my finger around and point at the door. He walks around the side and opens it. Laundry literally falls out of the passenger seat, and we can’t help but fucking laugh. He runs his tongue along his top teeth and comes back up, leading us inside, then stalks into his room.

“What the hell? Nice place.” Penny gazes around. Koda emerges just as she says, “Serial killer vibes, though. Looks like he would display your hands everywhere or something.”

That stops him in his tracks. He has two laundry baskets, one in each hand. “You…She told you to say that, didn’t she?”

Penny looks at him with confusion. “Huh?”

“The hands thing. She…” He realizes he sounds stupid and shuts his mouth.

“Told you it looked very serial killer-y,” I shout behind him.

Penny opens the fridge and starts rifling through it. “This place is fucking barren. Why is it all healthy?”

“He’s a psycho.” I sit on the counter.

Koda drags in the first basket full of laundry. He doesn’t even pay us any attention before leaving again. I hop down and start separating things. Once I’ve gathered a bunch of shirts, I open the doors to the laundry closet. I don’t see any detergent.

“Ko!” I call out.

I imagine he’s taking another breath. He’s gonna need a fuck load of them.

He appears next to me. “What?”

“Laundry detergent.” He reaches up onto a shelf that’s way too high. “Who puts their detergent all the way up there?”

The corner of his mouth twitches as he hands it over. “People who aren’t the size of a middle schooler.”

I drop the stuff onto the floor and open the lid to the washer, dumping whatever feels right inside.

He snatches it. “What are you doing?”

“Laundry. Duh.”

Penny walks around the corner. “Oh, he has the good shit.”

“You don’t need that much of it,” he argues.

“Uh, I want them clean,” I retort.

“You’re doing it wrong. There is literally a fucking cap so you can measure.”

When we cooked up this plan I didn’t even consider how his compulsion might factor in. I forgot he’s got a specific way for everything.

“Can’t do laundry wrong,” Penny says.

“Ignore him. He’s got a whole thing.” I lean down and grab a handful of shirts. I don’t even get it to the washer before he stops me.

“What. The fuck. Are you doing?”

Penny is absorbed in the interaction. I wave the clothes in the air. “We just settled this four seconds ago.”

“You haven’t separated it yet.”

“Yeah, I did. Shirts.”

---