Ain't even about the dough [Reinhardt]

[Vienna Torres (DELETED 8181)]

What would it take to actually get a reaction from this guy? He didn't let himself be drawn into an argument - he didn't even disagree with her, folding his laundry and changing the subject.

Her frown deepened. It was aggravating. So was his advice, which sounded so well-meaning that she couldn't even snap at him about it.

"What's predestination got to do with it? Besides, I like this time."

Maybe she could snap after all.

She craned her neck forward, checking the countdown on the washing machine she'd claimed. Still forty minutes left. Repressing a sigh, she set a timer on her phone.

[Reinhardt (DELETED 8150)]

“Well, to each their own,” he relented with an impish smirk, placing the folded clothes atop the unfolded bed linen. “In any case, I’m out of here!”

It was characteristically peppy, though he forced the edges of his smirk as he tried to place his own dislike for the Fullers aside. No need to let those absent ruin his day. Hell, if he lived with such a mentality, his mother’s hold on him wouldn’t have abated once he’d driven past borders and mountainous peaks, out of her reach.

“Catch you later.”

Hoisting the basket up off the machines, Reinhardt looped his arm over it and pressed the longer edge to his frame for support. Without another word, he waltzed out of the laundry room, eager to leave the stuffy room and ease the growing sense of claustrophobia. It was too small a room what with machines rattling and dryers rumbling, and the presence of another person made it feel positively tiny.

---

It took a quarter of an hour for his plan to come undone. His bed was made, but as he lay on it, gaze focused out the open window, he realised that it was far too early in the afternoon to call it a day and resign himself to laziness. Reinhardt slipped into his jeans and a well-worn sweatshirt, his bird-nest-hair pulled back into a messy top bun. He filled his pockets with his driver’s licence and a few bills before heading out.

Twirling his keys, Reinhardt paused at the double doors of the lobby, casting a glance down the stairs to the basement. A thought occurred to him, though before he even decided on following through, his beaten converse were rasping down the stairs towards the basement.

“Austria? You down here?”

[Vienna Torres (DELETED 8181)]

She'd headed back upstairs, figuring that she might as well get forty minutes of her life back - as someone had pointed out, trying to do laundry during rush hour was already enough of a time-waster.

Then, she'd realized that she'd left her phone and her soda. She'd headed back down. She slipped her phone back into her pocket, tossed away the empty soda can, and checking on the machines. Someone had cleared out the laundry machines she'd been eyeing earlier. She couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. Hopefully, they'd at least read the note.

At the sound of a question, she turned.

It took her a moment to get it. Her mouth turned up. "Austria? Really?"

She shook her head. "You know the entire point of a name is so that people know you're talking to them, right?"

It could have been worse. He could have gone for the sausage instead of the city.

"What's up, Elsa?"