Chapter 3: Laundry Wars

Jeon Jungkook liked his laundry schedule.

Every Friday at 7 a.m., he padded down the dorm basement stairs in fuzzy socks and a hoodie, earbuds in, basket balanced on his hip. It was peaceful. Predictable. Exactly how he liked it.

But this Friday morning, as he reached the last step, the air smelled like betrayal.

Fresh detergent. Warm cotton. And... Taehyung.

Jungkook blinked at the sight.

There, standing smugly in front of the only working washing machine, was Kim Taehyung—shirtless, hair a mess, pajama pants low on his hips. A single mismatched sock clung to his ankle like it feared separation.

“Morning,” Taehyung said, as if he hadn’t just committed laundry treason.

Jungkook blinked again. “That’s my machine.”

“Correction,” Taehyung said, tossing in a pair of boxer briefs. “It’s the machine. For everyone.”

Jungkook frowned. “I come here every Friday at seven. You’ve never been here before.”

Taehyung shrugged. “There’s a first time for everything.”

Jungkook stepped forward, arms tightening around his basket. “You did this on purpose.”

A lazy smirk. “Are you accusing me of stalking your laundry habits?”

“You stole my time slot.”

“Didn’t see your name on the washer.”

Jungkook glared, but Taehyung didn’t budge. If anything, he seemed amused by the confrontation, like it was the most fun he’d had all morning.

Which, knowing him, it probably was.

“You know I hate doing laundry late,” Jungkook muttered.

“Didn’t know, actually.” Taehyung leaned back on the counter. “But now I do. Noted.”

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed. “You’re insufferable.”

Taehyung smiled. “And you’re cute when you’re angry.”

That shut him up.

The pink crept up Jungkook’s neck faster than he could suppress it. He turned away, pretending to inspect the dryer that had definitely been broken for a month.

Behind him, Taehyung chuckled. “You can use it after me. I’ll even preheat it for you.”

“It’s not a microwave.”

“Could be. Depends on how long you’re willing to sit on it.”

Jungkook nearly dropped his basket.

Back in the room, Jungkook flopped onto his bed and buried his face in the pillow. He could still smell Taehyung’s detergent. Vanilla cedar. Of course it was something suave and sexy.

Jungkook's was lavender. Soft. Forgettable.

Taehyung strolled in not long after, freshly showered and towel-drying his hair, humming some jazz tune under his breath.

Jungkook didn’t look up.

“You’re still mad,” Taehyung said.

“You hijacked my Friday ritual.”

Taehyung sat on the edge of his own bed, facing Jungkook. “You sound like you lost a holy pilgrimage.”

“I just like routines.”

“And I like messing with you.”

Jungkook finally looked over, eyes sharp. “Why?”

Taehyung’s smirk faded slightly.

Then, softer: “Because you’re the only one who pushes back.”

Jungkook blinked.

Taehyung leaned back on his elbows. “Everyone else either flirts with me or avoids me. You glare and threaten arson with your eyes.”

Jungkook scoffed. “I do not.”

“You kind of do.”

They stared at each other for a moment too long.

Then Jungkook got up and grabbed his sketchpad.

“I need to draw.”

Taehyung watched him settle by the window, legs folded, pencil already dancing across the page.

“You always draw when you’re overwhelmed,” he said casually.

Jungkook froze. “I’m not overwhelmed.”

“You blush when you are.”

Jungkook’s ears turned red.

That evening, Hoseok dropped by with Jackson in tow. Their presence was loud, bright, and exactly what Jungkook needed to drown out the static in his brain.

“You won’t believe the mess someone made in the dance studio,” Hoseok ranted. “Confetti. Actual confetti. Like it’s the damn Oscars.”

Jackson shrugged. “It was for a video. It looked cool.”

“Cool doesn’t mean easy to clean,” Hoseok grumbled.

Jungkook chuckled quietly from his desk. Taehyung, sprawled on his bed, raised an eyebrow.

“You clean together?” he asked, eyes flicking between the two.

Hoseok flushed. “Sometimes.”

Jackson smirked. “We’re a good team.”

Taehyung smirked wider. “I bet.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes. “Can you two flirt somewhere else?”

“Oh please,” Hoseok said. “Like you and Mr. Shirtless over there aren’t constantly undressing each other with your eyes.”

Taehyung grinned. “He’s not wrong.”

Jungkook muttered, “I hate everyone.”