Laundry and Lies

If someone told me that dying would send me back to high school, I would've at least worn better shoes.

It was Tuesday. The day fate decided to slap me with two things I feared most: group assignments and shared laundry duty.

"Yuhan," Jian called from across the dorm. "You didn’t wash your socks again, did you?"

I looked down at my feet. I was, indeed, sockless.

"It’s called natural foot freedom," I muttered. "Very therapeutic."

"It’s called unhygienic," he said, tossing a rolled-up pair at me.

I caught them midair like a ninja, but with dead eyes.

Laundry duty was sacred. Not because of cleanliness, but because the laundry room was the dorm’s unofficial gossip HQ.

That’s where secrets bled. Crushes were confessed. Socks were stolen. Reputations were permanently damaged.

And I had to go there… with Jian.

Fantastic.

...****************...

We took the elevator. He pressed the button like it personally offended him.

"I hate this machine," he grumbled.

"It’s just trying its best, Jian. Like me."

He side-eyed me. "You good? You’ve been saying weird stuff lately."

"Weird is relative."

"You said our biology teacher would divorce her husband. Two weeks before she did."

"I’m emotionally intuitive."

He narrowed his eyes. I changed the subject like a pro.

...****************...

In the laundry room, fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. A boy cried softly over a stained hoodie in the corner. Another argued with a girl about mixing whites and colors.

High school romance was truly war.

I loaded my clothes in silence. Jian whistled while separating his whites like a perfect citizen.

"So," he said casually, "you got any plans for Valentine’s?"

I almost swallowed a sock.

"What kind of psychopath plans Valentine’s a month early?"

"Organized ones."

"I don’t do flowers and chocolate. I do isolation and vague eye contact."

He grinned. "So, no date?"

My throat dried. "Do I look like I get dates?"

"Well, no," he said honestly. "But you’ve got that brooding charm thing. Some people are into trauma."

I blinked.

Did he just say I was charming… in a PTSD way?

...****************...

After laundry, we walked back slowly. It was cloudy. Jian kept talking about a basketball game I barely remembered. I kept pretending not to stare at him too long.

When we reached our door, he paused.

"Hey," he said. "You okay? You’ve been kind of... different lately."

I shrugged. "Just tired. Maybe I was cursed. Maybe I’m haunted. Maybe I died in a parallel universe and came back to fix my tragic past. Who knows."

He laughed. Then realized I wasn’t laughing.

"You’re joking, right?"

"Sure," I said. "That’s me. Comedian of the year."

...****************...

I laid on my bed later that night, watching the ceiling crack like it held answers.

Everything was the same — the same bed, same weather, same boy in the next bed over.

But I was not the same.

I knew Jian would fall in love with someone else. I knew I would never say how I felt. I knew the story.

And I was starting to wonder if this rebirth was a punishment, not a second chance.

...****************...

The next morning, he walked out of the bathroom shirtless.

I died again.

"Why are you shirtless?" I asked, dramatically shielding my eyes with a textbook.

"Towel slipped," he said.

"Gravity is my mortal enemy."

"You okay, Romeo? You’ve been flustered all week."

"I’m just allergic to abs."

He laughed. And I died. Again.

...****************...

Later that day, I bumped into someone who shouldn’t have existed yet: Minseo.

The guy who’d eventually date Jian. The guy who’d eventually break his heart.

My personal villain.

He was transferring early. Fate really was playing Uno Reverse on me.

"You new here?" he asked.

"Nope," I said, too quickly.

He blinked.

"You seem annoying," I said internally.

Out loud, I smiled.

"I’m Yuhan. Welcome to the chaos."

...****************...

That night, I watched Jian scroll on his phone.

"Anyone interesting in school?" I asked.

"Not really," he said.

"Not even that new guy? What’s his name... Minseo?"

He shrugged. "Pretty boy, but not my type."

Hope bloomed. Then I crushed it.

Because I knew the future. And it didn’t care about my hope.

I turned over in bed, clutching a pillow.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

"Yeah. Just thinking about… life."

"That’s dangerous."

"Tell me about it."

...----------------...

As the week ended, so did my patience.

Rebirth was exhausting. Pretending not to care was worse.

And watching someone you love exist freely, without remembering everything you do…

That was the cruelest joke of all.

But I smiled. And joked. And wore clean socks.

Because that’s what you do when you’ve died and come back with a broken heart.

You fake being alive.

And hope one day… it’ll stop feeling fake.

...ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ...

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