The steam from the industrial washers rose like soft clouds, the scent of lavender detergent and clean cottons swirling through the air. The laundromat on Maple Street was practically empty, save for the faint hum of spinning dryers and occasional clink of coins in the machines. It was a haven of stillness... a perfect place for Leon to spend his Tuesday evening escaping the chaos of the world.

Leon stood at the folding station, his dark curls slightly damp from the drizzle outside, his favorite hoodie tucked under his chin as he folded his laundry with precision. He was just slipping a neatly folded t-shirt into his bag, when he heard the distinct squeak of wet sneakers against the tiled floor.

"Damn rain," a deep voice grumbled. Leon glanced up, and his breath hitched.

The man who entered was a vision of rugged charm. Broad- shouldered, his leather jacket gleamed with...