Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or any of the characters mentioned, and I sure as hell am not making a profit off of it.

Author's Note: This is set somewhere after Dave and Blaine met on the stairs for the first time – everything else that happened after this canonly is null and void for the purposes of this story. It was first uploaded on LiveJournal and I'm loading it on after a few tweaks (by which I mean, a few words here and there).

It all started when Dave's washer broke.

Dammit, he hated going to the laundromat (especially when it was pouring down rain in Lima) but he needed clean clothes. He gathered all his clothes, stuffing them into a hamper with little care before getting some money from his dad to get quarters. Throwing them into his truck, he sat for a moment, watching the rain slide down his windshield before he finally jammed the key into the ignition and drove to the closest laundromat.

Practically throwing a tantrum the entire way into the rather large and bustling business, he found a washer in the corner and jammed all his clothes in. Colors with whites … hell, he never separated them. Not unless he absolutely had to use bleach, and usually his white clothes didn't get that dirty in the first place. Dave had brought his iPod along with him, hoping to drown out the buzz of people trying to get their clothes washed for the week. The hockey jock moved over to plop down on a bench without looking, hoping to catch a few z's while he waited for the washer to be done.

How could he have sat next to him?

Anyone but him.

What was he even doing in Lima again?

He should have ignored him. He should have punched him in his god damn perfect, smug face.

"… It was David, right?"

Dave took a moment to register that the voice wasn't coming from his headphones before looking to his right. The color drained from his face. It was that douche nozzle that had tried to 'help' him after the 'unspeakable event' that had happened with Hummel. Didn't that kid go to that all fairies school, Dalton? What the hell was he doing here of all places.

"I see you're surprised. I don't think we got to be formally introduced. I'm Blaine," the douche nozzle said as he held out a hand to shake the others.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Dave managed to hiss out after his initial shock, completely ignoring the hand that had been offered to him.

"… It's a laundromat, David. I'm washing clothes. It was David, right?"

"… How the hell do you know my name? I'm pretty sure Hummel doesn't call me that—Does he?" Dave had to pause and think about that. If Hummel called him David … did it mean something? Of course it didn't. "Whatever. What the hell are you doing here?"

"Well, when he first mentioned you the first time you and I … met … He showed me your picture in the yearbook, and I have a knack for remembering names. As for what I'm doing here, I said I was washing clothes. Granted, this place wasn't my first choice … but it was close enough to Kurt's house that I didn't have to venture far."

"You're at Hummel's place?"

"Oh, he needed some help with school work, so I ended up spending the night. I hate travelling with dirty clothes—they stink up your car—and unfortunately, the Hummel's washer broke a few days ago."

Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

"Look, I don't know why the hell you're talking to me. I don't like you. I'm two seconds away from punching you in your face. Just shut the hell up and leave me alone," Dave finally said before jamming the ear bud in his ear once again as Blaine rose his hands in a silent 'I'll back off'.

Now he wasn't going to get that nap he was hoping for. Not with that douche nozzle next to him.

He could feel him watching him … that damn smug smirk still on his face.

What had Dave done to deserve this? … Well … a lot of things, actually, but he really didn't feel like dealing with that right now.

And then the bastard was closer than ever to him! Dave looked over at him, their bodies inches apart, the look of horror probably clear on his face before it turned to anger as Blair—Blake? No, maybe it was Blaine … yeah, that was it—was pointing to his iPod and mouthing something. Dave yanked the ear bud out before growling at the other, "What?"

"I was just asking what you were listening to. You seemed pretty into it."

Is he serious? "Poison."

"The eighties hair band? They're pretty good."

Dave gave him a confused look. The guy knew Poison? He knew something other than show tunes? "… Yeah."

"… Though, I don't know if they're my favorite eighties band …"

"Look, did I give you the impression I want to talk to you?

"Sorry, just trying to strike up a conv—"

"I don't want to talk to you. Besides, what the hell do you know about eighties bands?"

"Not all gay guys like just Madonna and Cyndi Lauper. You know, I'm actually a pretty big football fan?" He offered. Maybe if he showed Dave that gay guys didn't have to be … well … like Kurt … It would make things easier for him.

The only thing he got was another look—he wasn't sure if it was anger or confusion—from Dave before he got up and moved his clothes into the dryer and sat at another bench. Blaine sighed, but decided not to press the other on it. The Dalton male got up and put his own clothes in a dryer next to Dave's own dryer. Honestly, he was glad the other just hadn't tried to maul him. Perhaps this counted as progress? It was a silent hour as their clothes dried. Blaine looked over to see Dave really getting into his music, complete with air drums and air guitars as he mouthed the words to the songs so perfectly that Blaine could make out exactly which song he was on (currently: Nothing But A Good Time).

Soon, however, Dave was getting up and shoving his clothes as fast as he could into his hamper before Blaine could get up to do the same. It was obvious that Dave wanted the hell out of there, even Blaine could see it. And with one last glance at the Dalton male, Dave was practically running from the laundromat. Blaine sighed but got up and began to pull his own clothes from the dryer, folding them neatly before happening to catch something out of the corner of his eye.

In his rush, Dave had left behind a blue, plaid, button down shirt.

Blaine debated. And debated. And then debated some more before he finally reached into the other's dryer and plucked the shirt from the dryer and folded it, adding it neatly to his stack of clothes. He was sure it would come in handy later.