She really shouldn’t be up this late.

She rarely is - her sleep schedule is remarkably well regulated, for a college student - but she’d made the unwise decision to go to a party, and the even less wise decision to spend most of it panicking in a corner. It hadn’t been until one in the morning, when she finally managed to make her way home, that she realized she would need to go out again and get her laundry taken care of. Otherwise she’d spend the rest of tomorrow feeling gross, and feeling gross made her anxiety harder to handle, and she’d probably end up sprawled out in the middle of a classroom paralyzed and gasping for air, and everyone would privately whisper about the mute, crazy woman -

So she decides to go to the nearby laundromat.

It has a sign, up front. ‘All Night Laundry’, written in bright, neon letters.

She feels a creeping portent of dread, at the sign. This isn’t surprising. She manages to feel as many as six creeping portents of dread each day before breakfast, and they rarely amount to anything. She goes in, anyways.

Aside from the sign, the place is… dark. Quiet. Seemingly unstaffed. There’s a little bzzzz at the die of her vision - a slight flicker - but it goes away, just as she notices it.

It’s just anxiety. The buzzing goes away, once she notices it.

And her mental map of the place is impeccable. She heads straight for the light switch, and - after a moment of fumbling - flicks it on.