Once a month was about right; Jon figured that was about often enough to do his laundry, so that he wouldn't outright stink and had fresh underwear. Sometimes he did it sooner, but not often. Usually he ended up procrastinating, waiting until about a month and a half before finally caving in and wandering down in the wee hours of the morning when, really, he should have been sleeping. Or doing something productive.

Oh well.

Tonight he was down there earlier than usual, due to the Weird Stuff that was going on all around the place. Jon didn't want to venture down into the laundry room alone in the wee hours of the morning when there were screams and dreams and weird plants and all kinds of other creatures to mess with his mind. No, four in the afternoon seemed a much wiser plan. To him, anyway -- the rest of the students would probably be annoyed. He was taking up four whole machines, after all, and at what was frequently a busy time of day.

He sat on top of one of them with his definitely-not-a-cigarette in one hand, feet strumming absently against the front of the washer. Whenever he heard footsteps the drug went behind his back, as if they wouldn't be able to smell it in the air, from down the hall, possibly even making its way up the stairs...