#ft. ariyah

"..." She's blocking the doorway. Jude's fingers squeezed around the dry cleaner's metal hanger, the thin wire pressing into his skin. He adjusted its position over his shoulder with a shrug. The lobby already felt suffocating without someone standing at the counter — it was less of a lobby and more like an extra wide hallway, actually. The door pushed open with a chime and he stopped just short of stepping inside. He spun his arm around, the garment bag slinging to fold into the crook of his elbow; its tag read A.THOMAS. Jude slowed to sidestep the door and let it shut softly behind him, curiously gazing at the woman speaking to the counter attendant. Turning his gaze to the floor, he relaxed against the front window. "Hm.."