There's something to be said for being happy. My roommate, he understood this. In the beginning, he laughed and called me 'type A.' The first time, I had snapped back; my temper was high as I threw thing around the kitchen, refusing to look to where he lounged on the couch.
"I wasn't always," I snapped. "Not always."
"Well then," he said, an infuriating grin teasing his lips, "Why force it?"
"You can't fix me," I snapped again, facing him and jabbing my finger across the distance between the kitchen and living room. I threw a rag at him in sudden, unexplained rage. It hit him on the knee and he let it sit there, water soaking through his jeans and turning them a dark blue. His smile slipped away as I glared at him, "I'm not broken."
He didn't respond for a few seconds, studying me lazily with a slight frown. I shifted self consciously before turning back to the sink, determined to ignore him.
"Take your hair out," he said suddenly. I froze.
"What?" I asked with a nervous laugh. I was suddenly afraid to turn around, not sure if he was serious or not.
There was a sharp tug on my hair and I shied away in surprise. "What are you doing?" I demanded, annoyed that I hadn't even heard him get up.
"It's not good for your hair to be tied up so tightly," he told me, reaching out again. I slapped his hand away. He gave me a pained look.
"I'm not trying to fix you," he said quietly. He reached out and tugged on a lock that had fallen into my eyes and gave me a heart warming smile. "You tie your hair back so tightly, it could be why you get headaches."
I paused. It was a simple answer. Sighing, I pressed my hands to my forehead hard. He let out a breath and moved forward, motioning for me to turn around. I let him tug the rubber band out of my hair and felt it swoosh over my shoulders.
"It's longer than I thought it was," he commented idly. He ran his fingers through my hair to fluff it out.
"It needs to be cut," I replied, looking closely at the ends. "I hate going to salons."
He laughed. "Why?"
"Because you have the idle chit chat," I complained, waving my hands and mimicking mouths with them, "And then you stare at yourself in the mirror. It's just a pain," I sighed.
"I'll cut it," he decided, moving away to bustle around the kitchen. I turned and stared at him blankly.
"I'll cut your hair," he repeated, placing the dishes in the washer and began to rinse the sink.
"That's okay-" I began, caught completely off guard.
He cut me off. "I don't mind," he argued, flashing me a smile. "Go change your shirt and grab the hair stuff from the shower."
I blinked and opened my mouth to try again, only to close it, and do what he said. It was as I was pulling a T-shirt that I had stolen from my dad over my head, that it finally sank in. I paused, shirt not yet over my chest and blinked. What the hell?
"Hurry up!" I heard him call from the kitchen. "And grab some clips too!"
I cocked my head to the side, still shocked that I was actually going to agree to this, grabbed the clips, shampoo and conditioner from the shower, and headed out to the kitchen. I shuffled through the door and glanced around at what he had done.
The shower curtain I put on the floor to catch the paint was down and a stool leaning against the sink; my roommate was going against the sink, long sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His pant leg was still wet from the rag I had throw at him earlier. He looked up and smiled when he saw that I was ready. I shuffled the rest of the way over to the sink.
"Are you sure?" I asked, still hesitant.
He grinned and motioned for me to sit down. "I need to wash it and make sure it's wet before."
"I could just shower," I offered. He shook his head and motioned again. I sighed and took the seat muttering, "I can't believe I'm agreeing to this."
A/N: Clearly I fail at this. I'll probably continue it later, but I've been working on it since Friday and it's getting ridiculous. I'll try again later.
Okay... So I had plans for this entry. And it was going to talk about their lives before they moved in together, but clearly I fail. I've been trying to get myself to finish this since last Friday when I started my other entry. But that is not going to happen. So I'm just going to post it here.
I also fail at trying to make comedy. Why is everything I write drama or angst? In most causes I would even hesitate to call it romance... which it's not because I want to stress that their relationship is purely platonic...
yeah, we'll see how far that gets me.