Chapter Text
The train sped past landscapes and landscapes of grey and green, cities and outskirts, forests and towns with large spires.
Paintbrush rested their cheek on their hand sleepily, watching everything float past. It was all somewhat familiar- they had taken this path before, after all- but in a blurry kind of way.
Something dinged from the roof, the statement that they were stopping at another train station ringing out through the speakers equipped in the carriage.
Not taking much care of the fact, Paintbrush just rested their head against the cool table separating their booth from another opposing them, considering fishing their phone out their pocket and ringing someone up, just so the ride was a little less boring.
…No, they’d probably get carsick. Trainsick? Was that a thing?
Gah, it didn’t matter! The doors opened with a mechanical whirr, cool air being thrown throughout the carriage as the autumn air replaced the artificial heating, if only for a moment.
The loud chatter and bright lights of the carriage only made the small crook of dark and quiet underneath their arms even more appealing to Paintbrush, and so they hid their face further in their clothed arms and waited until everything died down.
“Hey, there’s a free booth over here!” An unfamiliar voice called out, and Paintbrush prayed to all that was holy that they were not talking about the empty booth opposing their own.
Unluckily, there was no god. Paintbrush had learned this a long time ago, when Lightbulb shoved seventeen marshmallows in her mouth, passed out because she couldn’t breathe, and immediately proclaimed that she would beat her score as soon as she woke up.
So, in light of the fact that holiness is a conspiracy, someone slid into the booth opposite them. It was clear they had a friend beforehand, as they were talking to them, but it still annoyed Paintbrush as another person slid into the booth beside the other person.
Paintbrush caught a slight glimpse of a Spoiled Lemon pin on the bag of the second person. God, how many people actually listened to that band? Didn’t everybody get the memo that they’re corporate sell-outs?
“So, how far until we get to the place?” The much-too-cheery voiced person said.
“Not far,” the second person hummed, and it made Paintbrush pause. That voice… they knew that voice. But from where-
Oh fuck. No.
Paintbrush made the slightest adjustment to their position, just enough so that they could see above their arms and look at the people sitting opposite them.
Sure enough, it was an unfamiliar face and none other than Fannual Fuckface. (Paintbrush didn’t actually know his last name, but you have to assume. Either way, it was Fan.)
“Oh my fucking god,” Paintbrush muttered to themselves, hiding their growing smile underneath their tucked-in arms.
“Hm?” Fan’s unfamiliar friend said, tilting their head ever so slightly. The green butterfly-shaped pins in their hair swayed.
Fan, however, just stared at Paintbrush for a long moment, as if trying to decode something. Well, most of Paintbrush’s face was hidden; it made sense that he couldn’t guess who they were, that he was so scared of being wrong.
Social situations had apparently never been Fan’s forte. That still held true.
“Before you ask,” Paintbrush said, in the most annoyed tone they could muster as they took their head out of their hands, “I do not like the Spoiled Lemon pin on your bag.”
“Holy macaroni, it really is you,” Fan said, voice filled with disbelief. “What the hell are you doing on my train?”
“I’ve been on this train for about two hours now, Fan, it is not yours. If you were a train conductor I don’t think I’d ever take a train again.”
“…Do you two know each other?” The person with butterfly clips in their hair questioned, tilting to Fan in question.
“Oh, I need to introduce you two! Bot, this is Paintbrush. Paintbrush, Bot!” Fan said, clapping his hands together excitedly.
Paintbrush looked Bot up and down to the best of their ability; they were five minutes from dozing off before these guys came along. “Bot,” they said, name rolling off their tongue.
“They were in the year below us in high school. If anything happens to them, Test Tube will break someone’s neck.”
“Aww, so you wouldn’t break someone’s neck for me?” Bot questioned, dramatically leaning into Fan with a hurt expression. “This is truly a betrayal. The real reason why mum is better than you.”
“Wh- hey!” Fan said. Okay, Paintbrush thought, looking between the two. There’s a weird family dynamic going on here.
With Fan, when isn’t there? He befriended an ice cream man and grew emotionally attached to the business for four months.
“If it makes you feel any better, Fan,” Paintbrush said, smirk playing onto their face, “I think me and this Bot character are gonna get along great.”
Fan’s eyes narrowed, and he put a hand on his hip as the carriage bumped against the old rails. “Surprisingly, that does not make me feel better, no.”
Another bump shook the carriage, leaving Paintbrush to clutch tightly onto their bag and hold their hand against the wall to avoid falling into it and breaking a hipbone. They were too young for that.
Fuck, wait. They were twenty now. That was definitely old enough to break a hipbone.
“Bot! Are you alright?” Fan questioned, digging through his bag for something. Once he retrieved it, he held it up proudly before near-slamming it on the table; in black sharpie, the red plastic briefcase read, ‘Bot emergency aid kit.’
Paintbrush felt almost insulted that he didn’t have a Paintbrush emergency aid kit. Then again, they’d probably just laugh if he got hurt, then maybe give him an ice pack. Yeah, the no emergency aid kit thing was mutual through and through.
“So first you complain that Test Tube is too doting, then you bring a special first-aid kit in case anything happens to me? What gives?” Bot demanded, gesturing to the plastic briefcase.
Fan opened it with a flourish; inside, there really wasn’t anything special. Just a few rolls of bandages, gauze, hospital-distributed ice packs, thermometer, hairbrush… no fun band-aids with bright colors. Fan must be a terrible father. “I’m just looking out for you!” Fan defended, and Paintbrush immediately took back their previous statement.
“Don’t worry, Fan just goes a bit crazy because he’s always tripping over things,” Paintbrush said, amusement lacing their tone. “You know, because he can’t see them.”
As the statement registered in Fan’s head, a disbelieving expression made its way onto his face. Paintbrush brought their hand to their mouth to hide both their chuckles and inherent amusement. “That doesn’t make any sense!” He said, crossing his arms. “If I’m closer to the ground, I would be able to see things on the floor easier!”
“Then why are you still always tripping over things!?” Paintbrush demanded.
Fan just huffed and muttered something about being clumsy. Right, because that’s what they all say. If you’re so clumsy, then why is everything in that emergency aid kit was in pristine condition, hmm? Paintbrush is going to rob it. And add in bright colorful band-aids.
“If anyone’s clumsy in our dorm, it’s not you,” Paintbrush said conversationally. At the prospect of talking about dormitories, Bot’s eyes lit up. They listened intently, clearly eager to gather any information about college as they could before they actually arrived. “It would be Lightbulb.”
“Yeah, I’m just gonna let you finish talking about that,” Fan said blankly, waiting with one eyebrow raised. Paintbrush stared at him in confusion, wondering what exactly he wanted them to say. His eyebrow raised higher in response. It simply made Paintbrush wonder just how high he could raise his eyebrows.
Before Paintbrush knew it, they had dived into a spiel of just how excited they were to see Lightbulb when she eventually arrived. About how they hadn’t seen each other in over a month or two, how much prettier her eyes were in person, they even showed Bot and Fan the lock screen on their phone; it was a picture of them and Lightbulb waving to the camera in her room enthusiastically. They could remember the moment it was taken quite clearly.
“Well we need to wave to future you,” Lightbulb huffed, grabbing Paintbrush’s phone into her own hands and adjusting the angle so that both her and Paintbrush were in frame.
“This is just for an updated contact picture of you, I don’t see why it’s such a big deal,” Paintbrush sighed, but obliged to the weird angle Lightbulb had put up regardless.
“I need you to know that I’ll always be excited to talk to you! So I need to wave excitedly to future you!” Lightbulb protested. “You wave, too, so future you remembers. Movement stimulates the… memory, thingy. The hippo in your brain.”
“It’s the hippocampus, Lightbulb,” Paintbrush sighed. “It’s the part of your brain that stores memories. This is fourth grade science.”
“Oh, stop acting like Test Tube and help me take this picture for my contact!”
Months later, and Paintbrush had it as both Lightbulb’s contact picture and their phone lock screen. It was a nice photo! Could you really blame them?
“So they’re dating?” Bot whispered to Fan. Paintbrush paid it little mind as they continued to trace the features of Lightbulb on their screen.
“Yep,” Fan sighed, popping the P. “And they don’t shut up about it. Or each other.”
Bot accompanies the two of them all the way up until the dormitory, as Paintbrush rolls their matte black rolling bag down the marble corridors.
Room 43, they thought, considering starting to half-sprint to get there faster. It wasn’t like they hadn’t done it before. Your home is room 43.
Once they finally arrived at the door, they pulled it backward in confidence. The familiar squeak didn’t startle them, but they did notice Bot pull their hands over their ears in the peripheral of their vision.
“Test Tube!” Paintbrush called out, stepping in and onto the wooden floor. They avoided the ones that they knew squeaked, as not to startle the guest once again. “We’re home!”
God, did it feel good to greet the room that way once again.
“Hello Paintbrush!” Test Tube called from the other room. “I’m very busy right now, did you need anything?”
“Ooh, what’cha working on?” Fan said, finding a spot on the couch and sitting. His heavy bags, which he complained about having to carry all the way through campus, fell beside him.
“The DNA splicing of a naturally grown fungi and a highly toxic chemical. I’m trying to develop a new kind of mushroom.”
“So ending the world, got it,” Paintbrush said, giving unenthusiastic finger-guns. They did not want to be apart of anything that Test Tube got up to when she was alone. Especially not DNA slicing a mushroom. Or was it sufficing..?
Bot put down the heaviest of Fan’s bags on the coffee table, the one he practically begged them to carry. Unluckily for him, they carried it with ease and made him an easy target for Paintbrush to call weak. “Precious cargo, coming through!” She cheered.
“Is that Bot?” Test Tube asked, dropping everything she was doing. Well, that was certainly grand considering she was using toxic chemicals. And she didn’t even do the same for Paintbrush! What gives, guys?
“Bot! How are you, it’s been much too long,” Test Tube said, placing her hands over Bot’s cheeks and squeezing them slightly.
“Oh, well I’ve been dandy-!“
“Ooh, you’ve dyed your hair! I like the greenish white, it suits you! Have you adjusted well? Is your dormitory safe? Have you brought everything you need, I can get stuff you forgot. Are your dormmates nice? Your dormmates better be nice, I will make them nice if I need to.”
“Test Tube, my dorm is fine!” Bot said, pulling away from the squeezing of cheeks and rubbing them with a hand distastefully. “I haven’t met my roommates yet, but I’m sure I’ll be fine. Take a chill pill, would’ya?”
“Here, sit,” Test Tube said, ignoring Bot’s spiel and sitting her atop the coffee table. She always told off Paintbrush for sitting there, what a hypocrite. “I’m gonna check your temperature; it’s been abnormally cold these last few days, I want to make sure you’re not ill. Then I’ll give you a paging device, so you can call on me whenever!”
Bot laughed at the worry etching Test Tube’s face, playfully smacking away the hand that came up to feel their forehead. “Sometimes I can’t decide who’s worse; you or Dad!”
Test Tube brought her hand away, clearly satisfied with the regular body temperature.
“Now, onto helping Fan put away his things,” Bot said, a steely determination in her voice.
“I’m not sticking around for that part, and Fan is not going to make you put all his things away just because he hates lifting. Come on, let me show you my current experiment!”
And so, Test Tube and Bot flew off into the direction of Test Tube’s room. Paintbrush silently prayed for Bot’s health and safety.
Until they could properly mourn the fact that the dormitory was likely to go up in flames by tomorrow afternoon, they noticed Fan looking at them with wide puppy-dog eyes. Unfortunately for him, he was no Lightbulb, and Paintbrush was not swayed.
“I’m not gonna put all your things away for you,” they said bluntly. Why Fan seemed surprised by this, they don’t know.
“Why not? Help a bro out!”
“We are not bros.”
“Well we are now, and bros help other bros put their stuff away! Put this rice cooker up on the kitchen island for now, I’ll figure out where to put it later,” Fan said, handing Paintbrush a bright red rice cooker. What was it with fan and kitchen supplies he doesn’t know how to use? And why are all of them red?
Paintbrush put the rice cooker on the kitchen island, turning to Fan as he tried to hoist up what appeared to be a benchtop oven. “Every day I think that you can’t possibly get any weirder,” Paintbrush said, voice blank. “And every day, without fail, I am proven wrong.”
“Shut up and help me life this limited edition Spoiled Lemon toaster oven to the kitchen, Paintbrush,” Fan said, voice strained under the weight of the oven and yet still he managed to sound sassy. Paintbrush almost considered leaving him to carry the oven himself, but a huge dent in the floor because he dropped it wouldn’t be good for the dorm’s resale value.
Sighing and lifting one end of the oven whilst Fan lifted the other, Paintbrush felt the need to pinch their nose as the bright, flashy mascots of Spoiled Lemon stared at them. “I miss when you were just really into Uno,” Paintbrush said, reminiscing on the times where Fan would barge into their room and demand them to play. “That was at the very least manageable.”
It most certainly was not, but at least they didn’t have to see the faces of Spoiled Lemon everywhere and listen to Love Island every Thursday night.
(…Every Thursday night at home, they would put the latest Love Island episode on for background noise. It wasn’t the same without Fan and Lightbulb yelling at the idiotic characters together, cheering for their favorite couples.)
Lightbulb… where was she? Paintbrush looked down at their phone, the sleek screen with only a few smudges staring back at them, taunting. Flourishing the fact that Lightbulb hadn’t texted them back after they told her that they’d arrived on campus.
She left everything to the last minute, sure, but she always made sure that Paintbrush’s texts were at the very least reacted to. At the very least read.
Paintbrush opened up the texted conversations between them, despite the warning that the bright blue delivered symbol tried to give.
Paintbrush: hey I’m on campus now, with Fan and his friend Bot
Nothing after that. Radio silence. Delivered.
Paintbrush wasn’t one to worry. No, not at all. However, they were starting to think that they were a liar for saying that.
They continue to help Fan put his things away, occasionally looking around the dorm as if expecting Lightbulb to magically appear through that stain on the wall that’s been there since before either four of them ever moved in.
“Are you looking for something?” Test Tube said from behind them, nearly making Paintbrush drop the air frier they were currently carrying over to the, now very crowded, kitchen countertops.
“Uh… I guess, kind of,” Paintbrush sighed. It wasn’t like they were lying.
“Wonderful! I’ve recently been attempting to create a tracking device, and I’ve been craving something that I can efficiently test it on! I’ve attempted to lose my phone, but it’s difficult considering I have quite the strong hippocampus.”
Test Tube rapped her forehead with her knuckles, causing Paintbrush to let out a small laugh. “Sorry Test Tube, I don’t think that’s gonna work for this,” they said, voice slowly going back to its previous more melancholic tone.
“Well why not? It’s better to try than not to,” Test Tube said, already seeming as if she was eager to rush to her room and grab this prototype tracking device. Paintbrush sometimes wonders why Test Tube is taking biology instead of physics, or maybe STEM.
“Well, I’m not really missing something,” Paintbrush said. As Test Tube urged them silently to go on with a wave of their hand, they ran a hand through their hair. “It’s more of a… who I’m missing.”
Test Tube seemed confused for only a moment, but her eyes blew wide when she realized what exactly Paintbrush was implying. “Ah,” she said, voice somewhat uneasy. “I understand that. Sometimes it’s not as easy as knowing where someone is, but… being near enough to know what they’re up to, and that they’re safe.”
Despite how unobservant Paintbrush has been in the past, they did not miss the short glance Test Tube made toward her bedroom door- where Bot was most likely inside. Paintbrush nodded, grateful that Test Tube understood what they had meant without them having to elaborate.
Before Paintbrush could blink, however, Test Tube had taken the air frier out of their hands. “I’ll take this, you go lie down for a while. I’m sure Bot can handle the rest of the experiment inside.”
Paintbrush really didn’t like the sound of that, but if Test Tube was trusting enough that Bot knew what they were doing, then they were too.
They went to go lie down in their bed for a little while; only occasionally looking toward their phone screen for any incoming notifications.
-
“Wow, Fan was right,” Bot said, coming out of the bedroom with her hair blown backwards and sticking out in every direction, although seeming mostly unbothered by the fact. “First, your experiments are scary. I thought we were just making my hairclips glow in the dark! Second, Paintbrush really doesn’t stop talking about Lightbulb.”
“It’s kind of charming, in a way,” Test Tube said, hoisting all of Fan’s strange trinkets around and putting them in the correct spaces. “You just wait until you meet Lightbulb. She absolutely adores them.”
Get ready for class.
Paintbrush really does try to do so, really! They pull on their winter boots by accident, then take them off and replace them with sneakers. In all honesty, they just want to go back to bed.
Their teeth are brushed and their hair is put up even though they know that they won’t be doing any painting until later in the trimester, but when they look in the mirror they still don’t feel ready for class.
Maybe they’re lacking their smile. But that was nonsense, nobody smiled in class.
Well, there might be one person that would. But only because she’d either be skipping or goofing off.
Once again, their phone was entirely void of notifications.
According to Fan, because he entered his new course late, there were only a few class options available. Sadly for his insomniac self, those included the morning classes. As far as Paintbrush knows, he’s already at his class. 8am on a Monday. That must suck.
Still not feeling ready to step foot out of their room, Paintbrush does so anyways because they do have a class to get to, even if they’d rather spend the day doing anything else. Sleeping, for one.
“Lightbulb will show up, Paintbrush,” a reassuring voice said from the doorway, glancing at Paintbrush fervently staring at themselves in the mirror.
“But what if she doesn’t?” Paintbrush said, looking at themselves rather than Test Tube. “what if she’s lost, or hurt, what if she’s decided she wants nothing to do with us and left for… I don’t know, Goiky!”
“Or maybe her phone is just dead,” Test Tube said, rational as ever. It didn’t really help. “Paintbrush, when has she ever gotten herself into a situation she can’t get herself out of?”
Paintbrush stayed silent. They couldn’t name a time. Either she fixed it herself or Paintbrush was there, ready and willing to offer support.
“She’s like a cat, Paintbrush,” Test Tube continued, although Paintbrush didn’t understand the comparison at all. Except for maybe the fact that Lightbulb liked to push things off tables. “Cats use their whiskers to calculate if they’ll be able to fit in a tight space. You just need to trust that they’ll be able to get out again, which they almost always will.”
Paintbrush thinks back to a couple of nights before- when Test Tube was relentlessly doting on her proclaimed child. “I could say the same to you about Bot,” Paintbrush said, pulling off their sneakers and putting on their winter boots again. They couldn’t decide what they liked more. It was frustrating.
“I suppose you could,” Test Tube said, shrugging. “I know that Bot can hold their own perfectly fine, and that they’re perfectly capable of going on to do things without me. However… sometimes it’s hard to let them.”
Paintbrush felt that, in every bone of their body. They know the feeling of waiting with bandages in their pocket that they’ll never use, because Lightbulb doesn’t hurt herself enough to need them. Of not feeling like you need to hold the weight, but wanting to so you can reassure yourself.
“Lightbulb’s going to be perfectly okay. I need to head to class, I’ll call you if she returns home. Fan will do the same, I’m sure.”
Returns home. Paintbrush doesn’t think that was intentional; they think that this place has slowly grown to be home for Test Tube, as well. Perhaps for Fan, and if Lightbulb is returning home… then it must be hers, too.
Maybe that’s what Paintbrush is lacking, before heading to class. A proper sense of home; Lightbulb’s things weren’t littered on the floor. There wasn’t the constant presence of a pizza box on the coffee table, Test Tube hadn’t even begun laying out all sorts of textbooks and mugs of coffee, cold and forgotten.
As they’re just about to replace their winter boots with sneakers once again, they heard a knock at the door. Immediately, their heart began to race; it wasn’t rational to think that it was Lightbulb, Test Tube had probably just forgotten something.
Still, they rushed to the door still wearing their winter boots. When they opened it, there was nobody there. Paintbrush felt a frown tug at their lips. But they still heard a consistent knocking!
They supposed it was true. Paintbrush is, without a doubt, hearing things. They should probably talk to a psychiatrist about it, but instead they continue to fumble around in the corridor, looking for the source of the knocking noise.
After coming back inside, the knocking sounding louder from here, Paintbrush plays an aimless game of hot and cold. Once they reach the kitchen, hearing the incessant knocking- that they’re certain has been drilled into their brain by now- grow louder, they just sigh.
If all this time, it has been nothing but a bird slamming its head against the window to make Paintbrush’s morning even worse, they might just wring the bird’s neck. Especially if it was a pigeon. They’re stupid, and probably government spies or something.
Paintbrush opens the window, ready and willing to flip off the bird or whoever was throwing rocks at their window, but instead they saw… a hand, clutching onto the brick between the window and the wall.
Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding. There was absolutely no way.
“Hey, is this room 43? If it isn’t, then, uh… I’ve got the wrong room, and that’s… bad?” the unmistakable voice of Lightbulb called out.
Paintbrush just stares in shock as Lightbulb hoists herself up, perching herself on the precarious windowsill with a smile. She’s got a bag slung over her shoulder, and- as much as Paintbrush hates to condone bad behavior- she looks radiant in the morning light.
“Listen, I know what you’re gonna say,” Lightbulb said quickly, tripping over her own words. “‘Lightbulb, hanging off windowsills is dangerous! If you keep climbing walls I’ll turn you into… I dunno, a tomato or something!’ But I am perfectly fine and safe! Not a single scratch!”
Their previously shocked look turned into one of lax contempt. “Get inside,” they said, pinching the bridge of their nose and sighing.
“You do not have to tell me twice,” Lightbulb said, already halfway through the window. “My arms were starting to hurt from holding on for so long and knocking! Multitasking has been a strong suit of mine for years, but that’s painful.”
Paintbrush helps Lightbulb inside, still shocked at the feeling of her skin underneath theirs. Of her hand holding theirs as she lets herself through the window. Her hair was up in its signature ponytails, a little bit longer than the last time Paintbrush saw her. The moment she’s inside, she’s sitting on the kitchen counter like she lives there as soon as she’s properly inside.
Well, Paintbrush supposes that she does.
The thought really shouldn’t make them smile as much as it does.
Turning around to face Lightbulb, sitting cross-legged on the kitchen island, they take a moment to just… acknowledge that she’s there. That they’re both here, together again. Back home.
“Hey, you should take a picture. It’d last longer,” Lightbulb teased, crossing her arms as an unmistakable blush grew across her face, scaling down her neck at the keen eye observing her.
“I might,” Paintbrush whispered, voice torn between humorous and completely honest. “Just to make sure this is real.”
Lightbulb’s face turned a shade darker. “Ah,” she said, quite eloquently. She jumped off the kitchen counter, instead leaning against the side of it.
Once again, the room was silent. Paintbrush took a step forward, despite feeling paralysed. Then they took another, and it got easier until they were standing a breath’s away from Lightbulb, looking down at her with a fond smile.
They hold her cheeks between their hands, tilting her jaw up slightly so they’re looking into her eyes, the ones that they’ve so desperately missed since the last time they saw her.
Before either of them could blink once again, Paintbrush was peppering her face with little kisses, starting from her forehead and making their way down to her cheeks, nose, and finally along her jaw.
“Wh- Painty! Hey!” Lightbulb screeched, giggling with a face the color of beets. She made a futile attempt to swat Paintbrush’s face away, a fit of giggles continuing to overtake them as Paintbrush paid special attention to the dimples that had formed in her cheeks.
“Shh,” Paintbrush said, hissing out the syllable between chaste kisses. “Let me have this.”
“Oh come on, let me go put my stuff away,” Lightbulb said, squirming. Her voice was an octave higher than usual, and Paintbrush planted another kiss against the slope of her nose.
“Don’t think I can do that,” Paintbrush sighed, bringing a hand to her jaw and smiling fondly, widely. “You didn’t answer any of my texts or calls. I was worried about you, Lighty.”
The nickname made Lightbulb fidget even more so, twisting back and forth playfully. “I didn’t hear anything,” she commented idly. “I think my phone’s dead.”
“God, I hate when Test Tube is right,” Paintbrush muttered to themselves. Lightbulb laughed with them regardless, and it made them light up in return. They couldn’t hold back a laugh themselves, giggling along with Lightbulb and still planting the occasional kiss on her forehead or along the curve of her jaw. “Wait, why didn’t you charge your phone before heading over here?”
“Uh,” Lightbulb said, face blank. “I might’ve had trouble sleeping and… scrolled through all our texts instead of sleeping? And for some reason, the Messages app really drains my battery.”
“Oh my God,” Paintbrush said, voice both exasperated and fond at the same time. “You are… so perfect. What is wrong with you?”
“Can’t tell if that’s a wrench-theoretical.”
“…Rhetorical?”
“Whatever, same difference.”
Lightbulb huffed, squeezing her eyes shut and crossing her arms. Paintbrush planted a kiss on her eyelid in response, and she squawked in surprise.
“For your information,” Paintbrush said, voice just louder than a whisper, “It was a rhetorical question. Everybody knows that there isn’t anything wrong with you, and if they don’t, they’ll have me to answer to.”
Rolling her now-open eyes with a dark red face, Lightbulb pouted. “You say that as if I couldn’t take care of it myself!”
“Oh, I know you could,” Paintbrush says, thinking back to their conversation with Test Tube not too long ago. “Sometimes it’s just hard to let you.”
“Speaking of… things that are hard to let,” Lightbulb said, casting a quick glance at the clock on the kitchen wall, “We might need to get going to class soon.”
“Oh, fuck that,” Paintbrush said, rolling their eyes and planting a quick kiss on Lightbulb’s burning-up cheek. “I’m not gonna go to class when you’re right here!”
“Well, it’s never stopped you before,” Lightbulb said, face burning up from the attention.
“I haven’t seen you in months.”
“Well, just saying.”
“Are you skipping with me or not? Most people are absent the first week or two anyway,” Paintbrush said, holding out their hand in a meek offering.
Lightbulb took their hand in hers, placing another on top and encasing their hand in hers. It was irrevocably warm, and Paintbrush could do nothing but hold the hand not being held hostage over their face to hide the red forming.
“I told mum that I’d keep a closer eye on my attendance,” Lightbulb says, and for a moment Paintbrush is disappointed, but that is quickly subsided by the grin that forms on her face. “But you’re making skipping sound very appealing, Painty.”
With a scoff, Paintbrush pulled their arm out of Lightbulb’s apparent trap and shook it a few times, a fruitless attempt to get rid of the electric shocks they still had any time they came into contact with the visceral force that was Lightbulb. “Don’t get too used to it,” They said, irrevocably gone for her, as they began to pick up the bag that was discarded on the floor courtesy of Lightbulb.
Of course, Lightbulb’s luggage was a nightmare to sort through, as per usual. Paintbrush didn’t mind as much as they thought they would, however, with Lightbulb’s comedic commentary and occasional help throughout the painstaking process of sorting through her things.
“And Painty shoots for the washing basket… wait for it… wait… and they score!” Lightbulb whooped as Paintbrush threw a wrinkled jacket into the washing basket. They couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at the shenanigans, shaking their head ever so slightly. God, they needed a coffee.
“You are such a nuisance,” Paintbrush tutted, voice too saccharinely sweet for them to ever mean the words. “These are your clothes. Why do I have to pack them up for you?”
“because I’m too busy thinking,” Lightbulb said resolutely.
“Oh yeah?” Paintbrush said, grinning. “What about?”
“How diverse bagels are.”
“Oh my God, Lightbulb.”
“I know, it was strange to me at first, too! But, you know, you could put anything on a bagel! Sweet or savory, sour or bitter…”
“I’ve been thinking too, but at least I’m putting stuff away.”
“Fine then! If my thoughts are too advanced for you, what have you been thinking about?” Lightbulb challenged, hands on hips.
“I mean… I’ve been having a weird thought. You know how sometimes things feel like even though they’re just starting, they’re over?” Paintbrush asked, fiddling with the loose cardigan that they were supposed to be putting in Lightbulb’s wardrobe.
Lightbulb clicked her tongue, humming. “Nope!” She said resolutely.