"Hm, Berwald, what do you think of this one?" Tino pointed to the lamp; it was made of thick glass, shaped slightly like a lantern if he tilted his head, and colored a subdued teal. He wiped his finger on the rim of the lamp, removing a long trail of dust. "The color is kind of pretty."
Berwald growled and stalked towards a set of neutral colored photo frames and Tino struggled to match his long stride as he pushed the massive shopping cart, which teemed with several dozen pounds of bedding, along the little yellow arrows plotted across the floor.
When he had finally managed to catch up to the elusive Swede who, quite frankly, was getting on his nerves during this all-day affair in an enormous Scandinavian warehouse; his chest was heaving from the sheer exertion of shopping.
"I don't w'nt all th' col'rs," Berwald droned.
"What?"
"The lamp was too bright. Only neutral colors." Berwald dropped four identical dustpans into the cart and moved over to eye some particularly drab reindeer ornaments. At the indication of his gesture, Tino squinted at them uncertainly.
"What are those-" Tino had no chance to protest as seven different little traditional Swedish decorations, each with individual designs painted in red over the wood, were piled into the now overflowing cart. "Berwald-"
"You like Christmas, right? They're tree decorations."
"BERWALD!"
"What?"
"It's May!"
Berwald shrugged indifferently. "You can never be too prepared." He used his height to his advantage and picked three seat cushions from the top shelf and handed them to Tino, who just nearly toppled over from the sheer force of them.
"STOP!"
With an exasperated sigh, Tino dropped the cushions at his feet, feeling his face grow perilously (and perhaps uncharacteristically) red and his fists curl furiously at his side. "Look at the cart!"
Berwald's gaze shifted to eye the metal basket filled to the brim with a copious amount of the most obscure home utilities, then back to Tino.
"Why," Tino implored, reaching into the depths of the cart, "Do we need two new shower curtain rods!?" He swung the rods in the air, nearly knocking over the three-foot vase beside him, "We only have one shower!"
"Peter might want to play with it, Tino."
Tino gave him such a glare that he could have sworn he saw Berwald's usually steadfast eyes shift uncomfortably beneath his steel expression.
"That," Tino said under his breath, "is why there's a children's section!"
"Don't be so aggr'ss've. We're only buyin' furniture." Berwald's expression did in fact fall.
"Yes," Tino pressed, "Furniture. We needed a new dining room table because Peter ruined the last one with his Power Rangers-I'm not exactly sure how he managed that, but I guess that doesn't matter. But every time we come here, we buy more than will fit in the car."
Gently, Tino removed Berwald's hands from the shopping cart and took control. Like a dejected puppy, Berwald followed behind, dragging his feet in defeat.
"I'm not angry, Berwald," Tino reasoned with a heave of his shoulders, "And I know you really love shopping at Ikea, but that's what the marketers want you to do." They followed the little yellow arrow on the ground and rounded a corner. "They want you to impulse buy."
"It's not impulse buying if I already knew I wanted them."
"Wanting is different than needing, Berwald. Anyway, they've already made you an honorary member of the Ikea Exclusive club. They value your business-or rather, our credit card-if that's what you're searching for."
From behind him, Tino heard Berwald mutter unintelligibly beneath his breath. "What's that?"
"I have to use the r'str'm."
"The what?"
"The restroom."
"Oh, sure, hon," Tino remarked, gesturing towards the corridor parallel to the cash registers, "I'll wait in line, then."
"Alrigh'," Berwald conceded, turning on his heel and marching away.
"Do you need a map?" Tino called after him.
"No."
"Don't get lost!"
"I won't."
As soon as Berwald was out of sight, Tino shoved the cart forward in line, shouting automatic 'sorry's, 'excuse me's, and 'pardon me's as he barreled over the other customers.
Affronted, the cashier began protesting his diligent advance. "Sir, at this establishment you must wait in li-"
Urgently, he spoke to the cashier: "Ma'am, I want you to take all of these things and…" He grunted as he heaved an armful of lampshades and Swedish Meatballs on the conveyer, "...Hide them beneath your register. When a tall, blonde man with glasses leaves that restroom, tell him to go outside quickly. Please."
Bewildered, but not at all convinced that she had a choice (after all, the customer is always right), the cashier began absentmindedly placing the merchandise beneath her register as Tino continued to pile a menagerie of unpronounceable Swedish goods on the conveyer.
"Now," Tino ordered, placing two white-knuckled fists on the conveyer, "Ma'am, I want you to punch me."
The transparent, automatic doors slid open, revealing Berwald's ominous and large frame, contrasting starkly against the dull light of the gargantuan blue and yellow building. Night had long since fallen (naturally, they had dwindled away the daylight hours inside the bomb shelter of a store.) and the expansive parking lot was lit with rows of parking lamps, standing tall against the skyline like trees, basking the lot with spotlights as if it were a stage. Tino looked up from his hiding spot behind the bushes outside the store and leapt to his feet.
"Berwald!" He cried, "Thank goodness you're here! I-"
"Yes," Berwald deadpanned, "The cashier told me you were out here."
"Yes," Tino pressed, "I was mugged by some brute!" He pointed a finger at the newly forming bruise on his face. "And he took everything we bought! The entire cart is gone!"
Berwald's eyes narrowed and he began walking towards the parking lot in the general direction of their car. Tino scrambled to keep up. "Berwald, don't you see? He took all of our precious Swedish merchandise!"
Berwald didn't respond. Brow furrowed in concern, Tino whined. "Come on, Berwald! Don't you care about the furniture? About me?"
"Tino." Berwald's long strides as he traversed the parking lot gave Tino a workout as he struggled to keep pace. "The cashier told me everything."
Tino stopped in his tracks. "Oh."
"You know," With a huff, Berwald came to a halt as well, "You don't need a cashier to punch you in the face to tell me that you hate Ikea."
"I did tell you, Berwald. Multiple times." He ran a hand through his hair before letting it collapse at his side. "Well? Now what? Do you want to go get it back? I'm sure the cashier still has it."
Berwald stole a regretful glance back at the store, gargantuan and looming over them in all its Scandinavian glory. Lines of blue and gold beamed through the forthcoming night and cast its colors against his complexion. A deep sigh escaped his chest before he finally turned back to Tino and shook his head.
"Good," Tino snapped, fumbling for his keys in his pockets. He found them and began rapidly pressing the unlock button. "I'm sorry we couldn't buy what you wanted. I just think you have a bit of an Ikea problem." He spotted the car. "Ah, there it is."
"Tino, wait."
"Oh, no, don't tell me you've changed your mind-"
"No, I…" He lifted a plastic bag that Tino hadn't even noticed he'd been carrying, "I bought you some cake when I was in the store." He reached a hand into the bag and removed a small plastic container in which lay a wedge of ornately decorated cake.
Tino's expression softened into an involuntary smile. "Aren't you a sweetheart?"
Berwald's face flushed; deeply enough that Tino could see it in the shadowed light of dusk.
"Let's go home," He said, "And I hope you know how glad I'll be when I'm not constructing furniture for the next three weeks."
Together, they slipped into the car-Tino in the driver's seat, Berwald in the passenger's-and as the key clicked in the ignition and the engine roared to life, Berwald glanced longingly at the beaming store in the distance; and for a fraction of a second, it reminded him of home.
The drive to their home was a long one, and perhaps their journey fruitless, but the road was smooth and empty. Sleepily, Berwald rested a hand on Tino's thigh, and the rest of the drive passed as most drives do-the world forming into a repetitive and unchanging canvas, as if time itself had frozen.
"There's always online shopping…"