Measure

Axel was the sort of artsy prick that liked to redecorate things every few years when the various shades of red and blue and green had lost some of their edge. Now a young man, the project regarding his room was coupled with a young man's salary and that meant new (rude and ostentatious) furniture. Axel, being impulsive artsy, was keen to just buy and buy and deal with things like size and the non-elasticity of wood later. But Roxas, being equally artsy but not nearly so retarded, insisted on at least a cursory examination involving a measuring tape.

So the sea of empty cans was drained away and Axel's scratched and stickered bed was dismantled and shoved out into the hall where the resident mutts nosed nervously about it. And in the intervening musty space, Roxas was itching himself on dusty carpet and tracing things like width and length out in his mind as Axel made mountain ranges out of extended tape.

Sneezing for the tenth time, but ultimately satisfied with his estimates, Roxas pushed past the two ratty dogs and yelled for Axel to remember his wallet because he wasn't paying for some shitty rainbow desk no matter how discounted the thing was. And Axel pinched his finger on the tape as he let it scream back, wondering if Roxas'd help him put the thing together and if the paint should've been done first.