Matthew lost it at the labels, neatly designating the proper spots for the food in the pantry.
"What's wrong with a little organization?" Gilbert asked lazily, sprawled on the couch Matthew had bought, playing on the Xbox. "Nothing wrong with it."
Matthew wanted to scream. He had thought college would be better. Alfred had always thrown the house into a mess, and their fathers had been in a constant battle to avoid the housework, so it had been left to Matthew. Of course, his parents kept the house clean, but not clean enough.
College had been something Matthew dreamed as he collected Alfred's week-old boxers. College, where Matthew could demand his roommate to clean, or report him to the campus. College, where maybe clutter would be limited to binders and books.
Matthew's hopes had been dashed when his roommate introduced himself. Baggy t-shirt, scruffy hair, terrible posture, headphones. Matthew had watched Gilbert carry boxes into the dorm mournfully, shuffling his own few comics into the bookshelf.
And then, madness descended.
Gilbert, who was studying to be a veterinarian, was insane. Matthew tried to use adjectives appropriately, and sadly, this was one of those times. Gilbert was constantly cleaning and fixing, following after Matthew in the dorm and picking up after him.
Gilbert would mop the floors ever few days, wash the windows, clean the sheets. While Matthew had appreciated and even complimented the behavior, it had started to grate. Too much of a good thing was still too much.
"You can't just… You can't try and organize the pantry," Matthew tried, voice nearly not as upset as he would have liked it to be. "It's for food."
Gilbert craned his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the pantry. "You bought three instant-mix boxes of cocoa because you thought we were out. This way, we can see what we do and don't have. Trust me, I've thought it all out." His gaze returned to Skyrim.
Matthew stepped in front of the television, arms crossed. "We need to talk."
Gilbert's gaze flicked between Matthew's face and what little of the television he could see. Matthew could see the whine before it came, long since familiar with Alfred's mannerisms. Matthew shook his head.
"You can't keep this up," Matthew gestured to the space between and around them.
Gilbert's face flushed, and he paused the game. Matthew was taken aback; Gilbert was one of those people who liked to bleach his hair white and snicker at anyone who wasn't in his posse. The other man sat up, focusing on Matthew.
Gilbert nodded. "You're right." He stood, and Matthew's confusion grew.
"I didn't know you felt so strongly… I mean, I figured you were fine with how everything was. Considering you just kept doing it," Matthew waved over his shoulder at the direction of the pantry.
And Gilbert, who had pierced his tongue and nipples himself in his room, ducked his head and looked at his feet. "I wasn't sure—" He looked up, forcing a grin on his face. "Well, I know I'm great and everything, but you're quiet sometimes, so I wasn't sure if I should—" He coughed, "Make a move."
"I thought I was pretty clear about everything." Matthew almost wanted to thank Gilbert. He hadn't expected this to go as well as it had. More fighting, maybe, a compromise that would be ignored.
Gilbert gave him another grin, but his cheeks were still flushed. "Drinks?"
Oh. Matthew was having some trouble coming up with an answer. "You want to label the drinks? That just seems more annoying than the pantry, to be honest."
And then there was an awkward silence. Gilbert was staring at him, and Matthew had the irrational urge to wave his hand in front of Gilbert's face, just to make sure he hadn't turned invisible.
The silence stretched on.
Matthew attempted a smile. "Did you forget how to talk?" Had he been Alfred, he would have laughed at his own joke. Hell, had he been Gilbert he would have laughed at his own joke. "It's not really that big of a deal, it would probably—"
"We don't have to have the labels," Gilbert interrupted loudly. His face twitched into something resembling horror.
The labels were quickly removed by Gilbert himself, and he wouldn't meet Matthew's eyes for a week after the incident. Another few days until Gilbert would sprawl on the couch and call to Matthew as he tried to study.
And then, it clicked.
"Oh!" Matthew said, "Drinks. Well, I feel stupid," he muttered to his stuffed bear.