When We Were Young 3
26 Dec 2005 11:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kaigouRating might as well be PG-13 for previous parts and this one. Warnings continue to hold; conflict is the point of these slices-of-life, and since I continue to be in a foul mood to some extent, there will be no make-up sex. Maybe later. Or maybe you can write it for me. Go you.
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Quatre smiled at the young sales clerk, and realized he'd left Trowa behind somewhere. He gestured at the young girl to wait, and looked around for his errant partner. Quatre found him studying a small table not far from the store's entrance.
"I like this one," Trowa told him. He lifted up the lid, revealing a mirror and a small tray.
"I think it's an old shaving table." Quatre frowned. "That's hardly suitable for our foyer. I was thinking something more like..." He glanced around, until his gaze fell on a large half-circle, with ornate legs. "That's cool."
Trowa stared for a long moment, as the sales clerk came to stand nearby, with the eager expression of someone waiting to answer any question that might arise. Quatre noted her name tag, and gave her another smile, this one a bit more pained as he waited for Trowa's commentary.
"What else does it do?" Trowa finally asked.
"It doesn't need to do anything but be a table," Quatre replied, patiently. "I just wanted a place to put mail, put our keys, gloves, stuff like..." He winced at Trowa's sharp look. "If we're coming in and going back out again soon, it's okay to just set something aside rather than putting it away."
Trowa snorted and studied the table a bit longer. "I don't like the legs," he finally said.
"What kind of table?" The sales girl gave them both a bright smile; she deflated a bit at Trowa's sulky look, but held on gamely, obviously realizing it was better to focus on Quatre. "That table is a reproduction in the Empire style, but we have Victorian and even Post-modern as well..."
"Post-modern," Trowa stated.
Quatre just sighed. He would've preferred Victorian, actually; he'd always liked the curves. Or Art Deco. Trowa tended towards simply utilitarian, which wasn't really a style so much as a demand that everything had to have at least six purposes for existing, or it just annoyed Trowa that it would take up so much space. Quatre was sometimes surprised Trowa hadn't figured out a way to turn his electric toothbrush into a mini-drill; then again, perhaps he had and Quatre just hadn't noticed because for him, an electric toothbrush was designed, and built, to be an electric toothbrush. Nothing more, nothing less, and sometimes that was fine. Unless you were Trowa.
"How about these?" Amy waved her hand towards a collection of glass-and-steel tables, but two were bentwood. Quatre made a beeline for those, while Trowa walked around the entire collection from a short distance, his frown growing.
"I like this one," Quatre announced. He ran a hand over the curved line of the table's half-oval. The legs seemed to curve down from the edges in a C-shape, meeting at the center before spreading out to form feet. "Is this beech?"
"Birch," Amy replied. "It's a shade whiter than beech."
"There's not even a drawer," Trowa grumbled. "And it's at least four feet across."
Quatre moved away from the table, coming up behind Trowa to say through gritted teeth, "the foyer is sixteen feet by sixteen feet. Anything less than four feet will look lost in the space." Amazingly, Trowa didn't make his customary complaint about the size of the foyer; he continued to stare glumly at the table -- which was just a table, nothing more, nothing less. Eventually, lips pressed firmly together, Trowa nodded once, turned, and left. Quatre had to breathe through his nose before nodding to Amy. "We'll take that one."
"Uhm, are you sure?" She glanced past Quatre, toward the front of the store, worried. "Did you want to think about it, perhaps?"
"No, that won't be necessary." Quatre handed over his card and filled out the delivery information, shaking hands with Amy before leaving the store. Next door was a small coffee shop, and he wasn't surprised to find Trowa sitting at one of the tables on the side, nursing a cup of chai. Quatre slid into the seat opposite Trowa, but shook his head when the waiter started to head in their direction. For a long moment, no one spoke, and Quatre waited.
"It is a pretty wood," Trowa finally said, but he didn't look up. He'd relaxed a fraction, but the sulky edge to his voice remained.
"I think it'll look good."
Trowa nodded, and finished his drink. He set the cup down, and gave Quatre a wry look. "But it's just going to be sitting there."
"It'll be holding stuff. It's not like it's doing absolutely nothing."
"Still."
Quatre took a deep breath, then a second one. "Not everything needs to do twenty things."
"I never said I wanted something that does twenty things. But just one thing? That's such a waste of---"
"We have more space than we know what to do with," Quatre protested. "Why can't we fill it up with beautiful things, even if those things are just a table, and nothing else?"
"Because it's more space for stuff to end up on," Trowa grumbled, barely loud enough for Quatre to catch. "Every horizontal surface..."
"Not this table. Really," Quatre promised. "Just keys and mail."
"We have an office for mail."
"We need a place to put the mail while we're taking off our coats." Quatre couldn't help but think: point for me.
Trowa's lips quirked, just slightly, and his gaze slid away from Quatre to stare out at the passerbys. "I see." He stood up, and jerked his head toward the door. "What's next on the list?"
"We need to find a gift for Hilde's baby shower."
"Right." Trowa smiled, just the barest amount. "I was thinking one of those cribs that you can dismantle and make into a twin bed as the child gets older."
Quatre was tempted to smack himself in the forehead. He should've known, but he decided it was better to give in. If he didn't, Trowa might sneak in some bizarrely-engineered extra toy for the baby, that looked like a beach ball but unfolded to be a vacuum cleaner, a coffee grinder, with extra space for storing camera batteries. After all, he'd won on the table; he could let Trowa have victory on a gift for someone else.
--------
Quatre smiled at the young sales clerk, and realized he'd left Trowa behind somewhere. He gestured at the young girl to wait, and looked around for his errant partner. Quatre found him studying a small table not far from the store's entrance.
"I like this one," Trowa told him. He lifted up the lid, revealing a mirror and a small tray.
"I think it's an old shaving table." Quatre frowned. "That's hardly suitable for our foyer. I was thinking something more like..." He glanced around, until his gaze fell on a large half-circle, with ornate legs. "That's cool."
Trowa stared for a long moment, as the sales clerk came to stand nearby, with the eager expression of someone waiting to answer any question that might arise. Quatre noted her name tag, and gave her another smile, this one a bit more pained as he waited for Trowa's commentary.
"What else does it do?" Trowa finally asked.
"It doesn't need to do anything but be a table," Quatre replied, patiently. "I just wanted a place to put mail, put our keys, gloves, stuff like..." He winced at Trowa's sharp look. "If we're coming in and going back out again soon, it's okay to just set something aside rather than putting it away."
Trowa snorted and studied the table a bit longer. "I don't like the legs," he finally said.
"What kind of table?" The sales girl gave them both a bright smile; she deflated a bit at Trowa's sulky look, but held on gamely, obviously realizing it was better to focus on Quatre. "That table is a reproduction in the Empire style, but we have Victorian and even Post-modern as well..."
"Post-modern," Trowa stated.
Quatre just sighed. He would've preferred Victorian, actually; he'd always liked the curves. Or Art Deco. Trowa tended towards simply utilitarian, which wasn't really a style so much as a demand that everything had to have at least six purposes for existing, or it just annoyed Trowa that it would take up so much space. Quatre was sometimes surprised Trowa hadn't figured out a way to turn his electric toothbrush into a mini-drill; then again, perhaps he had and Quatre just hadn't noticed because for him, an electric toothbrush was designed, and built, to be an electric toothbrush. Nothing more, nothing less, and sometimes that was fine. Unless you were Trowa.
"How about these?" Amy waved her hand towards a collection of glass-and-steel tables, but two were bentwood. Quatre made a beeline for those, while Trowa walked around the entire collection from a short distance, his frown growing.
"I like this one," Quatre announced. He ran a hand over the curved line of the table's half-oval. The legs seemed to curve down from the edges in a C-shape, meeting at the center before spreading out to form feet. "Is this beech?"
"Birch," Amy replied. "It's a shade whiter than beech."
"There's not even a drawer," Trowa grumbled. "And it's at least four feet across."
Quatre moved away from the table, coming up behind Trowa to say through gritted teeth, "the foyer is sixteen feet by sixteen feet. Anything less than four feet will look lost in the space." Amazingly, Trowa didn't make his customary complaint about the size of the foyer; he continued to stare glumly at the table -- which was just a table, nothing more, nothing less. Eventually, lips pressed firmly together, Trowa nodded once, turned, and left. Quatre had to breathe through his nose before nodding to Amy. "We'll take that one."
"Uhm, are you sure?" She glanced past Quatre, toward the front of the store, worried. "Did you want to think about it, perhaps?"
"No, that won't be necessary." Quatre handed over his card and filled out the delivery information, shaking hands with Amy before leaving the store. Next door was a small coffee shop, and he wasn't surprised to find Trowa sitting at one of the tables on the side, nursing a cup of chai. Quatre slid into the seat opposite Trowa, but shook his head when the waiter started to head in their direction. For a long moment, no one spoke, and Quatre waited.
"It is a pretty wood," Trowa finally said, but he didn't look up. He'd relaxed a fraction, but the sulky edge to his voice remained.
"I think it'll look good."
Trowa nodded, and finished his drink. He set the cup down, and gave Quatre a wry look. "But it's just going to be sitting there."
"It'll be holding stuff. It's not like it's doing absolutely nothing."
"Still."
Quatre took a deep breath, then a second one. "Not everything needs to do twenty things."
"I never said I wanted something that does twenty things. But just one thing? That's such a waste of---"
"We have more space than we know what to do with," Quatre protested. "Why can't we fill it up with beautiful things, even if those things are just a table, and nothing else?"
"Because it's more space for stuff to end up on," Trowa grumbled, barely loud enough for Quatre to catch. "Every horizontal surface..."
"Not this table. Really," Quatre promised. "Just keys and mail."
"We have an office for mail."
"We need a place to put the mail while we're taking off our coats." Quatre couldn't help but think: point for me.
Trowa's lips quirked, just slightly, and his gaze slid away from Quatre to stare out at the passerbys. "I see." He stood up, and jerked his head toward the door. "What's next on the list?"
"We need to find a gift for Hilde's baby shower."
"Right." Trowa smiled, just the barest amount. "I was thinking one of those cribs that you can dismantle and make into a twin bed as the child gets older."
Quatre was tempted to smack himself in the forehead. He should've known, but he decided it was better to give in. If he didn't, Trowa might sneak in some bizarrely-engineered extra toy for the baby, that looked like a beach ball but unfolded to be a vacuum cleaner, a coffee grinder, with extra space for storing camera batteries. After all, he'd won on the table; he could let Trowa have victory on a gift for someone else.
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Date: 29 Dec 2005 07:18 am (UTC)*puts cherry on top*
Glad you enjoyed.