Room 43// An Inanimate Insanity College AU

6- Fellas, is it Gay to Play the Guitar for your Dormmate?

Paintbrush strummed their guitar languidly in their room, looking around at the mostly empty expanse of walls, floor and ceiling. Their bedroom was empty save for the painting they'd done for class, which recently came back to them with a grade of 18/20.

They'd gotten better at guitar in the past week or so, too; Marsh was convinced they were a natural, with how fast they got it. Paintbrush kind of brushed that part off; they could do it now, and Marsh had passed her test with very good marks, 22/25.

Now they held their guitar in their hands, strumming it absentmindedly as they watched the night through the window. The sun had well set now, a slight breeze disturbing the leaves of trees bathed in midnight blue darkness, the ruffling nothing more than background noise to Paintbrush.

Playing the guitar was actually quite nice, at least Paintbrush thought so. Once you got the hang of moving your fingers into the correct positions for different chords and sounds, it became muscle memory. Not dissimilar to making strokes of paint on a canvas.

They didn't play any particular song; they just moved through chords, stringing together a song with flowing music, beautiful silken melodies playing in the room. No particular noise other than the twang of strings.

As they're thinking of what chord to play next, mind moving quite slowly like it's been waterlogged, their door creaks open. Not very loudly, not nearly loudly enough to compete with the main door into the common room, but loud enough to garner Paintbrush's attention.

Their head snaps up, looking toward their door which was now slightly open. The light from the fairy lights that were previously set up streamed through the crack, and right there in between the doorway was Lightbulb.

"...Hey," Paintbrush said as introduction, looking toward the window, the darkness settling into the land. It was well past midnight, and they knew it; Lightbulb was even in her pyjamas, a yellow set with a cloud pattern covering both articles of clothing and holding a blue pillow to her chest with both hands. So why was she at their door at such a time?

Instead of giving any kind of explanation, Lightbulb just walked over to Paintbrush's desk and sat herself down in the chair, watching Paintbrush who was lying on their bed with their guitar in their hands.

"Hi," Lightbulb finally said, voice only a little higher than a whisper.

"Did you, uh... did you need something?" Paintbrush asked.

Lightbulb shook her head in reply, still not moving off the chair and staring intently at Paintbrush. After a few moments of silence she murmurs, "I could hear you playing."

Paintbrush blinked, their line of vision turning from Lightbulb to the guitar, heavy yet hollow in their hands. Right. Thin walls. Lightbulb probably heard them playing. Were they perhaps keeping her awake?

"Sorry," Paintbrush apologises, because there's not much else to do at all. Can't magically put her back to sleep or something.

"Why are you apologizing?" Lightbulb asks, her voice still low in both volume and pitch.

"I mean... you just said you heard me playing? Sorry if I've been keeping you up," they elaborated.

Lightbulb sighed, just loud enough for Paintbrush to hear the slow exhalation of breath. "You haven't kept me up, I just couldn't sleep."

Paintbrush nodded in understanding. They too had been having troubles with sleeping as of late. They didn't know any particular reason why; it had just been hard to close their eyes. Like something was constantly on and buzzing under their skin.

"...Can you keep playing the guitar?" Lightbulb asked, hugging her pillow tighter to her chest. Her voice was so low, so much so that Paintbrush almost missed the question entirely.