Room 43// An Inanimate Insanity College AU

28- Change

Paintbrush woke up in almost a haze, their eyes glued together and arms wrapped around something warm. Their chin was resting on that same thing, hair tickling their cheeks, and that was when they realized it wasn't a 'thing' they were holding.

Bits and pieces of the night before came back to them until they were able to properly piece everything together, at that point basically squeezing Lightbulb subconsciously. (They never considered themselves fond of physical touch, but that was a thought for another day.)

One thing they didn't remember was how they'd gotten so tangled up with Lightbulb; that must've happened after they'd fallen asleep.

Now, there was a very obvious problem. They didn't know whether to let go or not.

Surely this was weird, right? Paintbrush felt dizzy at the contact, and it wasn't in a bad way, but what if Lightbulb woke up? Paintbrush couldn't play this off as friendly, there was something so much more brewing behind the surface.

Then again, there was last night, where they almost... No, that was all in Paintbrush's mind. This wasn't, though, so they needed a solution.

Lightbulb was using their arm as a pillow, and Paintbrush took a moment to... Admire? Dote? Look? They didn't know the word.

Her hair was still down, a complete mess on her pillow. Paintbrush was minorly shocked that they didn't wake up with hair in their mouth, although that was definitely for the better. Lightbulb's eyes were shut, her eyeliner (That Paintbrush wasn't even aware she wore) smudged over her eyelid.

In an act of either stupidity or bravery, (in other words, an act that they'd later deny if ever asked,) they took the hand that wasn't trapped under Lightbulb's head and ran their thumb over her eyelid, eyeliner rubbing off and sticking to their thumb. Paintbrush had never actually put on eyeliner, (except for that phase when they were fifteen; they don't speak of those times,) and they didn't know how sticky it was. Soon enough, it was all over the pad of their thumb and they gave up trying to get rid of it.

Beside them, Lightbulb stirred; in a state of panic, Paintbrush decided the best idea in the world was to pretend to be asleep, wrapping their arm around Lightbulb again for reasons unknown (They missed the contact; no, no they didn't, their subconscious needs to shut up.)


"Mmfh," Lightbulb groaned, and Paintbrush felt the slightest movement against their arm that made it hard to keep their eyes squeezed shut. Lightbulb seemed to have noticed the position the two of them were in, and in complete contrast to Paintbrush, she yelped and bounced away. Paintbrush didn't know how to feel, so they kept their eyes shut.

"Oh, did I wake them..?" Lightbulb whispered, placing the back of her hand on Paintbrush's forehead delicately, as if checking for a fever. Paintbrush had never been more confused (Except in advanced mathematics, but that was besides the point.) Lightbulb breathed a sigh of relief after moving her hand away, which made Paintbrush wonder if she thought consciousness was linked with body temperature. It most certainly wasn't, but this was Lightbulb.

Paintbrush couldn't believe they fell in love with an idiot. It was the most predictable thing on the planet.

"I need to do morning things," Lightbulb sighed, talking to herself. Unless she knew Paintbrush was awake, which would be bad, so Paintbrush decided to believe the former. "I hate morning things." Paintbrush could almost imagine the way her posture got worse, her slump enunciated by her throwing her arms out and letting them fall back to her sides.

They probably knew her mannerisms too well for their own good.

The sound of pattering footsteps alerted Paintbrush had left the area, and the first thing they did was bring their hands up to their face and resist the urge to scream. There was absolutely no way this was happening; they felt like every part of their body was running on a different set of commands.