Room 43// An Inanimate Insanity College AU

42- The Uber Instincts of my Uber Autism

If you were ever to ask Paintbrush what the worst part of adult life was, they would be able to answer in a few seconds flat.

It was, most definitely, packing and unpacking bags.

It was tedious. It was painstakingly difficult. It was everything bad about adult life tied together with a little bow, like they're currently supposed to be doing as they carelessly shove things into their rolling bag.

It was a week until they had to go back to the dorm, and to say they were excited was to tell the truth. That didn't make packing any more fun, though, and they knew that after a few months at the dorm they would have to do it all over again.

They loved their hair, really, but at that moment they wanted to rip it out.

Another useless trinket that would most likely gather dust at the back of their closet. Another linen sheet just in case they spilled juice on the spare that they had to use just in case they spilled juice on their primary linen sheet. A duster that they would never use because they're lazy.

Wow, another pillow. Who would've seen that one coming?

Once they had gotten to their several pencil cases that they would have to empty out and swatch to make sure they weren't bringing any broken markers, Paintbrush was just about ready to give up for the day and start ding-dong-ditching the nearby apartment building. However, once they carelessly tipped the contents of the pencil case to the floor, they noticed something.

The way that the markers rolled across the otherwise empty floor... the vibrant hues of the outside plastic... an idea began to spark in the back of Paintbrush's mind, and they rushed to find the sketchbook that they had tucked into their bag not too long ago.

Once they had it, they took a singular marker from the floor- taking extra care not to ruin the scene that had sparked their artistic vision- and began to sketch with the wide-tipped marker. The bright, colorful scene needed the aid of a bright, bold and colorful style, Paintbrush thought.

Sketching the contents of the floor aimlessly, Paintbrush took into account everything they had learned the college year before; the way light refracted off of certain materials, the ways a canvas could portray that and the ways it couldn't. The way different hues mixed together.

Well, the mediocre sketch that they had whipped up in a spur of adrenaline certainly wasn't perfect- far from it, in fact- but Paintbrush nodded at their sketchbook and closed it with a loud thud. Any art was good art if drawing it made you feel good.

Now that it was done, though, the previously inspiring mess on the floor just looked like... a mess. One that Paintbrush had to clean. Beat once again by the fact that they had adult responsibilities. Paintbrush groaned into their hands, and got to work.

That marker was good. That marker was good. That marker was streaky. Bin.

The process was painstakingly long and mundane, but Paintbrush got it done and organized the several colors of marker in rainbow order, a long line trailing along their floor.

(It would all be for nothing once they were put back into the pencil case, but if it got Paintbrush through the tedious process without them considering throwing rocks at their neighbors window, then by gods they would do it.)

Paintbrush didn't even know they had this many markers! There were about three dozen, maybe more; they had lost count long ago. There was about a dozen different shades of blue, though. There was a lot of blue. Paintbrush was really starting to hate the color blue.

Throwing another dried-out marker into the bin beside them, Paintbrush overviewed the last of the markers. Varying shades of pink and peach stared back at them, different shades and hues.