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“The fuck is this, Kurt?”
Kurt looked over at Keiran after he had set in the sink and filled with water the bowl that had earlier held his breakfast oatmeal. He glanced at what Keiran held in his hands, and groaned. Not this again.
“It's just a bit of toothpaste; I used the towel to wipe my mouth after brushing my teeth,” he calmly explained.
Keiran’s expression turned mildly incredulous. “This is ‘a bit’?” he asked, “Just how much toothpaste are you using?”
“A perfectly reasonable amount,” Kurt defended, already a bit cross. At least Keiran had not started off, nor currently spoke, with a shrill voice; that was a welcome change to this rerun of the argument he'd had with Blaine. “What's the big deal?”
Keiran raised an eyebrow. “The ‘big deal’ is,” he answered, “it's a mite unpleasant to go to dry your hands and find yourself attacked by shrapnel.”
“ Shrapnel? ” Count on Keiran to resort to hyperbole.
“Yeah,” Keiran continued, “Why can't you just wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, like a civilized man?”
‘What?’ That was a new feature to the argument. “‘Like a civilized man’?” Kurt repeated, as his brows pinched.
It was then that the door to the apartment slid open, and Elliott walked in. He didn't go for a morning run with anything that approached regularity, but he did so at least once a week. He revealed he had been able to hear the last few words stated, or least the tone, because the moment he stepped in, he inquired, “What is it this time?”
“Elliott,” was the immediate response, “look at what Kurt did to the hand drying towel.” Keiran held the towel out towards Elliott for him to inspect.
Elliott looked at the towel. After a beat, his gaze went to Kurt, and he asked, “Just how much toothpaste are you using?”
Kurt felt a tad betrayed. “You're taking his side?”
Elliott, unexpectedly, looked thoughtful. “Actually,” he said, “I'm thinking we need to go shopping.”
Kurt and Keiran glanced at each other, then back at Elliott. “‘Shopping’?” they echoed, simultaneously.
“Yeah,” Elliott nodded, and almost seemed to speak to himself, “we'll need to move the current hoop that holds the towel we all use now, but I'm sure we've got room for three hoops.” He crossed his arms and cocked his hip. He went on, seemingly still to himself, “Now, should we get two matching hoops to go on either side of the existing one, two different hoops, or three new hoops that all match?”
Kurt blinked. ‘We all just have our own towel. That's not a bad idea at all.’ “We should go to the flea market and just see what we can find, keep an open mind.”
Elliott nodded again, in clear agreement. “They'll need to complement each other,” he stated, “so, since we're moving the current hoop already, we should take it with us, for reference.”
Keiran rolled his eyes then, and said, “Any excuse to go shopping with you two, innit?”
“Of course,” Elliott and Kurt affirmed, in unison.
Keiran shook his head. “Well,” he said, “lemme eat breakfast, and I'll come with ya. I like looking at all the weird shite you can find at a car boot sale.”
“We call them flea markets, here,” teased Kurt, as he returned to his bowl in the sink and washed it, “you're in America; talk like it.”
“Whichever,” Keiran grunted good naturedly, while he went to the refrigerator and grabbed the carton of eggs, “I'll say what I like, don't be racist.” After a pause, he said, almost affectionately, “You're such a cunt.”
“And you're an ass.”
“At least wait ‘till I earn that today.”