"Rhys! How many boxes of towels do you have?” I yelled into the other room where my fiancée was cleaning.
Today was the day we were finally moving in together. We were a month into our engagement, and half of our respective stuff was already at the other's house anyway. It only made sense for us to share an apartment. Mine was bigger, making it the one we would share - I was definitely getting a bargain on my rent, too - but Rhys had a ridiculous amount of stuff. It was all neatly organized into labeled boxes and compartments.
Unfortunately for him, my apartment could be perceived as....well, an absolute mess.
Being a painter who lived alone, I rarely had houseguests besides the close friends I had long ago given up cleaning house for to impress. The last cleaning I had done occurred after a pint of emerald paint spilled on the hardwood floor of the kitchen. As a result, clothes were strewn on all over the floor, the garbage was close to overflowing and what Rhys described as a “solid inch of dust” coated half the countertop.
“Four, Feyre darling." Rhys replied, answering my question. "And it’s a good thing I do, because I’m beginning to think you dry all your dishes with your shirts. Almost every article of clothing in this basket seems to have some type of stain on it.”
“Prick.” I muttered under my breath halfheartedly and went back to putting things away in the kitchen. In addition to the fact that he was much more organized than I was, it didn’t help that almost all of his things were shiny, new and spotless. It wasn't that Rhys tried to flaunt his wealth....it was just how he had been raised. And how I had most decidedly not been.
“I have to say, if I knew the full extent of how messy you really were I’m not sure I would’ve agreed to move in with you!” Rhys called back.
"Oh no, you didn't finally open the closet at the end of the hall, did you?" I called back in mock horror.
"Now I'm concerned - you told me that was just storage." He joked.
I rolled my eyes, stood up and looked around. My – no, our apartment was starting to look alright, despite clearly clashing decorating themes.
Thoughtlessly, I glanced at the clock. “I’m just going to heat some leftover pasta up for dinner, alright?”
I took his faint “Mm-hmm” as agreement, and pulled the noodles out of the fridge. Out of habit, I tried to pull the nonexistent handle on the microwave – and promptly groaned. I had bought my microwave at a yard sale a few years back, but judging by the design and the speed at which it heated things, it was probably thirty years old. Even so, it worked just fine for me, but much to my chagrin Rhys had insisted we use his shiny new one. Unfortunately, with a button instead of a handle and an unnecessary plethora of power settings it appeared a complete mystery to me.
Pressing in a few likely buttons I pressed start and walked away, hoping for the best when - “BEEEEEPPPPPPPPPPP. BEEEEPPPPPPPPPPPP BEEEEEEPPPPPP.”
The loudest, most high pitched sound I had ever heard emitted from a microwave pierced the air. I spun back around to see lights flashing from it.
“Feyre? What’s going on?” I heard Rhys’s concerned voice from down the hall.
“It’sfineitsfine! I have it all under control!” I rushed, smashing the cancel button and was greeted with silence as the beeping and flashing stopped – “BEEEEEPPPPPPPPPPP. BEEEEPPPPPPPPPPPP BEEEEEEPPPPPP.”
And instantly started up again, twice as high pitched and loud as before.
"Technology hates me! Oh my God, Rhys! I killed the microwave!" I yelled.
Rhysand came running in skidded to a halt in front of the microwave. He took one look at it, pressed a single button, and instantly – the microwave finally shut up.
“Why the hell did it do that?” I demanded.
Frowning, Rhys opened the door and promptly rolled his violet eyes, brandishing a fork. "Trying to start a house fire already?”
“Maybe I wouldn’t have been so distracted if I hadn’t been trying to figure out how to work this…this ridiculous contraption!” I replied pointedly. “Besides, I’ve put a fork in my old microwave at least three times before. Don’t tell me you haven’t ever either.”
I cocked an eyebrow, watching Rhys bite his bottom lip as he tried to hold in a laugh, and completely failed, letting out a roar of laughter. “Fine, Feyre Darling, you win. We can use your absolutely horrible microwave. But if you burn this building down, don’t blame me.”
I leaned over to give him a kiss. “How exciting would our lives be if they didn’t include some form daily peril?”
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Should I be surprised you haven’t made me sign a waiver yet?”
I laughed, stepping away to go retrieve my beloved microwave from the trash.