Seamus Finnigan felt something was fundamentally wrong here. Really wrong. Horribly, completely, world-turned-upside-down kind of wrong. Someone had come up with an off-the-wall scheme, and it hadn't been him.
Clearly this was a sign of the apocalypse.
"So what do you think?" Dean Thomas asked, grinning at him as he absently scrubbed his hands on his jeans. Not that this did much good. Dean looked as if he had rolled around in a vat of paint.
Seamus looked at him. Then he looked at the wall. Dean. Wall. Dean again. And, reluctantly, back to the wall.
"It's colorful," he said at last. Since he was in a tactful mood, he left out more appropriate words, such as "horrible", "ugly", and "please give me what you were smoking".
The paint fumes must have gone to Dean's head. He just beamed.
Seamus scrubbed his face and looked at what had once been a nice, blameless wall. Now it looked like someone had vomited geometric shapes on it. Patches of lurid green and florescent orange fought for space with giant purple triangles. And was that --
It was. Somehow he had tripped into some horrible alternate reality where Dean was the zany one. And everyone knew the problem with zany artists. They did things like -- like that.
"Dean." He kept his voice nice and level. See? No trace of justifiable homicide.
His boyfriend stopped sorting through paintbrushes. "Yeah?"
"You cut holes in the wall."
"Did too. There's a fucking triangle in our wall!"
"Oh, yeah. That." Dean grinned. "You can see through to the kitchen. I was going to put some kind of statue there."
"But..." Seamus trailed off with a sigh. This was worse than the whole Bauhaus phase Dean had gone through last year. It would go away sooner or later, and in the meantime he would -- he would just not look at the wall or something. He'd go blind. Yeah, that sounded like a plan.
Or he could retaliate. Ooo. Better plan.
Course of action set, Seamus retreated to the mostly untouched kitchen and sat down to plot. There were lots of ways to drive Dean up the wall. Lots and lots of ways.
Time to start making a list.