They Say What They Say

All of Casey's towels are green. Dan stands in the middle of Casey's clean, white bathroom, staring at the thick, forest green material. There's two folded neatly over the towel rack, along with a matching hand towel. It shouldn't bother him.

Really, it's just one more sign of Casey's... Casey-ness. Casey has perfected the art of anal-retentiveness, so there's nothing surprising in the fact that all of his towels are the same dark green.

Dan reaches out and feels the thick softness. It bothers him that all of Casey's towels are green.

Dan's towels aren't green. Dan's towels are red and blue. There's a green one and a purple one, and a garishly bright orange and yellow monstrosity that he displays with a twisted sense of pride. They've been bought all around the city, whenever he decides he needs a new towel to replace the ratty fuschia one hidden at the back of the pile. He never does seem to replace it, but he's bought enough towels that he never needs to use it again.

Casey's are... impersonal. It's a bunch of matching towels that he bought after the divorce. Because everybody needs towels.

Dan asked him once why he bought green, and Casey shrugged, saying that he thought there was a green edge on the bathroom towels. (When Casey got home, he realised the tiles were pure white. If he'd known, he would have bought white towels. As plain and impersonal as any hotel.)

What bothers Dan is that there's no personality to the green towels. There's no real sign of Casey's quirky sense of humour, of Casey's warmth, of Casey's ability to be passionate and dorky at the same time. Snapping his fingers, Dan comes up with a solution.

Casey sticks his head out of the shower, blinking the water out of his eyes. "Is there a reason for snapping your fingers?"

Dan grins, and steps forward into a messy, wet kiss. "I'm bringing over a couple of my towels tomorrow."

Casey shakes his head, and water flicks against Dan's face. Casey laughs like a big kid. "Which ones are you bringing over?"

"The fuschia one and the yellow-orange one."

"Danny," Casey whines. "Those are... eyesores. Seriously."

"I know."

Casey pulls his head back into the shower, talking over the sound of the water. "Then why bring them over?"

"Because every time you step into the bathroom, you're going to notice them."

"Because they're eyesores."

"And you'll know they're mine."

Casey catches his eye and grins. "Bring them over then."

"Plus, they're really ugly and it's a great way for me to rid of them."