Micro Fiction: Springs

They lay on a queen sized bed, side by side, yet not touching.

‘How’s this one feel? It’s big.’

‘Yeah, it’s okay.’

‘Too big?’

‘It’s okay. Could you move over?’

‘Nope. Anything other than okay?’

‘Not really. You’re too close.’

‘The last one was bigger, was that better?’

‘That was okay too.’

‘Do you maybe want to use a word other than okay?’

‘I like okay.’

‘Ugh.’

A moment of quiet, then one—the taller one—begins to flop and bounce, wriggling around on the bed in a gyrating motion.

‘What…are you doing?’

‘Testing the bounce.’

‘Why?’

‘Useful information. Uh, excuse me! Miss!’—an attendant rushes over, a questioning look on her face—‘Can you tell me if there’s ever been any complaints of  squeaking?’

‘Squeaking?’

‘Yes, squeaking. I mean, you know … squeaking? Any complaints of unwanted noises occurring during the night during … strenuous activity.’

Mortified, a palm to the face, exasperation.

‘Oh god. Please, you don’t have to answer that, we’ll just look at another one.’

Moving to another bed. One slouches, hands shoved into pockets; the other smirks, gazing about the room with a flashing grin.

‘It was a perfectly valid question!’

‘It was a perfectly stupid question.’

‘It was not! Ouch, did you pinch me? Look, just because you don’t want to shag on it—’

‘Tim! Shut up.’

‘Gees, touchy touchy. I suppose it doesn’t matter if it’s squeaky. Your brother has a squeaky one. Lord knows we’ve all heard those springs in action.’

‘Of for the love of—Why the hell did I bring you with me?’

‘Because you know I know beds.’

‘On account of you sleeping with half the school?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Yeah, well, I haven’t. And I won’t be. I just want a bed that’s mine, that neither of my brothers have slept in. That I don’t have to share with anyone. Is that okay with you?’

‘Sure…long as you share with me.’

‘…Ugh.’

He falls back onto a new bed, his hands covering his face as he refuses to look at his friend. The other boy joins him, flopping back, his face split in a wicked smile.

‘Oh, hey, good choice. This is nice. I could sleep on this.’

‘You won’t be.’

A dark muttering that the other doesn’t hear—or chooses not to.

‘Hmm, individually made springs, blah, blah, blah. Decent price. Hey, it’s on sale!’

‘Fine! I’ll get this one! Now will you shut up? And if I catch you making out with some tart on my bed, I really will punch you.’

‘What if I’m making out with you on your bed?’

A moment of quiet, a blank stare, a sly grin.

‘What?’

‘I said, what if I cook, before making out on your bed?’

‘…Idiot.’

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