Deciding to go out and buy new furniture was one thing. It had been the decision of a moment, born of pain and wretchedness and more than a little bit of anger. Actually doing it -- physically prying himself from his bed, going out to a store and picking out something new to take the place of the couch he and Adrian had agonized over -- was a different matter entirely.

For good or ill, he had Greg. Greg wouldn't let him weasel his way out of this no matter how many perfectly logical arguments he came up with. "Wakey wakey eggs and bakey," his friend sang into the phone at eleven the next morning. Brandon could hear the manic grin on Greg's bearded face. 

He groaned. "I've been up since eight, Greg." He moved the laptop and slouched back against the wall. "I've been working. Look, I've been thinking, maybe this isn't the right day for this. I've been going over briefs from the Devlin case and I'm not sure that heading out for a shopping spree is really the best plan for the day."

Greg sighed. "You're doing doc review, aren't you?"

How did Greg even know about document review? He was an editor. He wasn't supposed to know about the bane of a lawyer's existence. He was supposed to know about grammar and punctuation and flow. Of course, he'd probably listened to Brandon complain about doc review often enough, that first year when Brandon was fresh out of law school. "Well, yeah, but this is an important part of the job and it's not like you can let this stuff slide --"

"Dude. You have first year associates for that. It's literally what they're for. Your client doesn't need to be getting charged partner rates for doc review, Brandon. Come on. You need furniture. You're getting furniture." 

"This stuff has to get done --"

"And it can be. By someone else. You're a partner. You have minions. Give it to them and let them minion at it, I'm going to be in that empty living room of yours in half an hour. I'd recommend that you be wearing pants, because we're getting some food in you and heading out to the furniture store. See you soon, bro." Greg hung up.

Brandon thumped his head back against the wall. This wasn't fair. He knew, however, that Greg would be at his house when he said that he would with no compunctions about dragging him away without benefit of shaving or a shower or trousers, so he got up and made quick work of all three. 

By the time he'd finished with all three, Greg had in fact arrived and started taking measurements in the living room. His dark eyes took in all of Brandon. "I think it's been months since I've seen you wearing something that wasn't a suit and tie," he commented finally. "You clean up nicely, buddy."

Brandon felt his cheeks get hot. "Raggy sweats and old T-shirts, huh?"

"I thought they confiscated your jeans at the door when you went into law school," his friend teased.

"I've always been a subversive." He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "All right. You ready to get this over with?"

"It's shopping. Not an execution. Come on. It'll be good for you. Do we need to take measurements first?"

"Nah. I've still got them in my phone from the last time." He moved toward the door.

"Seriously?" Greg followed him out. "'Cause that's not creepy or anything. How many times have you changed phones since then? Why would you have kept that?"

"I don't know." Brandon squirmed. "It just seemed right, okay? Or at least it didn't seem necessary to get rid of it. Anyway, it worked out in the end because now I'm off to buy a couch and a TV and we don't need to screw around with measuring all over again. I can treat you to brunch or lunch or whatever."

"Okay, no fair. You're appealing to a higher power," Greg scowled.

Brandon stopped before he opened the door and turned around. "A higher power? Practicality?"

"My stomach, dude. Come on. That little French place with the delicious eggs is still there, right?" The smaller man shouldered past him and out the door, a spring in his step.

Brandon shook his head and couldn't help but grin. Some things, he supposed, never changed. "Yeah. Let's hit it."