A/N: I haven't posted anything in a while and I thought this up while putting away dishes. So, here you go. Enjoy, I guess.

Summary: "I was stuck so long with an over-compulsive freak that I started to act like one." A short rant in which Liz complains about acquiring OCD from being around Kid for too long.

The plates and bowls clattered together as I put them in the cabinets. I hated that sound. Why couldn't all dishes be made of some heavy-duty plastic that was microwaveable and had all the other wonderful qualities of glass but didn't leave my ears ringing.

I put the silverware away, making sure that they all lined up perfectly and weren't overlapping or uneven.

I hated that I did that, too. I didn't used to be such a perfectionist, but ever since I started living with HIM; it just slowly started happening.

First it was my bed. The tangled mess of sheets in the morning began to bother me. I had to take five minutes out of my day to fix them just right.

Then it was the way the curtains were always pulled aside at different measurements. One side of the curtains was stretched out more than the other side and the unevenness of the window annoyed me.

My shoelaces had to have neat bows on them. My socks had to be at the same height and I had to have a bracelet on each wrist or none at all.

The way the tiles in the kitchen were cut off unevenly near the walls bugged the crap out of me and I couldn't stand anything to be left out on the counter.

I hated how much he had affected me. It was like a contagious disease that I couldn't prevent and I could feel myself slipping into insanity.

Every day I catch myself adjusting a crooked painting or wiping a smudge off the window and then stepping back to admire my handy work.

And I hate it.

I wish I could hate him for it too, but I can't.

He doesn't even seem to notice that I've acquired his compulsive disorder. He just walks around and whines about asymmetrical things and pulls at his hair. But he doesn't ever see when I fix the paintings before he comes in the room or place the silverware perfectly in the drawer. He doesn't notice how the chairs are always aligned and the fact that I measured the rug to make sure it was centered on the floor.

He never notices any of it, and I hate it.

He's always so caught up in his own compulsive world, that he can't see how much he's influenced me.

And I hate it.