Kiss Kiss Bang Bang fic
Perry had a thing about the couch. It wasn’t a bad thing, exactly, like those people that insist cushions have to be put a certain way, even if it makes it really uncomfortable to sit on? I had an aunt like that. She had this big, fancy leather couch, but no one could ever enjoy it because the thing had like fifty fucking cushions.
Anyway, I’m getting off track. Oh, and this is Harry Lockhart. I’ll be your narrator for the evening, for those of you at home that hadn’t figured it out yet. I don’t see how you couldn’t. Hi, only narrator in the movie, remember me? Fantastic.
Now, where was I….couch! Right, the couch. Perry has this thing with his couch, where it never seems to face the same way? Sometimes towards the kitchen, sometimes towards the TV, and then sometimes it’ll do complete one eighties and face the stairs. You get my point, right?
Now normally, I’m not one to comment on what a guy does with his couch. A man has his property, fuck if I’m going to be the one telling him where his furniture can or can’t be facing.
The problem, ladies and gentlemen, is that I slept on that couch. Didn’t have any other place to go, once my ‘producer’ Dabney Shaw decided he didn’t need me anymore and stopped paying for my hotel room, and Perry felt compelled to take me in once he’d offered me the job. This wasn’t a long time thing, really.
It was supposed to be temporary. Except days turned into weeks, and ‘getting my own apartment’ turned into ‘clearing out the study upstairs and making that a guest bedroom’. Well, my bed room. You get the point.
So here I am, sleeping on Perry’s couch, trying to make myself comfortable on the faux leather or whatever the hell it is that gay guys get their couches in. Except every time I wake up, I’m facing a different direction.
Now, hard to believe as it may be, I’m a man of habits. Okay, maybe not so much in that I always like eating a certain cereal or to shower at a certain time. Stealing shit for a leaving leaves very little room for compromise when it comes to crap like that. But I’m a man of habits more in the sense that I like to wake up a certain way, namely not facing the sun at the ungodly hour of ten in the morning.
Which is hard to do when you keep going to bed forgetting that the couch isn’t facing the same way anymore, so rolling over so your back’s to the cushions will put you at the right angle for the light to burn your retinas off before you can wake up.
Being the sensible man I am, I tried to bring it up with Perry one morning over breakfast.
“What the hell’s up with you and that couch, man? I’m waking up every morning feeling like I just stepped out of a cave for the first time in ten fucking years.”
Perry has this look that he does. It either means ‘I’m annoyed because you found some flaw in my logic’, or ‘Stupid sounds are coming out of your mouth which you think are words’. Most of the time it’s that last one. Okay, all of the time as far as I can tell, but there has to have been instances.
“’What’s up’ with my couch is that I’ve got a dumbass sleeping on it every night when he should be busy finding his own apartment with the salary I pay him.”
A good point. I was suddenly reminded that the food I was eating also belonged to Perry, as did the socks I borrowed after mine got a hole from having been worn for almost a year. “You offered! And anyway, they’re almost done with the bedroom upstairs, right? It’s gonna have a couch and a closet and everything, so I can stop leaving my clothes in a pile at the bottom of the stairs.”
Bad thing to bring up. See, Perry never told me I could put my clothes there, and I never asked. So when he came down the stairs and tripped on a pair of pants I’d left stacked up there, of course he’d blamed me for the whole thing. Frankly, I don’t see the big deal. The bruise started to fade after three days, so it couldn’t have been that bad.
But anyway, Perry’s glaring at me now, looking like he’s wondering if maybe I shouldn’t be allowed to sit at the breakfast table anymore, so I figure it’s a good time to split. Grab my dishes, dump everything in the sink, then run off up the stairs to my desk so I can start looking through the paperwork that’s been piling on there for a while.
What? You would have run too, being faced with a big guy like Perry. The man is not afraid to hurt, and I have the bruises to prove it. Anyway, it was only going to be like a week or two more until they finished the room, and then I wont have to worry about that stupid couch again.
Unless he had a thing about beds, too, but I doubt that. Then again, it would explain how he keeps up that build of his. It’s gotta build muscle, spending all day moving furniture this way and that. Maybe I’ll move the couch next time, see how he likes it.