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[Odd Couple intro, messy person's POV. Word count: 810]
Nick's life consisted of exactly two things: sleeping and writing. Sometimes these two activities clashed, particularly around deadlines and conventional office hours, but for the most part his life was simple, uncomplicated, and uncluttered.
The same could not be said for his personal environment--his mother had taken to calling it "The Forbidden Jungle" and his two younger sisters were utterly amazed that he even had the ability to breathe with all of the crap he left lying around his tiny, cramped apartment. But if there was one thing Nicolas Moreno was good at, it was bullshit. Bullshit for the columnists, bullshit for his boss, bullshit in the face of the cleaning gods that insisted one could not possibly cram as much nonsense as he did in such itty-bitty spaces. Nick liked to refer to his habits as organized chaos. After all, none of the people that stopped by his apartment even knew what kind of lifestyle he lead... it was only upon entering the bed or study rooms where things got particularly hectic. But the living room was clean, and the kitchen was not quite a biological hazard, and he only sometimes crashed on the couch when he was too tired to shove aside the manuscripts that occupied his bed.
Nick liked to know he was surrounded in literature. Fitzgerald perched precariously over a sink full of dirty dishes, Hemingway somehow found his way into the beer cans and thus was much too preoccupied to save his friend, Shakespeare found a home among piles of drafts, Vonnegut was acquainting himself with the broken leg of a cheap IKEA chair.
Okay, so, the apartment wasn't perfect. But it was home, and there was atmosphere, and he could stay up late at night and watch the city life from the bay window in the living room and be inspired. Who knew, maybe one day he wouldn't have to slave for the gossip column and actually get an editorial of his printed.
Not that the brunette was unhappy with his job. He was working for the best damn paper in the city, and gossip tended to be the only thing people were interested in these days. He was well-known, well-liked, and on his way.
It was easy to forget he wan't the only person in his miniature universe (now that was an apt nickname, because sometimes his stacks of clutter obeyed rules of physics yet unknown to humankind) of an apartment.
He and his mysterious roommate had been sharing the same space for nearly two months, and yet Nick barely caught glimpses into the other man's life. Liam, at least, that's what he hoped the guy's name was, seemed to drift in and out of the apartment on an unpredictable schedule, always home when Nick was sleeping or out and always out when Nick was home. The brunette wasn't sure if his roommate was doing this on purpose or they just happened to have such vastly different schedules... but it made him curious, because as a writer, he was always itching to explain the unknown.
When he'd first met the guy, he seemed nice enough. Honest face, clean-cut tone of voice, but to be honest he'd come to forget most of Liam's actual specific features. He just seemed like the successful, business-y type, and for all Nick knew the guy could be running major corporations and renting this apartment just for the hell of the experience. Maybe he was renting out to a ghost. Maybe Liam didn't even exist--
Nick rolled over and ended up knocking down two or three empty cans. He groaned, throwing an arm over his face to block the sunlight streaming into the room, as the aluminum cans clattered over the floor tiles. It wasn't even afternoon, what was he doing up so early? He'd just completed a column for the paper, halfway through brainstorming for his next big pitch, and he'd fallen asleep on the living room couch. Simple enough. His laptop rested on the coffee table, the screen pitch black as it sat there in sleep mode. Nick just hoped the battery hadn't run dry because he was always losing the charger... nope, plugged in, he was fine. He struggled to pull himself from the awkward position he'd fallen asleep in, grumbling as joints popped and his spine protested madly at being moved.
Just as he was about to leave the clutter he'd left in the living room for the kitchen, he heard the telltale jingle of keys and the creak of the door on its hinges. Nick froze to the spot (though part of him rolled his eyes at the sudden fear that seemed to immobilize him among the beer cans), unable to decide whether to pretend he was asleep or hightail it to the bedroom--too late.
God, this was going to be awkward.
 Felix-Fiasco · Tue Jan 03, 2012 @ 03:04pm · 0 Comments |
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