#also 10 year old nik is tweaking out somewhere watching this <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[desalvar]

@vilestblood // cont. from x

  It's only a little daunting how well-kempt pristine the whole neighbourhood looks. He hadn't predicted that 'old' in Antonín terms meant the well-preserved historic kind with cornice and friezes, not whatever wreck falling apart at the bricks Nik had come from, so his well-loved ACDC shirt's a little bit of a sore foot against the tasteful backdrop. He wouldn't be surprised at a dress code of ironed socks around here.

The face at the end of Antonín's accusing little fingers scrunches up in mockery, joke abandoning his tongue in lieu of laughing. "Semantics." Yes, he remembers the younger, dumber days well. Too well, in fact, by virtue of a faded scar and badly-aged insults.   (('Like you can talk, princess! Whoever gets you's gonna have to be either dumb, broke or blind!))   Oh, he'd pay money for his scrappy little pipsqueak self to witness this and clutch his pearls. Cainhurst and Desalvar, hand in hand on their way to willingly sharing a space. (-- Well.... maybe..)

His hand dips to Antonín's waist while he rustles for the keys, shoulder indulgently leaned against his own. "I'll agree to drop the 'crazy' if you stop packing your dress shirts by categories."

The interior is spacious. Terribly spacious, by the looks of the decent-sized main room, even this barely lit and lumpy with covered furniture as it is, lined with far too many doors and tall radius windows for comfort. He's left standing dumbly in the middle, weighing his choices, eyes drawn to the cooker as its glass-ceramic top gets a light shined on it. This is.. too nice. "And you're sure this is free? For the both of us?" Does the landlord know about me, he means to ask until Antonín turns, backlit against the speckled english landscape and the green blot of some park opposite ( -- He could get used to the view.. ) , and snatches his hand.

There's only time for an incredulous smile before he's whisked through the sheet maze beyond, enraptured by his best friend chattering to him about the space. The balcony's big enough for Antonín's stupid plants and a chair or two, overgrowth permitting, and the kitchen's fit to cook his soups and steaks on. Until- "And we have a bathroom each?" He might've been envisioning it just fine before the double bedroom reveal. It.. well. Logical, yes, yet perplexing. "It's.. bigger than I thought." Is what he probably means.