House Hunting, II
Related to House Hunting.
In retrospect, Adam really thinks he should have known that it would take more than a couple of weeks to find a house; a good indicator of that might have been Neil and his mother's joint hysteria when he mentioned it.
They have seen; bungalows, town homes, lofts, cottages, villas, haciendas, mansions, and buildings supposedly zoned for residential use with names he never knew existed. He knows more about crown moulding, hardwood versus bamboo floors, open floorplans, square footage and LA's nightmarish real estate prices than anyone who doesn't work in the business should ever have to. He's even learned to ask the really important questions, such as "did a crazy artist live here and create murals that were lately painted over?" and "are any rooms upstairs installed with deadbolted doors with tiny slits just large enough to pass food and water and the former owner's significant other mysteriously disappeared sometime in the past?" because hey, he's getting this down.
Kris just looks more and more like he's thinking even puppies aren't worth this shit; Adam has no particular feelings on raising puppies, but there's something really disheartening when your significant other watches the AKC/Eukanuba National Championship with a wistful expression. When he starts scheduling time for international dog shows, that's just--something. Adam's not sure what that is, but he trusts his instincts. Logically, Kris isn't going to leave him for someone who will provide a stable home for his hypothetical puppies; then again, logically, Adam is not a person who gets into a shouting match with a real estate agent on mosaic versus tile, so there you go.
They're both mostly quiet on the way back to the condo, avoiding the subject of this particular trip as best they can. This is a Friday night, and sure, it's the only time this week they both had time for this, he just spent a normal Friday night discussing in all seriousness how he felt about gothic versus post-modern architecture, and he has no fucking clue what that conversation was about.
In short, he doesn't feel like a rockstar, but he has an uncomfortable feeling he's starting to sound a lot like his dad.
Kris goes to check his email while Adam moodily makes himself a sandwich and tries not to think too hard about the fact that--
"So," Kris says as he comes in the kitchen, looking at Adam across the length of the island with a determined expression. "I think--"
"Don't say it."
Kris bites his lip, looking down at the smooth granite. "We really--"
"Would a blowjob shut you up?" Adam asks hopefully, putting down the sandwich. "Take off your pants."
"--God," Kris breathes, eyes glazing a little, then shakes himself. "Look, I know we--"
"We can't live there."
Adam silently hates him. "I know."
"I mean," Kris looks around, hunted, "we can't." Restless, he circles to the refrigerator, trying to look certain and okay with this when hey, he's totally not. "I mean, it's--it's high maintenance--"
"We'd need second jobs just for the air conditioning bill," Adam agrees, taking the bottle of water Kris offers and viciously twisting off the lid while wishing for alcohol, so much.
"Right! And it's--stupid, who would build that?" Kris takes a desperate drink of water. "It's ugly. It's stone. It has a drawbridge--"
Adam squeezes his eyes shut. No, don't go there.
"A drawbridge," Kris says, softer. "We could live in a place with a drawbridge--"
"And turrets and three towers--three towers," Adam says, unable to help himself, then covers his face, because no. "Shut up, no, we can't--"
"--live in a castle," Kris agrees morosely. "Except tell me why again?"
Adam's hazy on that too. "Moat upkeep?"
Kris sighs, coming over to lean against him, looking heartbroken. "A moat."
"Yeah." Curling an arm around Kris' shoulders, Adam gives himself a moment to think of moving into a castle, the weeks of decorating, getting a huge and overwrought and totally amazing bed for one of the towers--God, towers--and waving at the paparazzi from the fourth floor balcony as they stare in futile helplessness at his motherfucking moat. Possibly surrounded by puppies. Which don't, actually, take any of the charm away. The parties. Finding a suit of armor to add to the ambiance. Potentially getting Kris drunk and having a legit reason for dressing him up like Cinderella and the puppies (who are starting to fit too easily into his narratives these days, he notices uneasily, and in plurals, too) accessorized with tiny mouse ears and coordinated jackets.
(For the hilarity, Adam tells himself firmly. Just for the hilarity. And there's always Halloween.)
Living in a castle. In LA. The jokes practically write themselves. And that's just the ones from their families.
Adam sighs, petting Kris' hair in resignation. "The puppies would hate it." They really, really wouldn't.
"Yeah," Kris lies sadly. "They would."