He quickly springs into action, moving into the kitchen and shaking out an empty garbage bag. He then begins swiping his arm along the counter, dropping the food containers inside the bag like a pungent waterfall.
“If you look in the corner, you’ll see that the desk is set up nicely for you. I was primarily concentrating on that area, as it were. I was hoping it would give you tunnel vision so you wouldn’t notice the surrounding disaster.”
“A valiant attempt,” I say, turning to the corner to find the desk he’s speaking of. While it does seem in slightly better shape than the rest of the apartment, it’s hard to get past the large-scale bulletin board hanging directly in front of it that’s pinned with dozens of web-related articles.
“What do you think?” he asks.
“I think it’s a lovely work space. And as an added bonus, it’s also a great spot for me to plot out my next ill-advised assassination attempt.”
“Does it look that murder-y?” he asks, surveying the living room and clearly already knowing the truth for himself.
“Kind of,” I answer in a softer tone. “I don’t mean to complain or to put down your lifestyle, but holy red flag.”
“Yes, I was afraid that might be your reaction.”
“What’s the deal with all of this? You said you liked routines and order. If that’s the case, this place doesn’t really seem to fit you at all.”
Liam pauses from his cleaning then, setting the garbage bag down on the floor.
“To be honest, I don’t have company over often, and I just haven’t had the desire to fix the place up. I guess I don’t see it as a real home, so I figured, what’s the point in putting effort into it?”
“Let me reiterate again that I’m not trying to be judgy, but even if this isn’t your forever home, it should still be a place that makes you feel better, not worse. And I don’t think you could ever be happy or even remotely comfortable surrounded by all of this.”
“I suppose after living in a staged flat for so long where everything always had to be photo-ready and clean, this was my form of rebellion.”
“I get that. And again, I’m not trying to put you down. I’m just surprised.”
“And I’m sorry I didn’t clean more before you got here. I should have.” We both just look at each other for a second before Liam goes on. “Anyways, let me show you to your station. And, of course, Ollie’s has his station all set up as well.” I look to where he’s gesturing and see that he actually set up a very cute area with pillows and a water bowl beside the desk.
“Okay, so that’s adorable. But still, if Ollie ends up swallowing a miscellaneous bong accessory that you’ve flagrantly discarded, know that I will have your head on a spike.”
“I keep all my bong accessories on a very high shelf, and I am going to be cleaning for the entire evening. Look, there are headphones for you to drown me out so you don’t have to hear my vigorous vacuuming.”
I give him a small approving smile and sit down in the surprisingly comfortable desk chair, placing my tote bag on the floor.
“You don’t have to clean the whole time,” I tell him, twisting around a little. “This probably isn’t what you had in mind when you invited me over.”
“No, this is good. I should get this place in order, and you’re the catalyst I needed to finally start. Your scorn fuels my fire.” I smile a little at that, and it seems to fill Liam with a certain level of relief. Looking more confident, he goes on. “Now, begin. Write at will. The next time you turn around, you will see birds and field mice happily sweeping along beside me.”
“You don’t really seem like the Cinderella type,” I tell him.
“I may surprise you yet. Now, to work, if you please.”
I scoff as I turn to face the desk again, pulling out my laptop and plugging the headphones in. I cue up my most inspiring writing playlist before glancing down at Ollie and seeing that he’s already settling comfortably onto the cushions to my right. I check on Liam one more time in my peripheral to watch as he continues to load up the garbage bag before I turn back once again.Death of a Prom King, let’s do this.
Three hours later, I pull off my headphones with a deep breath as I pivot around in my seat. I actually got a substantial amount of work done. I edited some major scenes and worked out most of the inconsistencies I was hoping to address by this point. All that’s left now is the ending. Writing the perfect ending that will hopefully take the play from enjoyable to extraordinary. Ollie is now safely back on the pillows beside the desk, having gone out for a long walk with Liam a half hour before.
True to his word, our host spent the entire time cleaning, and while the apartment still feels threadbare, I’m starting to see some of the personal touches I didn’t notice through the initial clutter. A framed movie poster from the ’90s—a record player with a stack of vinyl albums in the corner—a kitchen that seems fairly new. Liam’s currently sitting on the couch the long way with his legs on the cushions. His laptop is open, and his headphones are on. He’s typing away as furiously as I was for the past few hours.
After closing my own computer, I make my way over to sit down on the other side of the couch near his feet, lifting my own feet up to rest beside his hip. Feeling and noticing me, he pulls off his headphones and angles the laptop screen down towards him as we face each other.
“Hey, there,” he says. “How’d it go?”
“Very well, thank you. How about you?”
“I think I have carpal tunnel from how aggressively I scrubbed the inside of my fridge. Other than that, I’m wonderful.”
“And your walk?”
