Pillows

They were dripping water all over the wooden, dilapidated reception of Monty's Super Apartments, hair plastered to their faces, rivals to the city's population of drowned rats. He wore it better than she did, though, she had to admit – and was at the very least recognizable. The matronly receptionist's smile, and greeting of, "Good evening, sir," compounded this fact. She smelled like the cigarette she'd guiltily stubbed out as soon as they'd entered, and something lemony and antiseptic. Or maybe that was just the room. She didn't know, but it wouldn't be probable or logical to assume she could smell the other woman from all the way over there.

Despite everything, she had to hold back a snicker, and did so by clearing her throat. The hazel eyed boy shooting a glare down at her looked like anything but a Sir. An Asshole, yeah. Maybe even a Dick. But a Sir? Was the woman blind?

"Ma'am," he replied, slow spreading smile aimed at the older woman before she turned her eyes back to the romance book in her hands and they darted away up the stairs. The long row of doors didn't have any numbers on them, endless possibilities, so with a resigned sigh she took the key out of her pocket and started checking every door. "I'm going to call you Curly," he announced suddenly, voice definitive, and she glanced up at him from under the slowly dripping brown strands sticking to her cheeks and forehead. There was no suggestion of the earlier ringlets, and one raised eyebrow over brown eyes suggested that he was maybe a brainless idiot. All observations pointed to a positive conclusion, no evidence having been given to refute the hypothesis.

Or maybe he was just really annoying.

"Oh yeah, that's original," she said, and swiped at her hair with impatient fingers, stuffing the stubborn key into yet another lock. This time when it she turned it the door made a satisfying snick sound and she shot him a grin, hand on the knob. "I don't know how I ever got caught up with someone like you."

"My charm and good looks, of course."

"Keep dreaming. There's no way I'd find someone like you –"

After a couple of seconds, with her staring into the room she'd just opened, he asked, "What?"

"Uh…"

He peered over her shoulder.

The apartment was one room, with what he deduced was a bathroom leading off from a door to the right. The wallpaper looked like ten year old vomit, with dusty floral curtains and a couple of holes in the walls as decoration, one of them freshly filled with rough white plaster. There was a huge, king-size wooden bed in the middle of the room, grey and peach quilt bunched up and tangled, dragging to the floor, both pillows squashed up and dented. Two sets of clothes – male and female – were strewn on the floor, scattered all over the room, underwear and jeans and skirts, on the table, the chairs – one t-shirt even hung from the twisted lamp. He stared at Curly. She stared back at him.