Jean and Danny

Jean and Danny 7

When we got to my house, I froze.

I hadn't done any chores! My house was a mess! I hadn't had time to clean it yesterday, and my father obviously wouldn't have cleaned it, because he would've been suffering for severe hangover side affects.

I looked at Danny, and then to my back door, then over at Danny again.

"Uh... Can you... Wait here... For a minute?" I pleaded, hopefully.

He raised his eyebrow, and smirked down at me, playfully. "Why? Gonna hide your porn stash?" He teased.

I raised my eyebrow. "My what?" I asked, bemused.

He looked at me with a confused expression. "Your porn stash? Y'know... It has your collection of porn and stuff?" He elaborated... I think.

I however, had no clue what he was talking about.

"What's... Porn?" I asked, bewildered.

Danny blinked. "You're kidding..." He breathed, looking off into the distance.

Alright... Now's my chance, I guess.

"Okay, wait here for a couple minutes!" I pleaded, then charged inside, and rushed about the house, cleaning it as much as I could as quickly as possible.

I neatened up all of the unclean things, swept the tobacco remnants under the carpet, and got rid of all the alcohol and dirty clothes laying around, and two minutes later, I popped my head out the back door, where Danny stood casually, his bags on the ground, fiddling with his phone.

"Uh... Okay. I cleaned up the house a little bit," I called.

He looked up, and grinned at me, then slid his phone back into his pocket. "Cool."

He picked up his bags, and I opened the back door wide for him, so he could climb the steps and slide through the door without too much hassle. Our door was weird like that. You had to pull, while standing on the stairs, dodge the door, and then come inside before it slammed behind you. If your holding bags, that was really difficult, because I was pretty sure either the house, or the steps were on a lean. I wasn't sure which. Maybe both?

He slid through clumsily, and bumped into me a couple of times, but eventually, we made it into the house safely.

"Sorry about the mess," I mumbled, as he looked around the house, casually.

He shrugged. "It's not messy. It's just homey," he replied, cheekily, and I laughed. That was one thing to call it.

We walked into the lounge room after he looked at the kitchen (which I'd barely managed to clean up) and he looked around casually. "What're all the stains over there? And what's with the pillows and blanket?" He asked, confused, pointing to the spot where my father usually lounged.

He was comfortable to lay on the floor because if he was on a couch and he fell asleep, he could roll off and hit the floor, like he had done several times.

"Uh.." I began, trying to think of an appropriate lie.

I decided lying wouldn't help me here. "That's where my Dad usually sits. He's a heavy smoker and an alcoholic, so I'm guessing the stains are from the beer and ashes when he's spilt some, or missed the ash tray," I explained, looking away from Danny, not wanting to gauge his expression.

It took him a few seconds to reply. "...Huh." was all he could really manage. It was dry, soft, and sounded confused. Analytical, as well.

"But... You don't sleep on the floor or anything, right?" He asked, looking over at me.