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𝙒𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝘼𝙣𝙙𝙮 𝙘𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙤, 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙙𝙝𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙝𝙤𝙢𝙚.
Before she turned eight, before she ran away, Andy had lived in a small apartment in a small town in Ohio.
It had three rooms—bedroom, kitchen, bathroom—and all the walls were covered in the same stupid forget-me-not wallpaper. Most of the floor was covered in a gross orange shag carpet that Andy's mom couldn't afford to replace. It was usually covered in crumbs or dust or pieces of toys and porcelain, but it seemed to be clean. The bathroom had a tannish tile, made with 7-by-7 squares.
She hated it.
From the stupid wallpaper to the stupid shag carpet, Andy despised it all.
She wasn't the only one living there either. Her mom and sister used to share the bedroom with her, the small room containing one twin bed and two sleeping bags on the floor. They used to switch out, taking turns on the bed, but then Andy's mom started having back problems (or so she said) and claimed the bed permanently.
The more Andy looked around, the more she realized that she wasn't actually home. The ceilings were too tall, the shag carpet too short and not as brightly repulsive. It was off, but only slightly.
Okay, she thought. Maybe I'm not really home.
Andy was standing in the bedroom, separated from the kitchen with a small half wall. She turned around to see a strange man lounging on the bed.
He was short, like Andy, and had the same hair color, dark brown—almost black—strands spilling just past his ears. He was wearing a navy blue three piece suit, but everything was just slightly askew. His bow tie was tilted, his vest improperly buttoned. Instead of wearing black dress shoes, like he should've with that outfit, he wore clown shoes. Not full size, big, squeaky ones. They just looked like clown shoes, and were colorful like clown shoes, but were more fitted to his feet.
He was handsome enough, Andy supposed. His nose was slightly crooked, like he had been punched one to many times. He had deep-set, sort of sunken eyes that glittered with a sort of mischievousness, but also ruthlessness. He had a shadow of a beard, mostly stubble, and he wore a cocky smirk, like he was better than you, and knew it. But his teeth were slightly crooked.
Almost everywhere Andy looked she could find faults and flaws, but they only enhanced his looks. Instead of looking like a man who'd just woken up, and could use some orthodontic work, he looked effortlessly cool, like he'd rolled out of bed that way.
His clown shoes could've be charming, she imagined, or humorous, if you really tried to look for it.
"Hello." He said simply. He wasn't just sitting on the bed. He was spread out like a heavyset house cat, claiming the twin mattress as his own.
