It is possible that there has never been anything so disgusting as what was under our downstairs rug. We're about halfway done, and it's just. Oh my god. There's a hole, so we're going to have to get, like, three floorboards to replace that
if we don't decide to just cover it up. With like laminate or something. Anyone ever done that and know any approximate of how much that would cost? Anything's better than that rug though, especially after seeing the gross underbelly of it, oh my god. Jesus. Snippet of Coming Out fic to settle my stomach?
“Pete,” Brendon called out, bounding down the front stairs, and then he spotted Charlie and hushed his voice to an impossibly low, “Oooh, sleepy baby Chuck,” which wasn’t really impossibly low for normal humans, but for Brendon Urie, yes. He made grabby hands and crouched down to unbuckle Charlie’s straps. “Sleepy, sleepy baby.”
“Where’s Patrick?” Pete asked.
“He locked himself in my bedroom,” Brendon said. Charlie blinked open his eyes and yawned and Brendon went, “Aww. I missed you, peanut,” and hugged him to his chest. Pete was vaguely disgusted. Or jealous. He could’ve been a little jealous.
“Give him here,” Pete said, “and point the way.”
Ryan heaved a sigh - seriously, Ryan used to worship Pete, what the hell happened to that? Pete missed the deserved blind faith and sheer joy of his presence – and said flatly, “Second door on the left. Please note the frolicking purple unicorns and the sparkly Brendon’s Room sign.”
“Purple unicorns rock, my friend,” Brendon said, reluctantly letting go of Charlie as Pete slipped his hands under his little baby armpits.
Charlie was seriously the cutest baby ever.
Baby! I promised babies, didn't I?
