How to Brighten a House in Three Easy Steps, pg, Leslie/Ben
How to Brighten a House in Three Easy Steps, pg
1500 words
AU (in that they don't buy a house, they live in Leslie's house, the end.)
Leslie/Ben, Parks and Recreation
"Maybe she’s making this into a bigger deal than it is. Maybe. Probably."
Thanks/Notes: Thanks to Dennis for the read through. I wanted them arguing over something, but not over starting a family. Because babies, ugh.
Maybe she’s making this into a bigger deal than it is. Maybe. Probably.
Yes, it’s her house. But really, it’s their house. And she swore she wouldn’t do this. Literally, she swore. She drew up an affidavit and had it notarized and everything. All of that legalese nonsense, she went through it all.
Plus? She promised. (And promises, they mean something, especially to her.)
But when someone so Type A makes a promise there are layers to it, many, many things to consider. There are subdivisions. There are footnotes. Honestly she’s like an onion, an incredibly controlling, anal-retentive onion that actually kind of hates the color green. Not when she wears it, no. The color green looks amazing on her but on her walls? Yeah, no.
And she supposes she can have dishes that are green because her bowls are white but still. There’s been no consideration for anything; not the duvet or the rugs or the prints on the walls. No consideration!
Green?
Really?
“You know I have to sleep in here every day, right?” She refrains from pointing out that ‘oh-no-he-doesn’t’ because she realizes for once how wrong she is. Leslie wouldn’t really sleep very well if Ben wasn’t next to her. It took her a long time to get used to someone so clingy being with her in bed (and people think she’s was the clingy one) but now she can’t do without it.
Funny how that works, huh?
“Day, night, whatever, all the time” Ben corrects and somehow that steals her breath. Because they’re engaged and oh, oh Leslie Knope is engaged to Ben Wyatt. And alright, this might be one of the biggest deals in the world really. Benjamin Wyatt sleeps next to her every night, drools on her (their) pillows and kicks her in her (actually her own) calves and wraps his arm around her neck (weirdly enough, not enough to choke, but weird right?) and wants to paint her, their walls.
Ben lives here now. Ben gave her a ring and she’s chosen to be with Ben forever (Forever that word is wonderful but also? Fucking terrifying in that nice way?) So Leslie holds her tongue and instead crosses her arms over her chest and makes a wonderful show of trying to look stern and unwavering.
Ben’s hands fall by his sides and he’s so tired and it’s so obvious. She just needs to hold out a bit longer. “And you actually know that I hate this color. Because I’ve told you like, a lot of times. It’s ivory. Ivory is the color that people choose when they don’t want to pick a color. It’s actually a non-color. It’s non-committal. It... it is somehow worse than beige... It’s...” Ben searches for the word, running a hand through his increasingly disheveled hair. Because... because well... They’ve been arguing about this for the better part of two hours.
Leslie glances at her watch. Four hours? Yeah, it’s two o’clock in the morning.
Four hours.
And had been arguing about the tile in the bathroom before that...
‘And why does Ben want to change everything?’ is what she’s thinking. Just because he’s put a ring on it doesn’t mean he can change everything.
“Because you moved in and you didn’t bother with anything!” he’d told her a week ago in response to her posing that question. Told her twice, actually, not that she’s keeping count (but she totally is, a sticky note with actual tally marks...) “And for someone who is such a control freak, mind you a totally adorable and lovely control freak, I can’t believe you haven’t thought to update this house!”
Leslie had shot back, “It doesn’t need updating!” and Ben had rolled his eyes and proceeded to list the ways in which the house actually needed updating and here they are. At paint colors. Paint. Colors.
“Leslie, Leslie, please, I’m begging you, we have to do something!”
“But no,” she disagrees. “I don’t think we do! Why do we!”
Ben sighs and allows his head to fall into his hands and his palms swipe against his face and he looks so tired that Leslie thinks for a moment, ‘Hah! Defeat!’ When he pulls away he’s once more resolute, not content to let this matter drop. This matter of damned paint alterations, he’s not content to let it drop.
“Aside from the paint. Aside from that... half of these walls make no sense! You could easily knock that one out,” he points at the kitchen and waggles his pointer finger in such a way that makes her want to break it. And even as she thinks that, she takes it back. “And if I’m telling you that and I know that, it must be a no brainer.”
Leslie sighs, shakes her head, falls back onto the couch. “HGTV,” she mumbles under her breath.
“And,” Ben begins, hand through his hair again and Leslie really wants to tell him to go shower. “And really, isn’t this... I mean, this is our house, right? My name is on the mortgage I just... feel like maybe I get to have some say in the way... we live?”
Her lips twist into a frown and she thinks about the bathroom done over in High Tide and the bedroom in Semolina and the wall into the kitchen knocked out. ...it would make it easier for her to get from the bedroom to the refrigerator, that bit isn’t in question but.
“Well, I mean, Ben...” and then suddenly her mind is running a mile a minute. If they’re changing the paint color why not the bedside table and if they’re changing the bedside table, why not the dresses, the lamps. Why not get a California Closet? A waterbed? A water feature in the bedroom?
Leslie takes a breath and sits up straight, slaps her palms against the knees of her slacks. She can’t get too far ahead of herself. “Do you want to pick up some paint samples?”
Ben blinks, blinks again and does a double take straight out of the cartoons. “Four hours and that’s... that’s how you give in?”
“We’re going to have... I mean, we’re going to have huge fights, right? Blow outs? Doors slamming and screaming and all of that, right?” Leslie asks quickly. “If we don’t it’s great but we probably will...”
“What-”
“I mean, what if I decide that I want that full sleeve when I turn forty? Rosie the Riveter against a background of sunflowers.”
“You’re not getting a tattoo,” Ben says, flat.
Leslie blinks. “You can’t tell me what to do with my body.” Not that she’s ever going to get a sleeve (no matter how much she thinks she wants it.)
Immediately he realizes how wrong his statement is, doesn’t bother to amend it, just agrees. “No, you’re right. That was dumb of me, yeah.”
“But I guess you can, I mean we can compromise on our house...” she says carefully, glancing at the floor as she enunciates each word. “As long as we’re staying here forever.”
“Les, Leslie, come on,” Ben opens his arms and takes a few steps into the living room; he makes it sound like this is the silliest thing in the world. It might be. It probably is. Not that she’s silly and not that this isn’t of any consequence, it’s just that sometimes she doesn’t know when to let go. “Les...”
When she walks to him, it’s like a robot, a dejected robot, all creaky, rusted joints. She walks up to him, mashes her face into his chest. “I’m being crazy again.”
“Not again, really. More... always.”
“Maybe.”
“It’s what I like about you?” He tries and drops his hands to her lower back to rub gently.
Leslie laughs into his shirt. “You could have sold that better.”
“Could have, but you spent the better part of the night arguing with me about paint.”
“And walls,” she adds, “Knocking them down.”
“That too... and there’s a metaphor in there I think. Too tired to find it though.”
Leslie agrees. “Mmmph, shower?”
“In the morning,” Ben tries but Leslie laces her fingers into his hair and shakes her head.
“No, now.” He frowns at her. Some things, some things they will argue over but this is certainly not one of them. “Together.”
“I mean,” Ben says, “If you insist.”
1500 words
AU (in that they don't buy a house, they live in Leslie's house, the end.)
Leslie/Ben, Parks and Recreation
"Maybe she’s making this into a bigger deal than it is. Maybe. Probably."
Thanks/Notes: Thanks to Dennis for the read through. I wanted them arguing over something, but not over starting a family. Because babies, ugh.
Maybe she’s making this into a bigger deal than it is. Maybe. Probably.
Yes, it’s her house. But really, it’s their house. And she swore she wouldn’t do this. Literally, she swore. She drew up an affidavit and had it notarized and everything. All of that legalese nonsense, she went through it all.
Plus? She promised. (And promises, they mean something, especially to her.)
But when someone so Type A makes a promise there are layers to it, many, many things to consider. There are subdivisions. There are footnotes. Honestly she’s like an onion, an incredibly controlling, anal-retentive onion that actually kind of hates the color green. Not when she wears it, no. The color green looks amazing on her but on her walls? Yeah, no.
And she supposes she can have dishes that are green because her bowls are white but still. There’s been no consideration for anything; not the duvet or the rugs or the prints on the walls. No consideration!
Green?
Really?
“You know I have to sleep in here every day, right?” She refrains from pointing out that ‘oh-no-he-doesn’t’ because she realizes for once how wrong she is. Leslie wouldn’t really sleep very well if Ben wasn’t next to her. It took her a long time to get used to someone so clingy being with her in bed (and people think she’s was the clingy one) but now she can’t do without it.
Funny how that works, huh?
“Day, night, whatever, all the time” Ben corrects and somehow that steals her breath. Because they’re engaged and oh, oh Leslie Knope is engaged to Ben Wyatt. And alright, this might be one of the biggest deals in the world really. Benjamin Wyatt sleeps next to her every night, drools on her (their) pillows and kicks her in her (actually her own) calves and wraps his arm around her neck (weirdly enough, not enough to choke, but weird right?) and wants to paint her, their walls.
Ben lives here now. Ben gave her a ring and she’s chosen to be with Ben forever (Forever that word is wonderful but also? Fucking terrifying in that nice way?) So Leslie holds her tongue and instead crosses her arms over her chest and makes a wonderful show of trying to look stern and unwavering.
Ben’s hands fall by his sides and he’s so tired and it’s so obvious. She just needs to hold out a bit longer. “And you actually know that I hate this color. Because I’ve told you like, a lot of times. It’s ivory. Ivory is the color that people choose when they don’t want to pick a color. It’s actually a non-color. It’s non-committal. It... it is somehow worse than beige... It’s...” Ben searches for the word, running a hand through his increasingly disheveled hair. Because... because well... They’ve been arguing about this for the better part of two hours.
Leslie glances at her watch. Four hours? Yeah, it’s two o’clock in the morning.
Four hours.
And had been arguing about the tile in the bathroom before that...
‘And why does Ben want to change everything?’ is what she’s thinking. Just because he’s put a ring on it doesn’t mean he can change everything.
“Because you moved in and you didn’t bother with anything!” he’d told her a week ago in response to her posing that question. Told her twice, actually, not that she’s keeping count (but she totally is, a sticky note with actual tally marks...) “And for someone who is such a control freak, mind you a totally adorable and lovely control freak, I can’t believe you haven’t thought to update this house!”
Leslie had shot back, “It doesn’t need updating!” and Ben had rolled his eyes and proceeded to list the ways in which the house actually needed updating and here they are. At paint colors. Paint. Colors.
“Leslie, Leslie, please, I’m begging you, we have to do something!”
“But no,” she disagrees. “I don’t think we do! Why do we!”
Ben sighs and allows his head to fall into his hands and his palms swipe against his face and he looks so tired that Leslie thinks for a moment, ‘Hah! Defeat!’ When he pulls away he’s once more resolute, not content to let this matter drop. This matter of damned paint alterations, he’s not content to let it drop.
“Aside from the paint. Aside from that... half of these walls make no sense! You could easily knock that one out,” he points at the kitchen and waggles his pointer finger in such a way that makes her want to break it. And even as she thinks that, she takes it back. “And if I’m telling you that and I know that, it must be a no brainer.”
Leslie sighs, shakes her head, falls back onto the couch. “HGTV,” she mumbles under her breath.
“And,” Ben begins, hand through his hair again and Leslie really wants to tell him to go shower. “And really, isn’t this... I mean, this is our house, right? My name is on the mortgage I just... feel like maybe I get to have some say in the way... we live?”
Her lips twist into a frown and she thinks about the bathroom done over in High Tide and the bedroom in Semolina and the wall into the kitchen knocked out. ...it would make it easier for her to get from the bedroom to the refrigerator, that bit isn’t in question but.
“Well, I mean, Ben...” and then suddenly her mind is running a mile a minute. If they’re changing the paint color why not the bedside table and if they’re changing the bedside table, why not the dresses, the lamps. Why not get a California Closet? A waterbed? A water feature in the bedroom?
Leslie takes a breath and sits up straight, slaps her palms against the knees of her slacks. She can’t get too far ahead of herself. “Do you want to pick up some paint samples?”
Ben blinks, blinks again and does a double take straight out of the cartoons. “Four hours and that’s... that’s how you give in?”
“We’re going to have... I mean, we’re going to have huge fights, right? Blow outs? Doors slamming and screaming and all of that, right?” Leslie asks quickly. “If we don’t it’s great but we probably will...”
“What-”
“I mean, what if I decide that I want that full sleeve when I turn forty? Rosie the Riveter against a background of sunflowers.”
“You’re not getting a tattoo,” Ben says, flat.
Leslie blinks. “You can’t tell me what to do with my body.” Not that she’s ever going to get a sleeve (no matter how much she thinks she wants it.)
Immediately he realizes how wrong his statement is, doesn’t bother to amend it, just agrees. “No, you’re right. That was dumb of me, yeah.”
“But I guess you can, I mean we can compromise on our house...” she says carefully, glancing at the floor as she enunciates each word. “As long as we’re staying here forever.”
“Les, Leslie, come on,” Ben opens his arms and takes a few steps into the living room; he makes it sound like this is the silliest thing in the world. It might be. It probably is. Not that she’s silly and not that this isn’t of any consequence, it’s just that sometimes she doesn’t know when to let go. “Les...”
When she walks to him, it’s like a robot, a dejected robot, all creaky, rusted joints. She walks up to him, mashes her face into his chest. “I’m being crazy again.”
“Not again, really. More... always.”
“Maybe.”
“It’s what I like about you?” He tries and drops his hands to her lower back to rub gently.
Leslie laughs into his shirt. “You could have sold that better.”
“Could have, but you spent the better part of the night arguing with me about paint.”
“And walls,” she adds, “Knocking them down.”
“That too... and there’s a metaphor in there I think. Too tired to find it though.”
Leslie agrees. “Mmmph, shower?”
“In the morning,” Ben tries but Leslie laces her fingers into his hair and shakes her head.
“No, now.” He frowns at her. Some things, some things they will argue over but this is certainly not one of them. “Together.”
“I mean,” Ben says, “If you insist.”