#70 - Toenail

Today’s word: Toenail, Sausage, Bandana, Octopus

Word count: 619

Completion time: 34 minutes

Summary: There is none...I don’t know how this story happened. I blame ‘toenail’.

--

There it was, a lone toenail on the otherwise pristine red carpet. White, curved like a crescent moon, and slightly jagged where it had been ripped off. It seemed like Layton was the only one who had noticed that something was amiss because Oliver was still reading American Psycho, one leg brought up to his chest, the other stretched out in front of him as he leant against the armchair. Occasionally, his face would contort or he’d mutter a hushed ‘gross’ between laughter before turning more pages.

Oliver had long red hair that fell over his shoulders like the tentacles of an octopus, something that Layton had never failed to notice. He wondered how hair could sit like that naturally. He envied it a little.

Layton had been looking at the toenail for a good two minutes before he looked up at his best friend and said, “Do you mind?”

Oliver smiled, but Layton was sure that it was at the book, not at anything beyond the world of fiction. He blinked a few times before returning Layton’s gaze. “Sorry, did you...” his face was still recovering from some silent laughter as he closed the book, propping it open with his thumb, “...say something?”

“I said, ‘Would you mind not leaving your scummy toenails scattered around the place?’” he directed his eyes at the nail and back at him. “I know we need to decorate but...” He tried to conceal a titter by turning away, but he couldn’t stop his shoulders from shaking.

“I’m wearing socks...”

Layton turned back, putting on a serious expression. “And I’m wearing a t-shirt, that doesn’t mean I don’t have chest hair.”

“You don’t have chest hair,” he opened the book again, “and that is not my toenail.”

He gasped in mock offense. “I’ll have you know that I got my first hair when I was nine – had girls all over me.”

“You’re a dick sausage.”

Layton laughed hard, pushing his white and black bandana further into his head, exposing an unnaturally even hairline. “That’s not a thing.”

Oliver smiled with one corner of his mouth and tilted his head. “It could be. Like...a sausage in the shape of a dick?”

“How is that worse than being called a dick?”

He closed the book more definitely. “Because not only are you a dick, you’re a dick made from dead pig guts. And that’s grim.”

“You’ve put a lot of thought into this, haven’t you?”

He put his hands up as if surrendering. “What can I say?”

“You could say, ‘Sorry for leaving my manky toenail in the middle of the living room floor, Layton.’”

Oliver made a face as if to ponder the situation before kneeling on both knees picking up the offending toenail, turning it over between his fingers. “You know...” he made a move towards one of Layton’s feet, pressing the nail against Layton’s big toe as if it were a puzzle piece, “...if the nail fits...” he stopped, squinting his eyes and pouting his lips in thought.

“Can’t think of a rhyme?”

“No,” he looked up at Layton, red curls framing his face like a beautiful picture frame. “This happens every time...”

“Quite an interesting position you’re in right now.”

He looked at the toenail he was still holding and dropped it, wiping his fingers on Layton’s jeans. Instead of pushing him away, Layton only looked down at him and smiled.

“Before the guys get back home, do you wanna...?” Layton hinted, flicking his eyes towards the stairs.

Oliver stood up, pulling Layton up when he was on his feet. “You’re still a dick sausage.”

Layton’s eyes rolled and he squeezed Oliver’s hand, walking towards the stairs. “Yeah, whatever you want.”