The Two Noble Kinsmen

"Don't tell me you want a leather couch."

"Alright, I won't tell you. But I do want a leather couch."

If the pair of them weren't mutually entangled layabouts who loved to lounge together, this decision wouldn't be half so weighty. Any flimsy futon or unforgiving, shallow and synthetic fabrication of rattan weave would do. In fact, it had done quite well, in Minoth's old attic apartment, where it had been an unvaluable element of prefurnishing as standard as the refrigerator.

Now, however, there was an investment to be made. This one purchase would determine the total level of comfort and ease gleanable from their entire sitting room area for the next three to five years, if not longer. Not to mention ottomans and armchairs!

Addam had once asked Minoth why the obsession with leather, and Minoth had replied that it came with being an old soul, don't you know?

Being that Addam groaned with the alacrity of an old man who'd never even heard of being socially self-conscious, he wasn't sure he completely bought that explanation, but he did leave it be and inure himself to it as best as he could.

This one, the cushion dipped too easily. That one, it had enormously overbearing arms. The storage underneath was a petty gimmick, or a cat would get stuck. Heaven forbid you wanted to find something with a fold-out design that fit its form and function as economical.

Even with his highly active and agile imagination, Minoth had a hard time conjuring the images of who the people were that were buying these things (not that anyone who wasn't an old soul bought from a dedicated physical furniture store anymore, which meant that the wares there left to browse didn't have to be feasible and thus probably weren't).

But they soldiered on.

One had to remind oneself that the loveseat was not actually for making love but merely for feeling it present in the air. So the leather wasn't liable to squeak.