Stimulus: Favourite colour
Spoilers: Random specific spoilers… set after COE
POV: Doorman
Dedication: gernumblies – you rock. x
Disclaimer: I do not own Torchwood. I do, however, own the recipe to Ianto's coffee – free cup for anyone who reviews?
AN: This drabble was inspired by my fic 'One More Day'. Check it out and I'll love you forever :)
-x-
There had been many complaints about the man in apartment 113b (noise levels, ostentatious-ness, yada yada yada), but one that the doorman had frowned at for a short while was that his door colour kept changing. The said complainer also made a statement to the police about it following the man's disappearance, March Third 2019.
"That moron keeps painting his door. I never catch him at it, because he knows if I did I'd telephone Bernard straight away and have him thrown out before you can say 'ostentatious'. But every time I come home from work; BAM! It's a different colour. Does my head in.
Started off blue – caught him frowning at it, all angry, like. Said it looked nice. He shouted at me, he did – says 'it's wrong, it's all wrong' and I says 'what's wrong?' and he says – get this – 'it reminds me of the Doctor'. I says 'who?' and he just stares at me and laughs. Walks off, twirling that long militairy coat. I knew right then and there we was going to have a problem with him.
Next day it was silver – silver. I ask you! – and he was staring at it when I came home again like… well, all confused, like. Like he don't know whether to be happy with it or not. I says, 'look here, mate, you can't just paint a door silver!' – all polite, right. He nods at me. He says; 'you're right… too tosh.' What's a tosh, I wants to know, but he's gone before I can open me mouth. Twirling that coat again – nearly knocked old Mrs Laity down the stairs. Don't even stop to help.
Next day it's white – this one I agrees one, and I tells him so when I passes. He don't like it so much – mumbles sommat about some Owen fella. I asks who and he ignores me. Too clean, he says, too doctor-y. I says I thought the doctor was blue. He says 'wrong kind of doctor' and walks off again. Mr Peterson's still got a bruise on his face where that there coat hit him. He bruises easily, see. Don't deserve to be pushed around like that.
The next day I comes up and I can see him sat there crying on the floor – I thought, ooh heck, and gave him a tissue. Didn't even say thank you – just yells sommat about this Gwen person. I tells him, 'calm down', but he won't. Just runs off again. Door was brown, then.
His coat's still on the floor. Didn't come back. If he did, I didn't see him.
His door's red, now. He don't talk no more – don't come out at all. Just left this little word on his door: Ianto, it says. Just Ianto. That's his favourite colour, I guess."