PK/Carey 27 Dresses, I mean, tell me more.
“You,” PK says, pointing at Carey as threateningly as he knows how -- which is pretty threatening, okay, he’s terrifying in his beer league, “gave me the wrong name. And didn’t tell me who you are.”
Carey shrugs. “Guilty,” he says, right before lifting up his camera.
“Oh no, no, no,” PK says, shaking his finger. “I know I’m beautiful and all that, but there’s no need for that thing. You’re writing the article on Stammer and Amy, not me.”
Carey shrugs again, a little smirk on his face, and god help PK, he finds it kind of hot. Only kind of, but still. “I have to create a portrait, Pernell Karl,” he says, rolling up the sleeves of his hideous plaid flannel. “A good Commitments story involves everyone, not just the bride and groom.”
“No,” PK repeats.
“So,” Carey says, still grinning like a dick, “I hear you’ve been in -- what, twenty some weddings?”
“I have a lot of friends!” PK spreads out his hands. “I can’t help but want to help them, you know? And someday, when I’m married, they’ll help me out. That’s what buddies do.”
“Mmhmm,” Carey hums, still sounding like a disbelieving asshole. PK wonders if he handsomely and attractively kicks puppies in his spare time. “So, how many groomsmen suits do you have?”
“Well,” PK says, wincing, “I mean. There’ve been a lot of theme weddings.”
“Theme weddings,” Carey repeats slowly.
PK nods. “Now, I don’t mind the occasional coral suit, or lavender shirt, but -- well, wait. Let me show you the best one.”
“Coral suit?” Carey asks, sounding incredulous, but PK’s already heading down the hall to wrench open his closet.
“Those are all yours?” Carey asks from right behind PK, making PK jump.
“Jesus, don’t fucking follow people, you douche!” He punches Carey in the arm before going back to rifling through his collection. Finally he finds it, well towards the back, and with a grunt pulls the hanger out from the mess of suits and costumes. “Here we go.”
Carey’s jaw actually drops. “Oh Jesus, that’s fucking awful.”
PK nods smugly, looking down at the jeans, the plaid, the hat, the bolo tie. He loves Meredith, he honestly does, but Western weddings -- well. They are not his thing.
“You gotta try it on,” Carey says, grinning at PK. With the smile and the dimples, he looks significantly less like a douche, and significantly more like somebody PK would ask out, if he wasn’t a lying jerk-face reporter who doesn’t believe in love and happiness.
The dimples are more than a little bit convincing.
“Fine,” PK says, “Just the one.”
