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It's not until he sees it out in the main room, that King realizes what he's done.
If he thinks hard enough, he can see the thought process leading up to this decision.
It starts like this.
King had just sold his couch. It was an old thing, well worn through years of use, but it was still soft and incredibly comfortable. He got a pretty penny off of it too.
So he sold it. He needed the money. Books and supplies and gathered pieces of metal weren't going to buy themselves. And he wasn't going to dip into the fund he saved for his kid's future.
(Not yet. Doing so felt like betrayal. Or acceptance. Either way, it was not something he was willing to deal with. He wasn't that desperate. Not yet.)
So he sold the couch. It felt like the most logical next step.
He didn't really need it. He spent most of his time on his feet, hunched over his desk or walking around the increasingly cluttered room. The only time he'd even use it was when one too many nights of sleep were skipped and he'd end up face first into its cushions. He never means to land there, his room being his goal but sleep is sleep, so who is he to complain when he finally gets it.
(Doesn't matter that he wakes up feeling worse than before. Doesn't matter that his shoulders ache and his head pounds. Doesn't matter that a voice in the back of his mind is screaming at him to stop, to actually get some rest, to eat, to grieve. Doesn't matter, because he has work to do.)
So he sells it. And the stick who comes to pick it up thankfully does not comment on the state of the rest of his house. They're young, younger than him but older than they would have been. They look like they have their whole life ahead of them.
They smile at him, thank him for the couch, and with the help of two friends, carry it out the door. King almost feels bad for overcharging them. But he needs the money and really, it's their own fault for buying it without considering the price tag. Oh well, he hopes they enjoy it.
So the couch is sold. What was once there, now stands a plain wall.
He won't admit it bothers him. Like an itch that persists at the back of his mind. It's one more thing gone from his life but that doesn't make sense. It was just a couch.
Life continues on as normal until another bout of sleepless nights hits and instead of soft cushions, his face meets hard wooden floors.
He sleeps there anyways, too tired to complain. Until morning comes and he wakes up stiff as the floor beneath him and he vows to never do that again.
He does it two more times in the coming weeks.
On the third time, he manages to catch himself on the wall. Through the haze of exhaustion his mind comes up with a solution for his problem.
He wouldn't need to sleep on the floor if he had his bed out here.
And with a sudden burst of manic energy, he stumbles into the hallway. Blindly reaching towards his door and ignoring the one situated right next to his.
King had always been strong, blessed by his original game creator with the power to rule a kingdom, so it's no issue as he lifts and pulls and drags his bed from the middle of his room out into the hall.
Why he didn't just go to sleep in the bed itself is a question that crosses his mind in the future, but that is of no concern to him at the moment.
He loses pillows and blankets along the way, and he's pretty sure his door has scraps etched into its frame, but he finally gets it into the main room.
With one final shove, his bed is against the wall.
And King grins, nods his head as if satisfied with his work, and then promptly passes out next to the bed.
He wakes up the next day with a killer headache and an empty stomach, so it takes him until lunch to realize his bed is now outside his bedroom and is situated where his couch used to be.
It takes him a minute to process the change. He glances into the hallway to see the carnage of bedding left in his sleep deprived mania. He cringes and reluctantly picks up the pieces and deposits them back on his bed.
In all honesty, he doesn't know why he did this but it would be too much of a hassle to put it back and he is much too busy to find the time to do it. So the bed stays in its new spot up against the wall.
It isn't until another round of sleepless nights hits and King wakes up on his mattress feeling marginally better than he did before, that he decides this was one of the best decisions he made in a while. One problem solved.
And then he doesn't think about it anymore.
Not until a certain purple stick figure comes barreling into his life with a large pink tote bag in hand.