A/N: Welp. Started new fic instead of actually working on the ongoing ones I have currently. But I kind of like this one, so we'll see where it goes. There will be more characters added as it goes on, and I haven't decided on pairings yet (please do not suggest them for me). It's a very in progress sort of thing, so let me know what you think.
The following is a prologue, of sorts. Yep. A four chapter long prologue.
I.
It was raining on a Sunday afternoon when Arthur realized he wanted a home.
The overwhelming suffocation of none of this is yours resonated through his very bones. The leaky sink the manager never seemed to fix, the stained beige carpet that should have been replaced three tenants before, the white lifeless walls that he was forbidden to change. Even the softly squeaking cracked ceiling fan, the dust on the ceiling fan he hit too hard with a broom, it wasn't his.
This wasn't his home.
Once he was gone the only memory of him ever existing in this place would be misplaced billing records and the cracked blade making him dizzy.
Arthur sighed and threw an arm over his eyes. Okay, maybe that he could claim.
He rolled over on top of his blankets and counted off the unchanged paint chips on the bedroom door. He felt withered and pale, much like the light-starved plants in his kitchen.
There were boxes of books stuffed underneath the low bed, the closet was filled to the brim with a combination of clothes and necessities for work, papers teetered in tall piles in every corner, the living area was a dangerous hazard for his shins, and he could barely fit a microwave and tea kettle on the one counter in the cramped kitchen. Traffic and hoards of inconsiderate people below interrupted his few hours of sleep.
His life was trapped in a sardine can solely for the sake of always being available for an emergency at work. He'd swept up the dead leaves of dozens of good intentions for the ability to be ten minutes by foot away from his office.
Arthur uneasily closed his eyes and lay still for what seemed to be an eternity between the muffled patter on the roof, the soft rhythmic squeak above his head, and the low hum of the heater before determination jolted through his body.
His eyes shot open at the same time his body abruptly sat up and frantically stomped to his computer, swearing as he rammed his foot into the coffee table on the way.
There was one bonus to his job after all, he thought absently as he sat down and waited for the soft woosh of his hard drive, rubbing his injured toes. He knew people.
II.
It was a cloudy Saturday morning when Arthur rested his forehead against the cool window of his realtor's car. Yao said something about the safety of the neighborhood and rising home values as they turned onto the next street. Arthur didn't really care.
He was sure he had exasperated the other man by now. Yao Wang had driven him around at least half of the city for three weekends in a row, only thanks to a slow month at work for Arthur, spending his entire day showcasing the various homes his company had for sale. Arthur felt as if he had seen every house on the east side of the city, the easiest place from which to commute, but he had turned them all down. Not big enough, too big, too much work needed, no garden, a man had committed suicide in one, mold seeping into the walls, a couple divorced in another, faulty wiring. The list went on.
"Arthur," Yao had said as they exited the final home last weekend at 5:29 PM. The attic had bad vibes. "This is the last house available in this area. If you wish to keep looking we will have to move westward."
Arthur must have looked distraught because Yao had continued on.
"I know you want to be close to work, everyone knows you are a workaholic, but you will have to consider being farther away if none of these options are suitable." Before Arthur could thank him for his time and resolve to try again later, Yao had looked him in the eye and rested a hand on his shoulder.
"I do not want to see you in that flat anymore, Arthur. It is not good for you. A man in your line of work needs somewhere to relax. Please take my advice and continue looking with me."
Arthur's surprise at what seemed to be genuine concern, and not a sales pitch, in his long-time acquaintance's brown eyes had persuaded him to keep trying.
So here he was looking out of the window at a house thirty-eight minutes away from his office, staring at dull brown cedar panels someone had at one time decided were a good idea.
Arthur just shook his head before the two got out of the car. Yao sighed and shifted into drive.
They drove on. Arthur blankly watched his driver's Hello Kitty bobblehead. Yao was oddly quiet until he abruptly turned the car around and broke the silence. Hello Kitty nodded enthusiastic approval.
"There is," he paused, "a neighborhood I wish to show you. A house came onto the market about a month ago. There have been many visitors, but no suitable offers. My distant cousin has lived down the block for a year and a half now."
The mention of his cousin piqued Arthur's interest. Yao was not on friendly terms with most, if not all, of his family. Kind of like him. It surprised him that he would mention the neighborhood.
"Which cousin?" Arthur took mental note of the busy intersection they crossed.
"The quiet one." Yao paused and quickly corrected himself. "Not that quiet one, but the one who takes photographs for a living. He has done well for himself recently and bought a home with his savings. He paid for it in a lump sum and avoided a mortgage."
Arthur suppressed a laugh at the pride laced in Yao's tone. The realtor did not get along with his family but he was proud of them when they did well.
"How far away is it?"
Yao sighed. He knew the question was coming. "It is forty minutes from the station, give or take five minutes depending upon traffic." Arthur opened his mouth to interrupt but Yao kept speaking. "But Arthur, the neighborhood is safe, very safe, especially for you." Yao turned slightly to catch Arthur's eye before giving his attention back to the road. "I believe you will like this house, or at least find it interesting."
Arthur nodded. In his line of work he had always been mindful of where he lived. He was a prime target for the people he helped prosecute.
They kept the silence between them as Yao's red vehicle neared a wooded dead end. That was not a good sign but he trusted the man's judgment so said nothing. To the left there were recently cleared and wired vacant lots in expectation of new development. The spindly trees which remained were stark contrasts to the tall, full branches of what inhabited the neighborhood to the right. Yao turned that way instead, one street before the last.
Arthur watched in mild interest as they veered to the left and parked in front of the first house. He could tell from first glance it was two stories.
Yao motioned for him to get out and the two men exited the car.
"This side of neighborhood is about seventy years old. The lots to the left are slated for new construction at the beginning of the year. This area has become popular and our firm has decided to expand available housing." Yao paused for Arthur to catch up. The driveway was thick and well-paved.
"Homes here have generally been family owned and do not go up for sale often, but when they do, they go quickly. Fortunately most of this street is turning over because the old inhabitants are elderly."
Arthur stopped and looked at Yao who was now prying at the front door lock. Yao looked up and shook his head, motioning for Arthur to come in.
"You should see this house. The previous owner did not die here. She moved closer to her son and grandchildren a couple of years after her husband died." Arthur grimaced and Yao finally opened the door and stopped in the entry way. "Who also did not die here but suffered a short illness and died in his sleep at the hospital."
"How do you know so much about this place's history?" Arthur finally stepped inside.
"For you I make it my business to know." Yao smiled and Arthur could not help but chuckle. He would make sure to send Yao something nice as a thank you when all of this was over.
III.
The first thing Arthur noticed upon entering the home was an old, musty smell, much like old paper and scented lotion, and the large grandfather clock in the foyer.
"The furnishings?" Arthur asked as he walked in front of the shorter man, taking his time cataloging every turn and grain of the wooden floorboards.
"Ah, yes, the son has retrieved all of the furnishings that he wished to take from the house. Potential buyers may purchase some or all of the remaining furnishings if they desire. What is left will be sold at an auction before the new owner moves in."
Arthur nodded and peered around the corner. An old, worn formal seating area greeted him but it had obviously been well-taken care of. A layer of dust covered everything. The idea of using someone else's belongings, that someone else being dead, bothered him, but he noted the bright bay window and continued on to the next areas in silence. Yao was content to follow and interject when needed.
"Now I understand why most of the furnishings were left," Arthur said as he encountered a wall-sized hutch in the next room. The dining table and chairs that would have gone with it were missing. The seller must have had a large family of his own.
Yao nodded. "Yes, some of these pieces are quite cumbersome."
The kitchen was large and adorned with out-dated appliances. "Do these still work?" Arthur asked in wonder as he tugged on the refrigerator handle. It refused to open.
"No," Yao said and motioned toward another bay window looking out upon the back yard. Or would have if it wasn't covered by brambles. "They will have to be replaced."
Arthur paused to look at the wooden kitchen table. He ran his fingers over the subtly scratched surface, heavily used and the finish thinned. There were layers of cup rings and the tops of the matching chairs were worn cream.
The tour of the rest of the home was business as usual until they reached the bedrooms on the second floor. Yao babbled about the square footage and good repair of the home and Arthur was pleased by the guest bathroom hidden underneath the stairs and the spare room at the back of the house.
He was equally happy with the large window which greeted them on the second landing and the lockable door to the stairwell.
But then he found the master bedroom.
Inside everything had been left as it was. The bed was made, the curtains were pulled back, and a recliner remained facing out the back window.
"Oh! I apologize, did not know that there was anything but furnishings left in here, please excuse me and we will look at another room," Yao enthusiastically tried to get him to leave but Arthur was having none of his attempts to distract him. He walked over and ran his hands over the dusty bedspread and looked around.
The room was bright and silent. It waited expectantly for the return of the persons it belonged to. Arthur braced himself for the usual chills to shoot up his spine, but they never came. Intrigued, he walked to cushioned recliner looking out. This time he felt oddly calm amongst the belongings of the dead.
"Arthur?" Yao came up beside him. "Are you alright?"
"Is it okay if I sit down here?"
Yao looked surprised. "Yes, yes of course it is, go ahead."
"Thank you."
He gingerly sat down, posture straight and hands in his lap, and looked outside at the view. The view the woman who lived here would have had.
He could see the woods beyond the street, the vacant lot behind the house, the home facing him one street over. When he looked down he was greeted with a cascade of brambles, hiding the ground from view.
"Is that the garden?"
Yao also looked down. "Yes. Would you like to look at it?"
Arthur nodded. "After we finish up here."
He could hear relief in Yao's sigh.
There were two more bedrooms upstairs. One was obviously a guest room and the other must have been kept somewhat in tact as the son's room. The personal items had been removed but there were still signs here and there. Tack left over from posters on the wall, scratches on the dresser's top, a single bed pushed against the window. An only child.
Arthur was again uncharacteristically not bothered and even asked Yao to open the attic.
"It is just a crawl space," he said as he tugged on the chain hanging from a door on the ceiling hidden in the hall closet. He cursed as his ponytail got stuck in said chain. "Only used for wiring and insulation."
Arthur felt obligated to stick his head up there anyway after noticing a few dark strands tangled around the metal links.
It wasn't until Arthur discovered what the thick brambles covering the back yard were that he realized what was different about this house. It was a home without regrets. It was empty.
"How much is it?" Arthur had to weave his way back under the ample rose branches to find Yao who had refused to move from the back porch.
Yao quoted off an obscene number that made Arthur's stomach squelch and he almost clenched on the wick stem in his hand.
"If I pay that I'll be working off a mortgage for the next thirty years!" Arthur exclaimed but Yao looked at him evenly.
"You need a home, Arthur. Not a flat you leave behind after a couple of years. This will be stable for you."
"How far is the owner willing to haggle?" Yao locked up the kitchen door and led them back through the front of the home.
"It will depend if you are interested on any furnishings, what your competing offers are, and when you are available to move in." With a flourish Yao replaced the door key into his coat pocket, not missing how Arthur watched him do so. Yao led him back to his car.
"Now, do you want to continue looking?"
Arthur knew it was wise to say yes.
The two men took a break for lunch and then spent the rest of the day discussing business and looking at more houses. Yao dropped him off in front of his flat at 5:23 PM.
"I suggest you take the rest of the weekend to think about it," Yao called to him before he left. "Let me know on Monday what you decide. I will see what I can do." Arthur nodded and smiled. It was useless to beat around the bush now.
"Thank you, Yao. I'll speak with you again soon."
IV.
Monday didn't come fast enough. Arthur arrived early to work and called Yao promptly five minutes after the realtor's office hours began, just long enough for the other man to sit down and turn on his computer with a cup of hot tea in hand.
"Good morning Arthur," Yao greeted cheerfully and automatically. Arthur scowled at his desk.
"The home needs new wiring to be up to date with modern codes."
"Yes," Yao agreed. "And?"
"It also needs all new appliances, which would have to be paid for out of my own pocket."
Yao made a noise of agreement on the other end of the phone.
"I am also willing to take three of the largest pieces of furniture off of the owner's hands and will save him moving costs."
"The owner will not be paying the moving costs, the auction will be held on premises," Yao countered.
Arthur huffed. Fine.
He gave Yao an offer that was a third off of the asking price knowing that the other would haggle. He did.
After an hour of nitpicking, Arthur finally hammered out an offer with the realtor. In exchange for a fourth off of the original price of the home, Arthur would pay for the grandfather clock, the hutch, the large desk in the spare room downstairs and the kitchen table and chairs if the current owner would have a house inspection and an electrician do maintenance and rewiring. Also the owner must have all other furniture, appliances, and items out of the home and all conditions must be met before the move in date.
Three agonizing days later the owner accepted. The bank soon followed suit.
Arthur bought a house.
The feeling didn't sink in until three weeks and one day later when on a sunny Friday morning Arthur loaded his live charges into the backseat of his car, turned in the keys to his flat, and drove off hauling a trailer containing the rest of his meager belongings behind him. Forty-eight minutes later he pulled into the driveway and opened the front door. His front door. The realization hit him like a two-ton truck.
Arthur Kirkland owned a home.
Two days later Arthur was struck with another revelation.
His apparent next-door neighbor greeted him late Sunday morning in a barely closed house robe, under which he was obviously rather nude, through the wrought-iron bars of their shared back fence. He swept back his shoulder-length blond hair and called out to him in a sing-song voice.
"Bonjour, neighbor!" He then promptly looked Arthur up and down head to foot and scratched at barely-there stubble.
"You do not seem like an old lady." He paused and tilted his head. "But we have yet to see, oui?" The man then had the gall to wink as the sun picked that exact moment to sparkle on him like some sort of immortal golden god.
Arthur dropped his shears.
His neighbor was French.