Author Notes: this is going to be a collection of single-chapter stories based on Cecilos prompts I receive over at my tumblr. the chapters don't have to be read in order, since all they really share are my same versions of Cecil and Carlos. Night Vale belongs to commonplacebooks.

Since Carlos already knew that Night Vale realtors live in the stomachs of deer, it really shouldn't have surprised him that house hunting wouldn't be exactly what he expected either.

"What's this?" Cecil asked as he leaned around Carlos to set a mug of tea on the table. A bit of the liquid sloshed onto the paper he was gesturing towards since he had still not quite adjusted to the extra six inch height difference. With a scrambled apology, he quickly dabbed at the paper with the sleeve of his sweater, taking note of several addresses circled in illicit scarlet pen. "What are the circled ones?"

"They're houses for sale. The red circles are the ones that are approved to be spirit-free," Carlos explained, pointing towards highlighted numbers. "I thought we could at least start looking for the right house." Cecil set the paper gently back onto the table with a light chuckle.

"Carlos, we don't find the right house. The right house will find us."

"All the same, shouldn't we get in touch with a realtor? How exactly do we do that anyway? Do they carry phones, or do we scour the highway at dusk?" Carlos couldn't help the tinge of sarcasm, but as usual Cecil understood the comment as absolute sincerity.

"Carrier pigeon, actually. I can send out the message when I get to the station. We won't need a list." Carlos slid the splotchy paper towards Cecil anyway. He laughed again, leaning down to kiss his boyfriend on the cheek. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to send some suggestions along."

Carlos was walking to work when he heard his name in an eerie whisper. Out of instinct, he froze and spun in a circle to find the source. The whisper seemed to emanate from one of the houses, a small bungalow with cracking stucco and a sunset orange paint job. After the incidents at Desert Creek, Carlos had thoroughly checked several of the surrounding neighborhoods, including this one, and could confirm that the particular house definitely existed. The street was empty in both directions and bizarrely quiet. When he took a tentative step forward and no whisper stopped him, he shrugged and continued on for another half block.

"You should have investigated," a tree chided him.

"Isn't that what scientists are supposed to do after all?" the manhole agreed. Carlos rolled his eyes and pulled up with a sigh. Of all the things he was becoming accustomed to in Night Vale, he still couldn't quite adjust to the omnipresence of the secret police.

"I'm already late for work."

"Just go have a peek," the manhole urged. "There could be something scientifically interesting in that house."

"Or it could be nothing," the scientist pointed out as he attempted to continue walking. The officer hidden in the branches of the tree shoved a slender branch down until it swung into the scientist's face and knocked his glasses off onto the sidewalk. "Alright, alright. I'll go take a look." He shot a glare towards the tree as he marched back the way he had come and up the steps to the door of the house. Everything looked normal from the outside. He was just about to press the doorbell when the front door swung open and in one smooth motion he was swept inside.

There was no way out. He had decided after a brief investigation, two hours of pounding on the doors from the inside, trying to yell for help, and attempting to open all the first-story windows that there was simply no way out of the house. None of his calls were being answered, or his texts for that matter. In resignation, he had settled himself cross-legged in the entryway like a petulant child and decided to focus his frustration into glaring an imaginary hole through the stalwart front door for an indeterminate amount of time.

"Nice floors, aren't they?" Cecil commented with a whistle. With a jolt of surprise, Carlos scrambled to his feet.

"Cecil! You got my message. I wasn't sure they were going through; my phone started leaking after the first two texts. How did you get in? Is there another door I missed? Can we get out the same way?" Cecil gave him a funny look.

"Get out? Don't you want to at least take a look around?" Carlos glanced around at the house, slowly realizing exactly why they were there. "I mean, we don't have to, but I guess I thought you wanted to go house hunting today…" Carlos reached out and took his hand in an attempt to erase the disappointment on Cecil's face.

"I haven't seen upstairs yet," he offered with a smile.

"So what do you think? Haven't you just fallen in love with it?" Cecil bubbled as they finally made their way back to the living room. The house was older, and everything tilted slightly towards the left. There were carved shapes in the wood on the baseboards and a faint moaning sound that seemed to come from the house itself.

"I like it. I like the extra guest room and the bathrooms are all nice sizes, but I'm fairly sure it's haunted, and I think the foundation's a little skewed. And do we even know how much it is?"

"How do we know the ghosts aren't friendly?" Cecil countered. "And we can adjust to living at a gentle tilt." He repositioned himself behind Carlos, wrapping his arms around the smaller man's waist and leaning down to perch his chin on his shoulder. "But can't you see it?" he whispered in his most alluring tones. "We could put the tv there," he gestured with a hand, "and this is where we'd put the sofa. And this is where we'll sit and have pancakes on the weekends, and maybe we could use the spare room to set up some of your equipment so you wouldn't have to work so late all the time. It's the right house, Carlos. It chose us, after all." The words became pictures, impressions of an imperfectly perfect hypothetical life in the little house.

"It does have nice floors," Carlos conceded with a grin. "But we can't afford this place. You're working for scrips, and I'm on government stipends. How could we possibly make it work?" Cecil trailed little kisses behind his ear and down the side of his neck.

"We'll figure it out. Don't worry," he murmured enchantingly.

Carlos took Cecil's advice. He didn't worry when the black envelope holding the contract for a little too high a lease appeared in his mailbox one morning. He didn't worry when the movers dropped a box of flasks with a nauseating shatter. He didn't even worry when the house's doors all slammed in supernatural protest to their intrusion. After the first long day of moving in, as he collapsed exhausted into his boyfriend's arms and they cuddled on their overstuffed sofa in their living room watching re-runs of game shows on their tv, he knew Cecil had been right. The right house had chosen them after all, and whatever happened now they'd figure it out together.

End Notes: I've read a lot of super-cute house hunting fics, so I thought I'd give it a shot as well! :]