A/N: Yay! Chapter two! Shout out to my sister who beta'd the chapter and proposed the idea of draining the life source out of dragons to make into an amulet to store in a closet to magically hang up clothes. This idea will not be used in this fic. No dragons will be harmed in the fic. I don't think dragons will even show up in the story, nor do I think there are dragons in this world. Sorry not sorry. Also, I swear we will meet the dolls next chapter. Have a nice day! :)

His new home was spacious, that much he knew. But it was old and that much was obvious. Still, a roof was a roof and it wasn't like the place was uninhabitable. It might have leaks during rainy season, and it might have a draft, but those things were fixable and Matthew was more than willing to fix them. This was his home now.

The deck of the porch creaked beneath his feet as he made his way to unlock the door. He took a deep breath before opening it and took a tentative step inside and... immediately fell into a coughing fit.

"Dust," he choked, "so much dust." He put a hand over his mouth and nose and went back outside to help the movers. They had the smarts to be wearing face masks. While it didn't look like Kuma was headed inside anytime soon, Matthew kept a careful eye on him. It wouldn't be good to have Kuma go inside and start dying of asphyxiation because Matthew didn't warn him about the breathability of - or lack thereof - the air inside the house. And if Kuma did manage to survive that dusty hell, then the bear would never shut up about how Matthew almost let him choke to death.

Matthew kept the collar of his shirt up around his nose to help the movers carry in all of his boxes. It took about two hours and by the time he was finished, he was hungry, sweaty, and dreadfully tired. Kuma was also complaining about the heat outside ("It's hot! I'm hot! I'm a polar bear, not and equator bear!"), so Matthew was forced to dig his fan out of his boxes and drag it outside lest he start blowing dust everywhere. With a flick of his fingers, it turned on and Kuma started to wiggle all around it happily.

No longer as hot and sweaty, but still tired and hungry, Matthew started looking around his car for snacks. He didn't want to leave just yet for groceries, or even a simple meal. That would take time, effort, and only prolong the almost disastrous state his home was in. Dust and boxes weren't exactly his idea of a friendly home. Triumphantly, he found granola bars in his glove compartment. He wasn't sure how long they had been there, but at this point, he couldn't find it in himself to care.

There he was, Matthew Williams, twenty-three, sitting on his new (semi-dilapidated) porch, eating stale granola bars with his mini-polar bear who was bathing himself in cool air from the fan and, quite frankly, Kuma was hogging all the nice air. He didn't want to lay down in fear of splinters and, not to mention, he didn't want to dilly-dally too long. He had work to get to the next day. It was going to be an exhausting next few days, but still, he was happy. He had a dream home (that, admittedly, needed some work), his dream job, and life was looking up. Nothing could change his mind.

Not even the fact that when he got up and went back inside he forgot to cover his mouth and nose and was sent into another dust-filled coughing fit.

Life sucked like that sometimes.


The first thing he did was move the boxes chilling out with nowhere in particular to go. Going through these boxes made him realize that, while he had a few necessities, he desperately needed to go shopping. This was fine. He was an adult with an adult job. He could go out and do adult things like buy kitchenware sometime soon. Because he was an adult. Who already missed home.

Like any sensible adult who could do things on their own adult time in their own adult way, he called his mother.

"Matthew!" she greeted. "Your call is an hour late, young man!" He checked the time. It had been four hours since he left. Their promise was to call every three hours. Oops.

"Sorry, mom," he said. "I was busy."

She tutted. "If you say so." It was quiet for a minute in which Matthew deliberated what to say. However, his mother was growing impatient. "Well?"

"It's dusty in here." That was not what he meant to say. It slipped out. What he meant to say was 'It's great here, mom! I can't wait for you to see! You're going to like it. It's got that old timey feel and Kuma loves it too!' And, yeah, she might have gotten that the last part was a lie - Kuma doesn't really love anything beyond food, i.e. fish, but she could have chalked it up to Matthew being ever so slightly facetious. But no. He went and said that it was dusty. Fantastic. Now she'll think he hates it.

"You hate it," she deadpanned.

Matthew wanted to dig himself a hole and live in it. "No," he denied vehemently. "Not at all! It's just a little dust. That was to be expected, you know it's old. I just panicked because I wasn't sure how much you wanted me to say I loved it and if you were wondering if I miss home - I do, by the way, because I miss you, too, even though I've only been gone four hours, and-"

"Matthew," she interrupted. He could imagine an exasperated smile on her face. "You're babbling."

He sighed and sat at a kitchen chair. The place really wasn't all that bad - it had come with furniture, for goodness sakes! It was a steal! He should feel happier! This was a dream come true. He sighed again. "Would it be weird and-or pitiful for me to say that I'm already homesick?"

"No." Her voice was warm and comforting. He wished she was here right now.

This was pathetic. He had been gone not even half a day! Not even six full hours and already wanted to go back. Four hours ago, his mom was doing what he was doing now: lamenting his going and wishing he would stay. Did this make him a hypocrite? Probably. Maybe.

"Can I ask what you're doing right now?"

"Hmm…" He looked around at the boxes still having no place to go. "I was moving around boxes. I wanted to unpack some today. At least the ones in my new room, you know?"

"Ah." She was nodding, he could hear the shift of her hair. "How about you stop that? Stop trying to make it more homely." He was about to protest and she laughed. "Just look around, Matthew. Familiarize yourself with it. It can't be homely if you don't feel at home in it."

He pursed his lips. She had a point. "Okay. I will."

"Good," she said in return. "Call me again in three hours."

He chuckled. "I will. Thanks."

"You're welcome." She was smiling again. He could hear it in her voice. "I love you."

"Love you, too. Bye."

"Bye."

He was almost loathe to hang up, but he did. She always knew what to say to make him feel better. He set his phone on the kitchen counter and stood. He surveyed the area - off to the right was the living room, off to his left was the dining room. He went to the living room, checked out the bathroom, et cetera et cetera. It was enormously boring, or at least it would have been, if not for the fact that he found "VK+HP" carved into the wood of a bedroom doorway as well as various left over pencil drawings in the room. He found random pieces of furniture he liked throughout the house - there wasn't much, but there were definitely some that would be getting sold and some he would keep.

The stairs creaked the entire way up, and he was greeted with a dimly lit hallway with a single dirty window at the end, but a lamp or a floating light could fix that problem right away (or maybe just cleaning the window). He knew his new bedroom was the last door on the right - if he was going to own the place, he was getting the master suite for himself. There was another bathroom, a closet, and another small bedroom. In his new bedroom, there was a mirror which had a small plaque on the other side of it reading Prop. of A. K. He tilted his head. Maybe 'VK' and 'A. K.' were related? It was definitely a possibility; he didn't know who owned the house prior. They could have been sisters, or brothers, or siblings, or whatever else. Or unrelated. It was circumstantial.

Exiting the room, he looked up and down the hallway. He knew there was an attic, he just didn't know how to get there. He scanned the ceiling in hopes of finding something that would clue him in and he found it. In the ceiling, just outside his new bedroom door, hidden in the darkness of the dirty window, was a square cut out from the rest. There was a small hole on the edge farthest from the window. He'd have to find a stick or something to hook onto it.

"Huh," he muttered, face scrunching up in concentration. "How can I…?" His face lit up in an epiphany.

He raced down the stairs and grabbed a kitchen chair as well as a wire coat hanger. He lugged his things up the stairs, one heavy step at a time. Half way up, Kuma padded by (to where, Matthew hasn't the faintest clue, but Kuma did get bored easily). "What're you doing," he asked, plopping down and looking up the steps.

Matthew heaved a sigh as he got up another step. "I'm going to try to get in the attic."

"What for?"

"I want to." He blew hair out his face as he neared the last two steps.

Kuma tsked. "Weirdo." With that, the bear got up again and left.

"You're weird," Matthew murmured under his breath.

He finally surpassed the final step and dragged the chair - heavier than it looked - over to the door to the attic. He climbed on top, found his balance, and used the hanger to try and see if he could pull it down.

In the end, he didn't have to try very hard. At the first tug, the thing came swinging down, nearly smacking him in the face. He narrowly avoided it with a resounding, "Whoa!"

He peered up into the attic, which was pitch black. He felt in his pocket for his phone which… wasn't there. He cursed himself, got off the chair, went down the stairs, grabbed his phone off the counter, went back up the stairs, got back on the chair, and turned on the flashlight. So much work for such a little thing. He wondered if it was worth it to go through all this trouble for an attic that was no doubt just as dusty and old as the rest of the house. He shone the light into the hole and saw two wooden rods close to the edge. He grabbed a hold of one of them and tugged. The other rod came with it and he discovered it was exactly what he was hoping for it to be: a ladder. He pulled it down, learning it was more than long enough to touch the ground and up through the ceiling. After leaning it up against the chair as securely as he could, he climbed up and into the attic.

And instantly went into another coughing fit. "Dust," he choked, cursing himself for not thinking about the consequences of entering a newly opened dusty room, which he had been so careful about thus far. He pulled up the collar of his shirt and went up into the attic again.

It was roomy, way roomier than he thought it would be. There were boxes up here, too. As well as a weird owl statue, covered up chairs, a small night stand, a… wig… he hoped it was a wig. And at the very back, by the big round window that looked out onto the backyard, stood a dollhouse on a large desk. It was an impressive dollhouse, pink with white trim around the windows. He started to make his way over to it, almost drawn to it, which was weird he supposed; he had been more of a hockey kind of kid than a doll one. And just as he reached out to open it -

The front door, two stories below, began to rattle violently in its doorframe. Matthew jumped. He could feel the vibrations from where he stood, which would have been a bit concerning, if not for the fact that he was more concerned about who could possibly be banging on his door. He wasn't expecting any visitors. He got to the edge of the floor where it fell away to the ladder and sighed. He was getting tired of climbing up and down things.

He climbed down and got the edge of the stairs. He was getting tired of climbing up and down things. He descended the stairs.

He grabbed the handle of the door, pulled it open -

"Mattie!"

- and was immediately enveloped in a hug.