The house creaked. Of course, it did. It was 150 years old, abandoned for most of a decade. Kurt didn't see the darkness of its past, though. All he saw was the light of what it could be, of what he was going to turn it into.
He passed through the front foyer into the living room, stopping to take in the creamy stones of the fireplace, the honey-warm wooden floors. Even the cobwebs in the corners seemed charming to him now. He was in love with the crumbling plaster walls and the cracked and leaking ceilings. They meant the promise of a new beginning, something he desperately needed.
From there, Kurt walked into the formal dining room and past that into the kitchen. The countertop was old, crusted with dirt and the dander of who knew what kind of creatures, and in places, it was bubbling from water damage. The aesthetic of what it had been was still there, though. He could feel it, could close his eyes and imagine the sparkling windows lit up with sunlight, a kettle of water percolating on the stove, and the sound of laughter from behind him as someone…
Oh… Well, that's new…
...as someone entered the kitchen and wrapped his arms around him from behind. Someone shorter. Someone who smelled wonderful. Someone he...loved.
Shaking himself from his daydream, Kurt bypassed the bathroom on the other side of the dining room and climbed the stairs to the second floor, holding onto the banister to keep himself from falling should one of the steps give way. He paused on the landing to look out of the enormous window with the perfect view of the water, feeling his heart warm at the sight of the birds circling overhead, diving down and dipping back up again in perfect harmony with one another.
When he reached the upper level, he stepped into the smallest of the two bedrooms. This was going to be his studio, the place where he came to draw or write or whatever nabbed his fancy at the time. Maybe hobby room was a better name for it. Although, for now, I'll probably be using it for photography development, he thought sadly, wishing he didn't have to work freelance. It would be fine; it just wasn't his version of ideal. Not when he had always dreamed of other things.
Maybe someday…
He, once again, bypassed the bathroom—someone had converted two back-to-back closets into a Jack and Jill restroom years before—and went into the middle bedroom. This would be his music room, his library, and his relaxation space. He could see it all now, and his heart ached for this room to be a reality sooner rather than later.
I haven't truly been relaxed in a very long time.
Following that, he went into the master, sighing happily at the prestigious view of the lake out the windows. This room was perfect. He walked the perimeter of it, running his hand along the walls and the windowsills, not caring how dirty it became. He was imagining, letting his mind run free. He needed it, dirt or no.
Eventually, he came to a stop in the middle of the room, tilted his head back, and closed his eyes. He took in a deep breath. "What now smells musty and dirty will one day be the most beautiful thing I've ever created," he whispered to himself. "It may not seem like much now, but in time it will. This house is a work in progress, just like me."
When he opened his eyes again, he was looking at the floor, and he was surprised to see a bit of red yarn stuck between the floorboards. He bent to pull it out, but the yarn didn't give. It was caught on something beneath the floor and only pulled taut between his fingers. "Hmmm… I'll have to get that out later," he mused, letting the yarn drop back to the floor. "I wonder what it's stuck on, what it's connected to." Then, his watch beeped, letting him know he had somewhere to be.