The Blue House of 1478 (11) (Patreon)

WICKED BOY IS NEXT.

(A/N: big chap. entirely rewritten.  Matthias will have much more screen time this time around, hopefully equal to Levi, as the three’s relationship is very important.  I don’t want anyone sidelined.)

—

The wind is moving through the damp flowers, scooping the edges of my coat and ends of my hair. I've never been at the back of Mr. Fredrickson's antique shop, and I've never had my tea brought to me in the garden.

It's always been damp and chilly — occupied by random, photo-documenting tourists, and therefore, entirely unappealing. Up until this moment. Somehow, the man at the table makes cold, wet scenery look pleasant.

The leaser looks almost too much of everything — too clean, too crisp, with his hair combed away from his features, a move that accentuates the deep cut of his jawline.  He doesn't shiver in the dampness or pull his limbs closer with the breeze.

He just sits there, in his white under-layer, with his navy blue cardigan tight against his broad shoulders, his thick set of brows furrowed as his gaze lingers something etched into the wooden tea table.

The simplicity of his draw creates a strange air of intimidation, and I find myself hoping the man will notice me before I have to introduce myself, but the longer I linger, the more apparent to me it becomes that he won't.

Finally, I clear my throat quietly, touching the table next to his hands,

"Hi, uh," the air near him feels colder. I flinch, pulling my hands back to tighten my raincoat. "I don't know, but I think we spoke on the phone."

The man in question sets his binder down quietly, his grey eyes snapping upwards to meet mine. I startle, taking a step back.

"Are you — well. Looking to rent out a room? Um. The blue cardigan?"

"Yes. You spoke to me,"  He smiles with confirmation, his voice a low husk, slow and warm, and I feel my stomach light with butterflies when his eyes shift over my features in slow regard,

"Oh - oh. Well, good beans." I laugh awkwardly, horrified by my own sentence,  "shit. I meant cool beans."

His brow quirks.

"I was going to say — good, but then... It's not much better,"  I hesitate, skin lit with an embarrassed sort of heat, "anyway.  I forgot to ask your name. My phone was cutting out so bad, it was like, I don't know — bad?"

I wring my fingers together, uncomfortable,

"Uh. The connection is Sleepy Birch is questionable."

"Right." His smile doesn't leave. "Sorry for how little information I gave to you; my roommate isn't much of a people person." He chuckles in return, a low, dark hum following. "But we're in desperate need of a roommate so, I had to set everything up on my own.  Got a little frazzled."

"Oh."  Frazzled.  So he is human and not a perfect, chiseled, marble statue.  Okay.  "Right."

His crooked smile broadens, revealing white teeth. Everything about him is strikingly, unsettlingly...

Beautiful.

"Anyway. Well. You look fancy," I inhale, and then I feel my stomach drop with the awful mortification that comes with saying something stupid. I motion quickly to myself, soaked, and my hair in disarray, "I mean, I had work before this, and it was raining, uh — so I'm probably making a bad impression because you're all stylish and..."

Oh, my God.  Shut up.

Shut up!

"But hey, my fashionable friend Kia says that it's always better to keep the company of those who are less fashionable — to make yourself look good, you know?"

He chuckles, and I silence myself, sitting down quickly. The iron chair scrapes against the pavement with a shriek, and I cringe.

"Oops.  Sorry."  I never have, in my entire life, been so open about the fact that I am a walking disaster. There have been cases of snarkiness, yes, or saying the wrong thing at the wrong time — perhaps even a poorly timed bout of sarcasm,  "guess you got the normal, non-metal chair."

But never, this!

"Last wooden chair out here," The man's lip lifts, "and neither choice is particularly understandable, for rust or warp.  It rains a lot here — yeah?"

His eyes drift to the droplets that cling to the sprouts beside us.

"Oh.  Yeah.  Definitely. Are you new to town?"  I ask, my brows gathering with confusion, "They never have weather-appropriate outdoor furniture.  It rains all the time, like all the time, but it's kind of nice, rust and warps aside."

"...Hmm," He shrugs,  "I know the area. Not its biggest fan but... My roommate moved into town a half a year or so ago," The man's eyes travel the window, "you could say I've got no life of my own, so I just follow him."

"Well, that's respectable," I laugh at the glimpse of humor, feeling a bit more comfortable at the idea of living with someone who managed to stay civil with his current roommate and who has admitted flaws — admittedly deep, deep under all the outward perfection, "I also have no life plans. Um.  So you guys must be pretty close?"

"Mhm, very," The man observes me quietly,  "are you close with your current roommate?"

I inhale, hesitating. No.  No, I am not — and the roommate in question is also my sister.  Saying any of these things could be damning.

I could lie, but instead...

"My name's Theodore," I reach out my hand, careful to avoid a lobelia bloom that's stretching all too close to us, "by the way. Most people just call me Theo.  What I mean by that is — it's a mouthful, so you can call me Theo if you want."

My nerves buzz less comfortably when his steady hand encompasses my thin fingers. His skin is ice, and I feel more of a draw to him than I had moments before — but I crush the thought when I pull my hand back from his.

What's with me lately?

Is it loneliness?

Just — think of Adrian.

Think of what loneliness does.

"Well, Theo.  Do you like games?"  He smiles when Mr. Fredrickson's niece turns the corner and places my tea beside the man's outstretched hand with a strange look of apprehension.

I thank Shari's quickly retreating form before returning my attention to the man in front of me.  Shari shuts the curtained doors behind her.

"I do like games!"  I smile, before squinting down at the empty spot next to his binder.  "Did you not get anything?  Or um,"  I motion towards my tea, and he pulls a frown, shaking his head.  "Do you want anything?   I can grab it for you —"

"I drank mine already.  I guess that's impolite, isn't it?"  He laughs again, and I return it.

"Oh.  No, I was running behind."  I nod from over my cup, turning my toes to face his under the table, as if to say that I am entirely responsible and capable and accepting of his drink-less self.  "So, what game were you thinking of?"

"Well.  Hmm.  Care to guess my name?" He asks, pushing back in his seat a bit to stretch his legs out,  "I'll give you hints."

He's humored, his expression light and challenging all at once.  I laugh, my nose wrinkling when I nod my head,

"Sounds fun.  But you can't be offended by any guesses.  Deal?"  I squeeze the teabag that's slowly submerging in my mug, the steam from it rising and the warmth of it almost too hot to bear.  "Also, you have to tell me the first letter."

"Deal."  He grins, his gaze shifting to my wet fingertips.  "It starts with an M."

"Oh, that sort of narrows it down," my brows gather, "Ah.  How about Marcus?"

He shakes his head.

"Um, wow."  I tap my fingers before snapping them, "Michael? Mark? Max? ... Marcus?"

Each guess is met with a wry smile and a soft laugh before he shakes his head again.

"Damn, thought I was on a roll.  How about Martin?"  I cross my arms when he only blinks, stuck, "um.  This is like Scattegories... how about the ever-classic Matthew?"

He nods, leaning in, his elbows against the table.

"Close."

"Close to Martin?"  I frown, "or Matthew?"

"The latter."

"Okay, so,"  I squint.  "Mateo? ...Matías?"

"Good job,"  He grins, his cheek in palm, all too pleased with the quickness of my guess.  "The second, replace the 'tee' with a 'thigh.'"

"Matthias."

"Yes.  But please don't call me Matt." He hums at that, and I nod along.

"So, games aside.  Do you get along with others well?"  Matthias asks, pushing back in his seat a bit to stretch his legs out,  "No prejudices? Don't party — no drugs?" He's nodding already like he knows the answer just by looking at me.

I shake my head,

"Yes, no, and no.  I watch a lot of streaming services, but I promise to pay any overage fees, and uh," I rack my brain for a moment, "I've been known for pizza stains... If we're upfront and all. That's it, though."

"How honest."  Matthias laughs outright, pulls another binder from atop the garden stones behind him, "This is the room that we'll be renting out; we have a dog," he shrugs, "she's a really sweet dog.  My roommate doesn't party or like noise, really; he's relatively quiet besides the odd guest here and there."

"What about you?"

"You don't have to worry about me." He smiles again. "I'm a bit of a busybody, so, I'm not around much."

My heart sinks a bit with disappointment.

"The rest of the rooms in the house are there as well." Matthias taps the binder. "My roommate made this.  I snagged it to show it off."

"Your roommate sounds very organized."

"He is.  You probably won't see him much at all; he's usually in his room, glued to his computer, or outside. His two personality traits are gardening and working."

"Oh, wow," I turn the page, meeting the warm and spacious interior that most older residents are lucky to have, "this room is huge! Is this the room?  It has its own bathroom."

"Yep, that's the one."

I purse my lips.

"And — Are you sure you only needed six hundred a month?"  I glance up at him before my gaze drifts back to the room, "like — it's a great deal, but you could probably make a lot more, even just having a B&B or something."

"Are you trying to persuade me into choosing someone else?"

My eyes dart up again, startled.  I wave my hands in front of me, because, shit!

"Ah, no, that's...."

"Good."  Matthias leans closer to me like it's a secret, "See, I'm desperate."  He whispers,  "I even snagged this binder from him before he could go meet a weirdo.  He has absolutely no radar when it comes to a good person versus a bad person."

My heart thumps, stomach swooping.  Our eyes meet, and I inhale,

"And you do?"

Matthias grins,

"I do."

I swallow.  I nod and nod again.

"Okay."  He thinks I'm a good person.  "Um. Okay.  Any chance I could see it in person?"

Matthias hums and leans back in his seat. His eyes are reflective, dove-gray. Something about him blends with the storm clouds above,

"The thing is. Me meeting you here is kind of a secret." He brushes a finger to his lips, and my eyes follow. "And my roommate is — I guess. Shy?"

"Shy?"

"This is sort of behind his back. So.  There will be another ad in the paper, advertising our home.  When you see it, call his number."  His eyes meet mine, dull and piercing, somehow all at once, and I nod. It's an odd thing to request, a strange situation, and still, I find myself nodding.   "And ask to rent from him."

"I'm going to walk you through how to get on his good side.  So." Matthias reaches, touches the bloom that sits between us gingerly. "Please listen for my calls."