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Off the kitchen was the laundry room and a tiny downstairs bathroom. After Greid dutifully showed me both, we crossed the hall to the living room, which I immediately fell in love with. It was dark and cosy and full of interesting stuff, with a huge squishy sofa covered in blankets directly opposite an enormous wall-mounted flat-screen TV. The guy really loved his TVs.
A stained-glass window—slightly larger than some of the others—sent splashes of colour across the dark wooden floors and faded rug. Tucked right in the corner was some kind of enclosure. It looked like a little cubby, the entrance covered by a heavy burgundy curtain.
Before I could ask what it was, Greid cleared his throat and said, “Sorry, I meant to put some lamps in here yesterday but I, uh… I got distracted.”
“It’s okay.” I shrugged. “If you don’t like lamps, I’ll be fine.”
Subconsciously, I knew I was being as amenable as possible so he didn’t start regretting this. But at the same time, I didn’t want him to have to completely change his way of life for my benefit. And it wasn’t like people hadn’t read and done other things by candlelight for centuries.
“No, I’ll put some in here later.” Greid slipped past me back into the hall.
He gestured at a closed door opposite and coughed awkwardly. “That’s my bedroom in there.”
“Oh, okay.”
He didn’t move to open the door and show me, and I didn’t ask. After a few seconds of awkward silence, he blurted, “Sorry, it’s just… a total mess at the moment. But, uh, if you want to see, I can show you after I’ve cleaned up—”
“No, it’s okay.” I smiled up at him. “I don’t need to see it. It’s your space.”
Ducking his head, he walked back toward the stairs and up to the second floor. He showed me the guest bathroom and another unused bedroom, then sighed and opened a door to reveal an artist’s studio.
I stepped inside and looked around with interest at the deep-blue velvet chaise longue beneath the window, the empty easel and pottery wheel and the half-finished sculpture resting on a big wooden workbench.
“Is this where you work?” I asked, frowning when I couldn’t see any jewellery or equipment that he’d surely need.
“No.” He made a little grumbling sound, shifting in place, then huffed. “It was my ex’s studio.”
Oof. I subtly side-eyed him, expecting to see bitter resentment or desperate yearning twisting his features. But there was neither—just mild disdain as he gazed at the half-finished bust of a demiurgus with long, flowy hair.
“Oh, right,” I said carefully, then cleared my throat. “They uh, they were really talented.”
“Yeah,” he grumbled. “She was alright, I guess.”
Snorting a laugh, I turned to face him and couldn’t stop myself from asking, “Didn’t end well?”
“We wanted different things.” His face spikes twitched with embarrassment. “She said I was too introverted and boring and… yeah.”
“She called you boring?” I frowned. “That’s mean.”
“Okay, fine, maybe she didn’t use those exact words, but she implied it.” Greid sighed and shrugged. “Honestly, she wasn’t wrong. We didn’t fit. We tried to fit, but we just… didn’t. For various reasons.”
I nodded and stayed quiet, not wanting to pry any further. After a pause, Greid shifted again and gestured at the studio.
“I don’t keep it like this as, like, a shrine to her or anything. I just don’t need the room and I really can’t be fucked to clean it all up.”
When I glanced up at him with a wry smile, I could tell he was being honest. I’d only known him a very short time, but I was already pretty certain that Greid made a point of doing as little as possible. In all things. I was sure laziness would annoy a lot of people, but I found it kind of endearing, mainly because he was just being himself and not really putting up any kind of front. And it wasn’t like his not bothering to empty this room affected me in any way.
Nor was it my business if he actually, secretly wasn’t totally over his ex.
“Next room?” I asked cheerfully, turning for the door.
Greid followed me out and up the stairs to the third floor, where my bedroom was located. He showed me the linen closet, then walked right past another closed door to hurry up the stairs.
“Wait.” He froze as I pointed at the door. “What about that room?”
His yellow eyes swung over to it before he cringed. “Just another closet,” he said quickly, then turned to keep going up the staircase.
I eyed the door as I slowly followed him. Okay, now I was ridiculously curious, and a little bit nervous, but I couldn’t demand he show me, and I wasn’t going to invade his privacy by sneaking a look later when he wasn’t around. I wasn’t.
