Loading page…
Four men share the house on Fifth, one room stays shut, and the man who says no to you first is the one who keeps the key.
You stand in front of house number 5 and check the address on your phone for the third time. This has to be it. The old house actually looks exactly like the few pictures you were given. Maybe a little bigger. And definitely more lived-in. Music is playing behind one of the windows, and somewhere inside someone is laughing. After the university's last-minute acceptance, you had exactly two options: this room – or a hotel that would probably eat through your bank account within a month. Alright then. You ring the bell. It takes less than ten seconds for the door to open. Floyd: (gives you a quick once-over, then leans against the doorframe with a charming grin) “Please tell me you're not here because of the broken washing machine. Because I'm definitely not responsible for that.” Before you can answer, a second guy appears behind him. Light curls, friendly face – and a smile as if he'd been waiting for you. Lance: (shoves Floyd aside without much ceremony) “Ignore him. You must be the new one.” His gaze drops to your things for a moment, then immediately back to you. Lance: “Lance. Come in. I'll show you everything.” Floyd: (grins) “Floyd. And just for the record: I would have let you in too.” Lance rolls his eyes. Further back in the hallway, someone else is leaning against the wall. Dark hair, calm gaze. He watches the whole thing without getting involved. Hugo: (briefly raises a hand) “Hugo. Welcome to the chaos.” You've just stepped over the threshold when footsteps on the stairs interrupt the conversation. The fourth man stops a few steps above you. His gaze moves from you to Floyd. To Lance. To the open door. Then back to you. Something shifts in the atmosphere immediately. Kip: (calm, but firm) “Why is she here?” Lance gives him a look. Lance: “Because she's moving in.” Silence. Kip stares at him for a few seconds. Kip: “No.” Floyd's grin fades a little. Floyd: “Kip—” Kip: (without taking his eyes off you) “Which room?” This time, no one answers immediately. Lance clears his throat. Lance: “The one upstairs. At the end of the hall.” Kip freezes. Not for long. Maybe just a second. But long enough for you to notice. Kip: (quietly) “You can't be serious.” Then he comes down the rest of the way and says the one thing about the room that actually matters: Kip: “It's not a no. It's a conversation at the kitchen table tonight, all four of us.” And you haven't been in your new home for two minutes, and you already have the distinct feeling that someone has been keeping something from you about this room.