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The house didn’t fit the typical ‘university digs’ aesthetic, Sehyoon had though.
It was big, for one thing. Like, big big. Like, Sehyoon would quite possible classify this as a mansion sort of big.
And, with the bigness, there was also the fanciness. Arched windows and a high wall around one could only classify as grounds — not a garden, grounds — and a door which looked so heavy it was a wonder one person alone could manage it. Sehyoon had also never seen stained glass outside of a church, but it was plentiful here.
At least it fit the bill in that it was dirty. Or, less like dirty, more like run down. It was clearly being cared for by someone because there were boards over one of the windows on the third floor and a tarp strapped over a part of the roof, but the work was hastily done. Careless.
Sehyoon hoped it doesn’t have rats.
His last place — more expensive than this place and less centrally placed — had suffered an infestation and, although Sehyoon had found himself fairly resigned to the situation, not all of the tenants had felt the same. Soon, there had been flyers, protests, letters to the council.
And the landlord, thoroughly uninterested in actually trying to solve the problem, had put the lot up for redevelopment, selling the land quickly so he could move on with the money and build himself a better life.
Sehyoon had got his eviction notice in the post three weeks ago. He now had just under a week to actually act on it and find a new place to live.
Preferably one without rats.
So, when this place cropped up — shoved unceremoniously in the ‘advertisements’ section of the local newspaper — he’d been almost unable to believe his luck.
Not only was it easy walking distance to both his part-time job and to campus, but it was well enough in budget for him to consider being able to cut his work hours down and focus on studying instead. And, if not, to start buying brand-name toilet paper at least.
His heart fluttered at the thought of such luxury.
The house was shared by four other guys, one of whose family owned the place. Sehyoon wondered why someone with so much money would want to live with so many other people, but he guessed somewhere as cavernous as this could easily get lonely.
But, weird quirks or not, this could only be Sehyoon’s gain. Maybe, he fantasised, they already use brand-name toilet paper — perhaps even the fancy stuff — and Sehyoon could save his hard earned cash for something more rewarding. Like booze.
And, with the promise of this hovering hopefully in front of him, Sehyoon had wiped his clammy hand on the leg of his trousers and rang the doorbell.
***
He’d expected the guys to be weird.
They were living in a massive gothic mansion, secluded — as far as Sehyoon could tell — from the rest of the world, and still thought the local newspaper was an effective way to disseminate news.
But he isn’t sure this was quite what he’d been expecting.
Sehyoon peers down at the extensive list of rules — written in neat cursive on thick, creamy paper — and frowns.
Rule thirteen: No dogs.
He raises his head back to Yuchan, who is watching him with an expression of mild amusement.
“No dogs?” Sehyoon doesn’t own a dog himself, but he’s been known to dogsit for his brother in times of need (both his brother’s need and his own — being pet-starved while living on your own is a very real thing).
Yuchan shakes his head, a polite smile on his lips. “No, we don’t like the fur getting everywhere.”
Sehyoon’s gaze drops to the faint stain on the carpet, the thick layer of dust on the shelf under the coffee table, the thick spider lurking darkly in the corner of the room. “Right,” he says weakly.
He returns to the list.
Rule twenty-seven: Please try to make minimal noise during the day.
“You guys are night owls, then?” He’s trying to look on the positive side of things, keep the situation light.
A head tilt, a curiously pursed lip. “I suppose you could say that,” Yuchan muses. Sehyoon notices that his teeth are very white against the cherry red of his lips. “We prefer to work at night.” He smiles again, as if he has given adequate explanation.
Sehyoon shakes his head, bewildered. “And number thirty-five?” he asks. “Non-vegetarians preferred?”
“We simply would prefer the person living here were not uncomfortable with the life we lead.” Sehyoon doesn’t question the odd use of plural. “The last person who moved in was a vegan,” Yuchan looks almost personally offended at the thought, “and it led to some…complications.”
“Sure,” Sehyoon sighs. He’d lived with a pescatarian in his first year and some of the arguments about kitchen cleaning and fridge-usage had been explosive, to say the least. But something tells him — some small voice in the back of his head that sounds awfully like his mother — that it wasn’t mixed use of cutting boards which has caused these ‘complications’.
Silence settles, more than a little awkwardly, in the room. The rest of the house was silent, the other guys probably fast asleep considering their unusual schedule. Sehyoon wishes he could meet them, see if Yuchan is an outlier in his deep unsettlingness.
But Sehyoon is a man out of options with a bank account that only goes so far. And, although some of these rules seem odd and, frankly, a little anal, there aren’t any which set alarm bells ringing too loudly in his mind.
Yuchan seems to sense his hesitance. “We all read your letter, Sehyoon. We are very much hoping that you’ll decide to settle here. You may even come to appreciate its charms, as we do.” The skin under his eyes doesn’t move as he smiles largely. “We’re sure to get along.” He holds out a hand.
Time seems to shimmer loudly between them.
Sehyoon reaches out his hand. “I’m sure we will.”
***
Despite what the outside of the house — and the rest of the inside Yuchan had guided Sehyoon silently through — looked like, the room Sehyoon finds himself in is nice.
Or, at least, solidly decent.
The bed is huge, old fashioned and wooden, with those curtains around it that you see in fancy old movies. There’s a sizeable bookshelf against the wall and a desk that Sehyoon doesn’t think he could move even if he wanted to.
Luckily, he’s not so inclined to really care about furniture placement, so it’ll stay next to the fireplace.
The fireplace.
He sighs as he sinks onto the soft mattress. Sehyoon my friend, he thinks to himself, you really have gotten yourself in over your head this time.
His watch beeps. It must be 6pm. The sun is already clinging onto the horizon by its last fingertips, an unfortunate sign of winter breathing down autumn’s neck.
The suitcase sits, abandoned, on the floor. Cumbersome.
If he unpacks, Sehyoon really will feel obliged to say. As if he’s signed a lease.
Which, weirdly enough, Yuchan didn’t seem too concerned about him doing.
“I’m sure we’ll sort it out between us,” was all Sehyoon had been offered when he’d brought up legal obligations. So as well as being anal, weird, and reclusive, there was probably also something screwy with these guys legally.
Great.
Sehyoon opens his phone for one final, last minute, snoop of the room-sharing apps he’d frantically downloaded, but is interrupted by a soft, almost shy, knock.
“We thought you might be hungry?” The voice on the other side of the door is confident, artificially so. “Do you want to come down an eat?”
It hadn’t occurred to him, but Sehyoon’s stomach complains loudly at the words. He’d skipped lunch packing up his stuff and his breakfast hadn’t been anything to champion.
He sighs.
Sehyoon kicks his shoes under his bed. He can always decide whether or not to stay with a full stomach.
“Sure. One sec.” He tucks his phone in his pocket and checks his reflection in the mirror — fine, nothing spectacular for a rather stressful Tuesday, but handsome as always, he thinks — and crosses to the door.
Oh shit.
The dude behind the door is cute. Like, mad cute. Like Hi, my name’s Sehyoon, I think I’m in love with you already do you want to get married? cute.
“Hi,” Sehyoon says, his voice shrill. “I’m Sehyoon.” He leaves the rest unsaid.
The man grins at him. He’s maybe an inch or two shorter, but his gaze means that doesn’t matter in the slightest. His teeth are startlingly white against the red of his lips, his eyelashes long against the height of his cheekbones.
“I know.” His voice is nice. The part of Sehyoon which grew up watching too many Jane Austen adaptations with his mum swoons, hoping to be caught. “I’m Byeongkwan.” The man holds out an arm, gesturing down the hallway. “Shall we?”
Sehyoon’s head feels light. “We shall,” he says softly, ignoring how the man snorts.
They walk briskly through the halls, the carpet beneath Sehyoon’s socked feet thin, and mildly damn. He wishes he’d put his shoes back on before leaving his room.
It’s odd, in the half an hour since being shown to his room, the house seems to have sprung to life.
Lights have flickered on along the walls, casting tall shadows. Doors which were clamped shut in an unfriendly manner have been left ajar. Music floats from a distant room. The building seems to thrum with a kind of energy.
Sehyoon shivers.
Byeongkwan glances at him over his shoulder. “We have a fire going in the kitchen. We didn’t want you to be cold.”
Sehyoon stumbles a quiet thank you as they reach the wide staircase.
The music is closer now, piano and some sort of string group playing a slow, stately tune. Sehyoon thinks it might be a waltz, but he’s not too certain. It makes him feel like he’s in That Scene from Titanic, although he’s not too sure if that’s necessarily a good thing.
Byeongkwan notices him humming along and a smile tilts the corner of his lips. “That must be Donghun,” he explains. “He does love his tunes.”
As they get closer to the ground floor, the music becomes more intense. Vibrations thrum through Sehyoon’s chest and into his brain, sending his teeth chattering.
He reminds himself to ask about their stereo set. It must be sick at parties.
Not that they’re allowed in this house.
The kitchen is, as Byeongkwan promised, warm. Almost stiflingly so.
Yuchan is perched on a tall stool, a book open in front of him. He looks up as Byeongkwan enters and smiles.
Sehyoon feels a little of the heat in the room dissipate.
“Excellent.” The book closes with a dusty thud. “We’re just about to get started. Byeongkwan, would you collect Donghun from the music room?” Yuchan speaks with a confidence, a sense of authority, that Sehyoon can’t imagine anyone questioning.
“We were about to get started?” A dark haired man near the stove says, his voice mild despite the sneering undertone. “Yuchan if I remember correctly, you were horrified at the idea of cooking food a few days ago.”
Yuchan smiles genially. “Sehyoon, this is Junhee. He’ll be our chef for tonight.” He turns to Junhee. “He is very excited about cooking for us.”
Junhee rolls his eyes, turning back to his cooking board, and Sehyoon lingers awkwardly in the doorway. The only available stool is next to Yuchan, an option which makes his skin crawl.
“He says he’ll be along when he finishes this piece.” Byeongkwan’s voice behind Sehyoon makes him joke. He hadn’t hear him approach. “He doesn’t like to stop playing mid-sonata apparently.”
Yuchan pouts smally, but he nods. “Perfectly understandable.” He looks at Sehyoon. “Please, make yourself comfortable.” He pulls the stool next to him out from under the counter, producing a shrieking scraping noise on the stone floor which makes Sehyoon wince. “What’s ours is yours.”
“Cheers.” Sehyoon’s feet seem to make an awful lot of noise as he crosses to the stool, settling there gingerly. “Um, what’s for dinner?”
Junhee sighs. “Food,” he replies. His back is still firmly facing Sehyoon, but the distain is obvious in his voice.
“Now then Junhee,” Yuchan’s hands fold in front of him. “Let’s remember what we agreed. Sehyoon is one of us now.”
Sehyoon isn’t sure he likes that concept.
“Ah, the maestro approaches.” Byeongkwan’s voice is loud, cutting through the somewhat tense atmosphere with ease.
Sehyoon isn’t sure what he was expecting Donghun to be like, but somehow he is exactly how he pictured: floppy hair falling in front of timeless, dark eyes. His shoulders and lips are downturned, weighted by something.
But his smile when he spots Donghun seems genuine enough. “The maestro is only what they call me when they’re feeling spiteful,” he explains, looping a friendly — yet somehow threatening — arm over Byeongkwan’s shoulders.
“I liked what you were playing,” Sehyoon offers shyly. “You must have one hell of a speaker system.”
Donghun’s eyebrows flutter with confusion and he pouts. “Yes, something like that.” His eyes flutter across the kitchen to Junhee’s moody back. “There’s a sight I never thought I’d see,” he laughs. “Junhee in an apron.”
Junhee turns, scowling, and seems to seriously consider bludgeoning Donghun with the rolling pin in his hands. “So you’re not going to help me either, then?” His teeth shine in the firelight.
“Junhee,” Donghun placates. “You know you lost that wager fair and square. Besides, you’re the youngest. It’s only right you should cook.”
“Not for long,” Junhee murmurs, but he does in fact turn back to the counter in front of him. “I hope you’re not allergic to anything.”
Sehyoon startles when he realises he’s being addressed. “No, nothing,” he says. “Unless there’s any horse hair in there.” He laughs awkwardly at his bad joke
“I wish,” Junhee murmurs darkly, but Sehyoon elects to ignore him.
***
If waiting in the kitchen while Junhee finished cooking was an awkward affair, then dinner is positively icy.
Despite being asked by Yuchan to set the table, Donghun seems to have only set out a single plate and set of cutlery, which Sehyoon now sits behind.
The food emerges from the kitchen, plate after plate, dish after dish, until the table is piled high with a veritable feast. Pies and stews and roasts and other dishes that Sehyoon isn’t quite sure he knows the name for.
“Please, enjoy.” Yuchan is seated opposite him, gesturing widely at the offerings between them. “We ate earlier,” Byeongkwan sniffs beside Sehyoon, “but we wanted to make sure you felt welcome.”
Sehyoon doesn’t enjoy eating alone, let in front of other people, least of all with those other people watching his every move so very carefully. But he imagines he would enjoy Junhee’s disapproval even less, so he serves himself a healthy dose of what he imagines to be shepherd’s pie.
The first mouthful is an adventure. The second is an ordeal. He doesn’t know whether he can muster up a third.
“Is this shepherd’s pie?” He downs a healthy mouthful of water, disappointed that it doesn’t wash away more of the flavour.
Junhee nods, lips pursed. “It is indeed. A hundred percent real shepherd.” His lips spread into a smile as Donghun cackles.
“Yeah,” Sehyoon laughs weakly, “good one.” His dad used to make the same joke every week.
But his dad’s cooking didn’t taste like the joke might actually be true.
He moves on, instead, to a roasted chicken, a little to his left. At least he knows the ingredients of this one.
He cuts into the breast and feels his mouth drop open.
The meat inside is bright pink, the cooked meat a little less than the top layer.
“I do hope it’s not overdone.” Junhee smiles. “There’s nothing worse than overcooked flesh.”
Sehyoon sets down the knife. “I think I’m all full up, actually.” His stomach feels wobbly. “I might need an early night.”
“Oh what a shame,” Yuchan frowns. “You’ve not even tried the fish.”
The dish in question glares morosely up at Sehyoon. He isn’t sure it’s been anywhere near an oven.
“I had a big lunch,” he lies. “But this was delicious. Maybe we could enjoy some for lunch tomorrow?” He curses himself for inflicting this meal on future Sehyoon, but he had little choice in the matter.
Yuchan stands, prompting the others to follow. “Yes, perhaps,” he says. “We’ll clear this up, don’t you worry. Go and get some rest. Moving into a new place can be ever so…draining.”
Byeongkwan snorts.
Sehyoon thinks they might all be insane.
***
He washes up in the grotesquely large bathroom near his room, pondering how he’s going to get out of this place tomorrow without arousing suspicion.
He could always throw his suitcase out of the window and follow suit, he supposes, but he also remembers the time he broke his arm climbing out of a ground floor window escaping a boy’s mother. An experience which he would rather not repeat.
Maybe he could just leave his stuff behind and pretend to be going to work and never return.
But his favourite hoodie is in that bag. He’s never been able to find anything quite as comfortable in five years of looking so he’d rather not lose it.
“He’s not as bad as he seems.”
Sehyoon jumps, a strangled squeak escaping his throat. He chokes on a globule of toothpaste, looking over his shoulder when he’s finished thinking he’s about to die.
“I didn’t mean to scare you.” Byeongkwan grins. “You were very involved in your tooth brushing.”
Sehyoon shakes his head. It’s fine he says with a shrug of his shoulders.
“I mean Junhee, by the way. He’s not as unfriendly as he seemed today. He’s just…out of practice with outsiders.”
Outsiders. Interesting way of putting it. Sehyoon raises an eyebrow.
Byeongkwan tilts his head. “None of us get out much, shall we say.”
I can tell, Sehyoon wants to say. But he doesn’t.
“But we’re very much looking forward to you joining us, Sehyoon. You’ll fit right in.” Byeongkwan steps closer. His pupils are very dark. “And I’m very much looking forward to getting to know you.”
Sehyoon swallows, flinching at the mint as it burns his throat. “Likewise,” he croaks.
Byeongkwan hovers a millisecond longer, something playful in his face. But he turns before it can emerge. “Sleep well, Sehyoon.”
“Yeah, you too.”
The door clicks shut. Sehyoon turns back to the mirror with a sigh.
Well, he thinks, now this really is a pickle.