Work Text:
When a house is ugly, realtors say it has character.
The stairs are creaking? The house isn’t old, that’s actually part of its history!
The light is randomly turning on and off at weird times? That’s not a ghost, just a sign that someone once built this house with love, even if they weren’t a good electrician!
There’s mold on the ceiling? Yeah, you should probably call a professional about that.
In her five years as a realtor, Teresa has learned a lot of these little tricks and stories to sell houses that should probably be classified as fixer-uppers. She doesn’t love telling those white lies, but she doesn’t like having no money either, unfortunately.
But when she steps into the living room with the large bay window and turns around to her clients with a trained, pleasant smile to say, “Now this house has real character,” she means it for once.
House Violetta was built in the early 1950s by Violetta Hall, a quite eccentric woman, if the stories going around the realtor's office are to be believed. Teresa is almost certain that part of this rumor simply started because Violetta was a woman who never seemed to be tied to any man and, therefore, was received as a spinster by her neighbors.
Then again, she named her house after herself and painted it a bright violet. Both might be part of the equation.
“It’s really charming, don’t you think?” Says the woman opposite Teresa half-heartedly. The corresponding husband exhales a long breath that makes Teresa want to roll her eyes. Her tolerance for men is going rather thin these days.
“Wait until you see the kitchen,” Teresa interjects before the husband can make a snarky comment at his wife. “Please, follow me.”
They do as they are told, but before Teresa can open her mouth to sugar-coat the state of the kitchen appliances, the wife squeaks in surprise and clings to her husband’s arms. “What is that?” She stammers, staring wide-eyed at the kitchen ceiling.
“That is…rather…strange,” adds the husband, finally agreeing with his wife for once as he follows her gaze.
Pressing her lips into a thin line, Teresa looks slowly above herself. With a soft creak, the kitchen lamp is swaying above her. Alright, she can save this. “Oh, didn’t I mention? The windows in the kitchen don’t close completely. The wind outside,” there is no wind outside, ”can move this lamp from time to time.”
Not her best lie, but believable enough. If the lamp wouldn’t start swinging even more as she finishes her words. So much that the wind stops being a believable explanation.
The couple shares a look. Teresa isn’t good at reading other people, but even she can tell what it means. “Um, thank you? But this house isn’t really…”
“What my wife wants to say is that we are not interested in this property,” the husband interrupts with such certain confidence that Teresa wants to retch.
“Of course,” she says through a forced smile. “I have some other properties that I think you will love even more!” The lamp above her stops moving at once, which makes her clients tense even more. “I will give you a call first thing tomorrow to agree on a good time to view them, if that’s alright with you.”
“Yes, do that,” the husband says absentmindedly while taking a small but noticeable step backwards. “Um, thank you.”
Teresa leads them back to the door, trying to ignore the urgent whispers that pass between the couple. “Goodbye, have a nice evening,” Teresa says when they are out of the door, but neither of them is looking back at her while they hurry to their black sedan.
As soon as the door falls back into its frame, Teresa allows her shoulders to slacken and her smile to drop. With a few purposeful strides, she makes her way across the living room and lets herself fall into one of those soulless-looking and uncomfortable armchairs that were put into the house for viewings.
Her ironed skirt crumples as she kicks off her pumps and draws her feet up on the light gray cushion. With a small sigh, she lets her head fall back and closes her eyes, enjoying the silence for a few seconds.
A door opens gently.
“I’m not talking to you.”
The same door falls back into its hinges with more force than necessary. A small smile can’t stop itself from dancing across Teresa’s lipstick-adorned lips. After the day she’s had, she can’t find it in herself to be mad anymore.
“I take it back,” she says, eyes still closed. “I’m honestly just glad to be rid of these two for now. You wouldn’t believe how many things some people can denounce in perfectly good houses.”
A soft wind, sounding like a sigh, echoes through the house, and Teresa laughs. “Okay, maybe you can.”
Violetta can’t really be described as a “perfectly good” house, but at least she’s funny.
And Teresa can’t think too much about how she just laughed at a joke made by a literal house. Or talking to one in the first place.
The nights she had spent lying awake questioning her mental state are over, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t aware of how ridiculous her situation is. Teresa has given up trying to find possible explanations for the answering signs the house is giving her or the small pranks Violetta plays on Teresa's clients.
It goes against everything she believes as a science major, but since she can’t find any other reason for this house’s behavior, she has to believe it’s something out of the realm of her knowledge. Furthermore, and she’s reluctant to admit it, she has grown fond of Violetta in the past three months she’s been trying to sell the house.
“You didn’t like these people much either, didn’t you?” Teresa cracks open a tired eye to see the wall scone opposite her flicker two times. As a scientist at heart, she decided to make the best out of a mind-boggling situation and came up with a simple code. One flicker means yes, two flickers mean no, more flickers mean Violetta is trying to annoy her.
“Yeah, me neither. That man is a total dick to his wife.” She slides deeper into her seat with a long exhale, deciding that she can stay here for a few more minutes before she has to head back into the ruthless world of the housing market. “Men are exhausting.” At that, Violetta opens and closes a door like applause.
~~~
Being a person in her late twenties who moved town after her graduation, threw herself into work immediately after that, and has trouble opening up to people, Teresa can count her friends on one hand — sentient house included. The friends she does have are only in her life because, by a stroke of luck, a friendly extrovert decided that they wanted her out of all people in their social circle.
Thomas is one of those lucky strikes.
And with Thomas comes a big batch of people that Teresa wouldn’t necessarily classify as friends, but who accepted her into their group and never forget to invite her to any gatherings and activities. (Even though they know that she will probably decline.) She often feels like an anomaly in those spaces, like a scientific phenomenon that people find interesting at first, but quickly lose interest as soon as they discover that this phenomenon comes with a whole bunch of difficult-to-understand parameters.
There might be a correlation between Thomas being her closest friend and him being a science major as well.
Notably, a science major who was actually able to turn that stupid degree into a well-paying job and can afford to buy a house at age 29.
“So this is the house that is giving you trouble?” He asks on a cold but sunny Wednesday afternoon, looking up at Violetta with the same look he uses on everything he finds even mildly fascinating. Which could be a scientific problem, but also a pizza bagel that has been left on the ground of a shopping mall parking lot.
“You could say that,” Teresa murmurs. She hasn’t told Thomas anything about the possible supernatural background of Violetta. She feels guilty about this. Thomas is the person she trusts most, and she knows he would believe her and immediately go to find a reasonable explanation. But…maybe she doesn’t want that.
Violetta stands proudly in the late afternoon sun. Something Teresa has noted about this house from the moment she first saw it was how, with the almost centered bay window and the two second-floor windows above, House Violetta looks like she’s sporting a wide grin. Knowing what she does now, Teresa can’t help but be amused by the coincidence.
“That is…an interesting color.” Teresa looks over her shoulder at Thomas’ boyfriend, Minho, who eyes the outside of the house with a skeptical look.
“I think it suits you,” Newt teases Minho with a twinkle in his eyes. How Thomas manages having two boyfriends, a full-time job in science, about ten different hobbies, and time for all of his friends is absolutely beyond Teresa, who is overwhelmed when she has to choose from a takeaway menu with two people behind her in line.
“You’re not the first one to dismiss that color,” Teresa says, trying hard to find a good balance between talking to a client and talking to people she cares about. “The outside of the house would have to be redone either way. She hasn’t been renovated ever since being built in the early fifties.”
“She?” Thomas raises his brows at her. Teresa can feel the heat rushing into her cheeks and silently thanks the chilly weather for posing a good excuse.
“Ah, this property is named House Violetta. Slip of the tongue.”
Thomas looks like he wants to ask more questions, but Newt unknowingly comes to Teresa’s aid.
“I love the porch, there’s definitely space for a nice swing. And the window shudders are pretty charming.”
“If they weren’t purple,” Minho mumbles and receives a deserved elbow in the side by Thomas.
“We can just paint them neon pink,” Newt retorts with a grin just before one of the shudders snaps shut.
Violetta is not good at handling irony, Teresa muses. Then she realizes that her first thought should indeed have been, “Oh my god, my friends are going to think I’m crazy if this house tries to scare them away.”
Once again, the weather is there to deliver a good excuse as the wind picks up just in time.
To carry that momentum, Teresa jumps right in. “I do have to warn you that this house will need some TLC before it becomes a home.”
“That’s okay,” Thomas says without batting an eye. “I already watched about a thousand tutorials on YouTube on how to fix up houses.”
Teresa, Newt, and Minho exchange knowing looks. This tiny showcase of intimacy leaves Teresa with a warm feeling in her chest, and she can feel her cheeks heating right up again. “Do you want to see the inside and use your newfound knowledge?”
“You mean boast about it,” Minho complains as he walks past Thomas and ruffles up his already messy hair with a grin.
“You won’t be laughing anymore when I change the entire electric system of our new home!”
Newt’s eyes widen in alarm, and Teresa can’t hide a snicker. “Don’t worry, Newt, it isn’t too bad in this house.”
“Thank god. I prefer my Thomas unfried,” he says with a knowing smile at Teresa. When they head inside, they find Thomas and Minho already discussing the reading nook that they could install for Newt around the bay window. Teresa allows herself to relax the tiniest bit. Maybe this will be good. Maybe Violetta will finally accept these wonderful people inside her walls. Which would only leave the challenge of Teresa having to explain what kind of…characteristic traits the property comes with.
She wouldn’t be Teresa Agnes if she were scared of a challenge.
Only worried and anxious about it — but never too scared to shy away from it.
This time, Violetta actually lets the group proceed past the kitchen. With every new room Teresa can show Thomas, Minho, and Newt, her anxiety mellows out. No random flickers, no doors opening autonomously, no furniture scooting around untouched.
Everything is going smoothly. Until the bathroom on the second floor of the building.
“The tab is running,” Newt says in surprise and immediately goes to close it. “I would have thought that a house like this would be cut off from the water supply.”
Yes, it should be, Teresa thinks as panic starts to rise. “They forget this kind of thing more often than you might think!” Her state of mind must be noticeable in her voice, if Thomas’ mildly concerned look is anything to go by. Ah, the great disadvantage of having friends. Being known.
“Well, I’m sure Tom the Builder over here can fix it,” Minho jokes and turns around to leave the bathroom just as the tap opens up again. A small V appears between his eyebrows.
“That’s…strange.” Newt dutifully closes the tap again. It opens as soon as his fingers leave the faucet. The jet of water runs with more force than before.
The four of them stand in a half circle in the bathroom, looking dumbfounded down at the running water.
Teresa swears she will be the one who haunts Violetta when this is over.
“What the hell was that?” Teresa is fuming when she steps into the living room, the heels of her pumps clacking in an angry rhythm.
Truthfully, Thomas, Minho, and Newt didn’t seem entirely put off by the tap incident. They had been nice about it, even. Teresa doesn’t know if that was only because they see her as a friend and didn’t want to question her professional expertise. The look Thomas gave her when they hugged goodbye was full of wondrous curiosity, as if he could sense that Teresa is keeping something from him.
With a frustrated grunt, Teresa pulls out the hair tie that has been holding her hair in a neat, tight ponytail. Dark strands spill over her shoulders as she shakes it out. Violetta stays eerily silent, which only fuels Teresa’s anger.
“I get it that you don’t want to be sold to some random weird people, but those were my f-friends.” She stumbles over the last word, her tongue not accustomed to saying it out loud. “They are good people who would take great care of you if you weren’t such a stubborn,” she balls her hands into fists, “arrogant little house! Changing the color of your walls isn’t a big deal, Violetta!” Teresa stomps on her foot, immediately feeling like a little kid. She usually doesn’t have anyone to be angry with.
A few seconds pass, where only Teresa’s fitful breathing can be heard in the almost empty room. Long enough so that guilt can bleed into Teresa’s anger. “I just don’t know what you could possibly want. You’re…a house, goddammit.”
More seconds of silence pass. Teresa could suddenly cry. “I’m….sorry for freaking out,” she manages with lips that are threatening to wobble. Lacking any of her carefully trained professional grace, Teresa sinks onto the cold floor, spreading out her legs in a way that would make her mother gasp in disappointment.
Then again, lesser things have made her gasp in disappointment.
“I think I do understand you.” Her voice is merely a whisper now. Since the situation couldn’t be much stranger — she is currently about to vent her feelings to a house after all — Teresa decides that it’s okay for her to flat out lie down on the ground in her white blouse and dark brown pencil skirt.
The ground feels warmer now. “You probably loved your former owner a lot, didn’t you? Or…maybe you are the former owner?” She glances at the wall sconce above her, but there is no light. “Or maybe you don’t really know who you are either. I get it.” The wall scone glints softly, and Teresa smiles sadly back at it.
“Look at us,” she says, and spreads out her arms on the smooth hardwood floors. “Just two girls with difficult personalities and high standards! I mean…sorry, that’s not very feminist of me, is it? We’re not difficult per se, just hard to understand. Unique in our own way, aren’t we? Waiting for the right people to come along and love us the way we are.”
As it turns out, Teresa has more in common with a purple house than with the people around her. Everyone seems to have their life together, have a job they love, and have a group of people they call their family. Teresa loves having Thomas in her life, but she often finds herself sad that she cannot have what he has. She can’t talk to people as easily as him, unless it’s in a professional context. She doesn’t joke around as easily and isn’t able to throw herself into anything other than the work that she doesn’t even like that much. He made his passion his career, while she turned her back on science after her mentor, Ava, killed her spirit. She was never enough. She could be more like Thomas if she put more work and mental strength into it. But she doesn’t know how to be someone she is not.
When Teresa cracks open her eyes, everything around her is wrapped in darkness except for the wall sconce that is glowing softly above her. Even without moving, she can tell that her neck is stiff.
With a grunt that is embarrassing for her age, she pushes herself off the hardwood floor and blinks tiredly. “Did I…fall asleep?” The scone blinks once. Now, those are new highs in her life.
She doesn’t have it in her to get up entirely just yet, so she stays sitting on the floor for a few more minutes. Her skirt is pushed up to the middle of her thighs, her hair must be an absolute mess, and her body hurts. And yet, she feels strangely better than before. “Thanks for taking care of me,” she says and gently pats the floor next to her. A door creaks happily behind her.
Finally, Teresa manages to get to her feet and get her purse from where she dropped it next to the entrance. Her phone screen is an unwelcome brightness next to Violetta's cozy glow. Teresa swipes away everything that isn’t work-related — which isn’t much, save for some notifications from YouTube and some other app she never uses — but her thumb hovers over the lonely text message she’s got.
Teresa can strangely feel that Violetta is reading the text as well. “Oh, um…I guess I haven’t told you about Brenda, have I?” The scone blinks twice, rather accusingly, and Teresa laughs softly. “I’m sorry, it’s just…weird for me to talk about this kind of thing.”
Brenda is a friend of a friend, truthfully. One of Thomas’ many acquaintances, he mentioned recently enough that Teresa remembers the names. Brenda and Teresa met at the quarterly instance that Teresa actually followed an invitation to one of Thomas’ gatherings. It was a nice summer day, and Teresa had just brought a beautiful yellow summer dress. With pockets! Riding that high, she had decided that such a nice dress (with pockets!!) should be worn out and about somewhere.
And so she had found herself wearing that same gorgeous dress, suddenly stained with a smear of ketchup, in front of the most captivating women Teresa had ever met. That same woman had a horrified expression on her face and a hot dog bun in her hand. The accompanying sausage loaded with ketchup had just landed on Teresa’s dress.
Now, after a few months of pretty one-sided texting and a bunch of hot dog emojis, Teresa and Brenda were recently seeing each other for cooking nights with binge-watches of Supernatural episodes.
Teresa tells Violetta as much, even though she probably doesn’t know what Supernatural is.
“I feel guilty for neglecting to text her as much lately,” Teresa admits as she opens their chat. Her last message had been over a week ago, while Brenda had sent her a bunch of links to videos on new space discoveries and pictures of Jensen Ackles. Her most recent message reads: hey hey, hope youre doing well!! are you free next week?? thomas mentioned that youre super busy, so no pressure!! <3
As Teresa reads the message, Brenda sends a GIF of Dean Winchester saying, “You’re awesome.” Immediately followed by: (damn, what if hes the ONLY man ever)
Unable to hold it back and still half in sleep delirium, Teresa barks a laugh. The kitchen faucet turns quickly on and off, sounding like a chuckle.
“You’re right, Violetta,” Teresa says with glowing cheeks. “I should see her soon.”
~~~
Teresa always takes horribly and embarrassingly long to pick out an outfit before she goes to visit Brenda. They are not dating. They are not. They are not quite friends either, Teresa thinks? Putting this kind of label on things, especially relationships, has always been a challenge for her.
As a person-that-might-be-dating-Brenda-or-maybe-not, she finally decides on a comfortable wool sweater with a turtle-neck, warm black tights, and her favorite maxi skirt. Her hair flows in soft waves that look effortless, but actually took half an hour to get just right. She put on her favorite perfume as well, which Brenda always compliments.
Feeling like a teenager with a crush, Teresa now stands in front of the door to Brenda’s apartment complex, a bag of Brenda’s favorite candy in hand. A gentle cloud of air puffs up in front of her as she exhales a steadying breath before ringing the bell. Just two seconds later, the door buzzes open.
Teresa decided to attribute her nerves to the fact that they hadn’t seen each other as often during the last couple of weeks. She hopes that Brenda isn’t mad at her for leaving her in radio silence for some days.
Her theory vanishes into thin air when Brenda peeks out of her apartment door, beaming brightly, and Teresa’s heart rate picks up. Chances of Brenda being mad are reduced to nearly zero. So why is Teresa's body showing this kind of reaction?
“I’m so glad you came!” Brenda says and pulls Teresa into a tight hug, rubbing her hand soothingly over Teresa’s back. “God, why do you always smell so good?” Bright eyes are catching Teresa’s as Brenda leans back. Technically, Teresa knows that a compliment is due in return, but her ever-working brain fails to come up with one quick enough.
“I, uh, brought these,” she says, holding out the packet of Skittles she brought. Brenda gasps happily and rips it from Teresa, holding it up like the Holy Grail and walking ceremoniously back into her apartment. Laughing, Teresa follows her.
The difference between their apartments is vast. Where Teresa’s is usually clean as a whistle and everything has its own place, Brenda’s apartment seems to change a little every time Teresa is here. Trinkets and decor are scattered everywhere; there is typically a blanket somewhere on the ground, and Teresa loves everything about it. This apartment truly has character, just like Violetta. No furniture matches, since Brenda thrifted almost everything. An array of lamps in various shapes and sizes is strewn around the apartment, casting everything in soft, orange light. A candle smelling of lavender is lit on the coffee table, which is covered in books and tea stains.
Teresa steps into the tiny kitchen that is joined to the living room. Brenda already has her hand in the bag of Skittles, chewing happily. “These are my favorites,” she says, as if Teresa wouldn’t know that. “Do you want some?”
“No, thanks, I want to leave room for dinner,” Teresa admits, peering at the ingredients that Brenda has already laid out on the counter.
“You’re so much smarter than me,” Brenda sighs, defeated, and puts her sweet treasure down.
Together, they start working on their vegan chickpea potato curry with home-made naan, while Hozier is singing from the Bluetooth speakers about people buried in soft soil and sweet kisses traded between ill-fated lovers.
Cooking has never been Teresa’s favorite activity, but she enjoys the way Brenda takes the lead and tells her exactly how small to chop the potatoes and how thin to roll out the dough. This has become one of the few instances where Teresa gladly gives up control, because Brenda’s recipes always turn out perfect and impossibly comforting.
This is the case now as well. Sitting on the couch, Teresa inhales the sweet and spicy scent of her curry while Brenda puts the DVD in the player. Being a collector and huge fan of physical media, Brenda hunted down all 15 seasons at a local thrift market. She must have a natural gift or something.
“Oh, you are going to love these next episodes,” Brenda chimes and lowers herself into her seat next to Teresa, pulling up her legs to cross them. Their knees are touching now, and Teresa is definitely, deliberately, not thinking too much into it.
The two women settle into comfortable silence as the episode starts playing, and they're enjoying their food. It took a while for Teresa to feel truly comfortable in this initially unfamiliar apartment. The first time they hung out, she was mostly sitting ramrod straight on the edge of the couch, not knowing how appropriate it would be to sink into the soft cushions with her street clothes.
Thankfully, Brenda is patient when it comes to this kind of thing, and now, three seasons into Supernatural, Teresa even uses a pillow to rest her bowl of curry on. They watch Sam and Dean as they begrudgingly help a group of self-proclaimed supernatural investigators navigate a house that’s being haunted.
“What would you do if your house were haunted?” Brenda looks expectantly over at Teresa. The candlelight reflects in her dark brown eyes.
“That depends on the ghost, I guess.” There is too much truth behind this statement. “If they’re nice, I think I could deal with it. And…not a man, because that would be weird.”
Seemingly pleased with that answer, Brenda snorts. “I’d be okay with it if that ghost were you.”
An opening for a flirtatious, clever comeback. Teresa opens her mouth to say something, but her brain isn’t able to process this kind of offer quickly enough. She looks down into her curry, as if she could find a cooler, more playful version of herself down there.
Too late for a declaration of adoration, Teresa only knows to swim back into safer waters. “I…do you believe in this kind of thing?”
“Ghosts?”
“Yes?”
A small smile flits over Brenda’s lips at Teresa’s uncertainty. “I do, yes.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
Teresa’s ears start burning. “I mean, that’s cool.” Now, Brenda’s undivided attention turns on her, Winchester brothers forgotten on the screen. Her upper body twists towards Teresa, her head leaning to the side, ready to listen to every word. Teresa is suddenly an interesting beetle under Brenda’s magnifying glass.
“Do you believe in ghosts, scientist?” That little word in Brenda’s husky voice might be the hottest thing Teresa has heard in a long while. She doesn’t know how to feel about this.
Teresa runs her hand through her hair and averts her eyes. A few months ago, the answer would have come easily to her as a strict no. But now she talks to a literal house at least twice a week as if they are close friends. Where would she even begin to explain?
“I believe that many reported ghost sightings can be explained by simple facts, say, for example, gas leaks in old, run-down ‘haunted’ houses. Human brains are also set to recognize faces in things that, well, aren’t faces. This is called pareidolia.” Teresa looks around the room and points at a crumpled pillow on Brenda’s armchair. “See, that pillow looks a bit like the face of an old person. That’s what pareidolia is.”
Brenda looks at the pillow attentively and smiles. For a second, Teresa is afraid that it’s one of the mocking kind. One of those that her classmates at school would throw her way when she gave a smart-ass answer during class. She’s about to fumble out an apology when Brenda’s eyes meet hers again, and her heart stops a beat.
“Pareidolia,” Brenda repeats, rolling the word around with her tongue. “I like the sound of that.”
“It derives from the ancient Greek words… never mind, it doesn’t matter.”
“What ancient Greek words does it derive from?” Brenda leans forward, just enough for Teresa to notice. She almost gets lost in the depths of Brenda’s gaze and the way her lips part just ever so slightly.
Teresa gulps down her apology and other unspoken thoughts she needs to keep to herself. “Pará, which can mean ‘beside’ or ‘instead of’ and eídōlon, which stands for ‘image’ or ‘shape’,” she rattles down, her eyes seeking comfort in the old-man-pillow-face. “Don’t ask me how I know that,” she adds with a self-conscious laugh.
“How do you know that?”
Even without looking, Teresa can feel Brenda’s interested gaze on her in the dim lights of the living room. It’s a strange feeling. Part of her is embarrassed by the attention. She has learned to keep these bursts of random facts to herself early on in her life. The other part of her wants to bathe in this attention, wrap it around herself like a coat, and face the cold world outside in its warmth.
Mustering all the mental strength she has, Teresa turns her head to meet Brenda’s eyes. “I have a subscription to Psychology Today.”
Brenda blinks before bursting out in a laugh. Before Teresa can even begin to wish that a meteor would strike her, Brenda explains herself. “Sorry, that’s just so freaking cute.”
“Cute?” Teresa’s voice jumps an octave. The last time she was being praised for reading what society deems as boring, she was in 4th grade, borrowing “Feynman Lectures on Physics Volume 3 – Quantum Mechanics” from the school’s library.
“Cute. Impressive. Smart. Weirdly sexy,” Brenda lists, counting along with her fingers.
“Weirdly sexy?!” Teresa repeats, unable to tame her pitch to normal heights.
Brenda’s eyes widen. “Oh god, sorry! Did I make you uncomfortable? Sorry, I just babbled without thinking. I mean, I did think when I called you cute and smart and impressive, but I should have probably kept back the weirdly sexy. Both parts of that, actually.” She takes a deep breath and, for a second, both women simply stare at each other, their faces glowing in the candlelight.
Then, Teresa bursts out laughing. Not her sweet, girl-next-door, but make it professional laugh she uses on her clients. The laugh that Thomas once lovingly described as ‘the sound of an ancient steam engine’. Quickly, she covers her mouth with her hand, eyes wide in shock, which only makes Brenda laugh in return. Teresa feels herself smile against her palm.
“Let’s agree that we’re both a bit messy and weird?” Brenda runs her hand through her shoulder-length hair, grinning from ear to ear as if nothing and no one could take that smile off her face. Teresa feels slightly dizzy from all that emotional whiplash. She never wants this feeling to end.
“Okay. I think I like messy and weird.”
“Well, you’re spending time with me, after all.”
“I also like spending time with you.” Teresa’s bravery is rewarded with a bashful look on Brenda’s face. It is, however, quickly wiped away by one of her confident smiles, which makes Teresa even more grateful for a glimpse at the Brenda that other people don’t get to see that often.
Their lingering gazes are put to an end when the outro music of their episodes starts playing on the TV.
“I think we might have to start that over,” Brenda says, and gets up to grab the remote that she has left on the TV bench.
“I’m gonna hurry to the bathroom,” Teresa declares, and quite literally does hurry. As soon as the bathroom door closes behind her, she takes a deep breath and takes a good look at herself in the mirror. She is surprised to find the big smile still stuck to her face, and holds the back of her hands to her cheeks to cool down her heated face.
In reality, she just needed a few minutes to herself to process this entire conversation and how it made her feel. She isn’t used to people being actually interested in what she has to say and not just pretending to listen in virtue of social norms. Then again, she also isn’t used to actually presenting people with her useless knowledge in the first place.
She goes back to doing what she does best: analyzing a situation by listing the facts. Fact number one: Teresa feels comfortable enough around Brenda to be herself to a certain extent. Fact number two: Brenda just got sheepish around her for the first time, because she accidentally voiced her real feelings towards Teresa. Which leads to fact number three: Brenda thinks Teresa is cute. And smart. And…sexy?
Teresa watches as her cheeks go red in the mirror.
If she thinks about this too much, she might never venture out of this small bathroom again.
With one last, long exhale, Teresa braces herself to face Brenda again. She flushes the toilet because she is an overthinker and can’t have Brenda suspect that she just hid for a few minutes, washes her hands, and goes back to the living room. Brenda has cleared away their bowls and put some snacks out on the coffee table, including the Skittles, some chocolate pretzels, and purple grapes.
When she hears her approach, Brenda turns to Teresa and smiles at her warmly. The socially awkward part of Teresa wants to sprint back to the bathroom, but that new, cute, smart, sexy part of her makes her sit down a little closer than before to Brenda.
As if it’s the most natural thing in the world, Brenda puts her arm on the back of the couch, right behind Teresa. She can feel the warmth emitting from it and wishes for nothing more than to lean into the almost-touch.
This is a decision she can make, Teresa realizes. Brenda is giving her an opening, which she can choose to take or leave. And since bravery seems to be the overarching theme of her day, Teresa relaxes into the couch, trying not to shiver pleasantly when Brenda’s arm touches the back of her shoulders. In her periphery, Teresa catches the bright smile on Brenda’s lips.
~~~
A message pings on Teresa’s phone right as she says goodbye to the young family of four that just decided on purchasing an, in Teresa’s opinion, soulless concrete house in one of these neighborhoods that has recently popped out of seemingly nowhere. These are Teresa’s least favorite kind of houses to sell, not that she likes her job very much anyway. But selling means more money for her company, meaning a happy boss, meaning she gets paid and receives bonuses from time to time.
However, her boss doesn’t seem to be happy right now.
Hello, Miss Agnes, the text message from Mrs. Cooper reads. As I’ve heard, the house on Magnolia Street still hasn’t sold. I realize it’s not in the perfect condition many of our valued clients seek out, and that this horrible paint job is putting off some people. But this property is giving us more trouble than it is worth. I want it off the market as soon as possible and expect a report from you about how to make this happen tomorrow morning. Have a good evening.
Teresa sighs and locks her phone without answering, holding it in her hand because these stupid pencil skirts don’t give her any space to put it away. I wouldn’t have this problem with a lab coat, she thinks, but quickly pushes these thoughts to the side. She’s long put that career behind herself. Her job is relatively stable. For not being trained in this profession, she does pretty good work. She gets paid way more than she would in most other jobs that she could consider with her set of skills. And yet.
And yet.
Her phone pings again. Teresa almost doesn’t check it because even though she just closed an excellent deal, her boss’ message gets to her. Violetta needs to go off the market. Usually, this means that she should just offer the deal to the first people who come around and show even mild interest in a purchase, but Teresa can’t bring herself to give up Violetta to some strangers. Last week, she had a guy over who did want to buy. He was unpleasant, weirdly flirty with her, and told her how he’d redo every last corner of the house.
She told him that the house has termites.
Violetta doesn’t have termites.
Teresa felt sorry for implying it, but at least it warded the guy off without Violetta’s help.
Another ping from her phone, and this time, she actually checks. Expecting another order from her boss, her heart leaps happily when she sees Brenda’s name on the screen.
hey you, hows your day been going? <3
Right underneath, there’s a picture of a slim black cat sitting on a brick wall outside Brenda’s apartment building, with the caption: met one of your relatives today!!
Smiling, Teresa starts typing an answer when her phone suddenly flashes with a call from Brenda. Panicking immediately, Teresa picks up without missing a beat.
“Are you okay?”
“Hey, I- what?”
“Are…you okay?”
A second of silence. “Yes, why wouldn’t I?”
Teresa curses silently. Because I’m an overthinking idiot, she wants to say, but settles on: “I’m just not getting used to receiving calls unless it’s an emergency. Sorry.”
“Oh! Don’t worry about it, I’ll warn you next time.”
She should decline, tell Brenda that she doesn’t need to take that precaution. But she’s trying to be a better person for herself, and if her racing heart is any indicator, she needs some boundaries in that regard for now. “That would help me a lot, thank you.”
“No problem, thanks for being honest with me!” Where did the universe hide this woman from Teresa all her life?
“What did you want to tell me?” Teresa’s heels clack as she walks down the concrete stairs to her car.
“I wanted to ask if you’d be free this weekend for a, um, little date.”
Teresa stops in her tracks. That would make it official then, would it? Her poor heart isn’t getting much rest today. “Sure,” she squeaks. She didn’t even check her calendar, but besides worrying about work, trying not to think about work on the weekend, and ending up doing something for work anyway, she knows she isn’t booked.
“I thought we could go to the natural history museum? They currently have an exhibition on Antarctica, and I thought you’d enjoy that. We could go eat ramen afterward if you’d like, I know a great spot.”
Fighting the urge to literally swoon like an early 19th-century lady, Teresa leans against her car with a huge grin. “I would enjoy that.”
“So it’s a date?” Brenda asks hopefully, as if she doesn’t know that Teresa is completely enamored with this idea.
“It’s a date.”
The day’s rollercoaster of emotions has Teresa feeling buzzy and unable to relax at home. She should prepare the report for Mrs. Cooper, but her head comes up empty except for the standard realtor tricks. Although that isn’t entirely correct. She does know a way to sell Violetta and make sure she’ll be in good hands. But her bank account isn’t quite ready for this, even years after taking out her student loan.
Buying Violetta is the only option Teresa could make peace with. But she can’t throw herself into a huge debt after just barely paying off one. And besides, the house is too big for her alone. This shall remain just another one of her hopeless dreams.
Nevertheless, at 10 p.m. on that same day, she finds herself unlocking the door to her favorite purple house. As soon as she steps in, the air inside seems to warm up, and the wall-scones blink happily at her. “Hey, Violetta,” Teresa says with a sad smile.
Is it strange that she wants to hug a house?
It is. It definitely is. But she’s found herself to have stopped caring.
Decisively ignoring the uncomfortable prop-armchair, Teresa sits down in the bay window, kicks off her sneakers, and crosses her legs. She’s only wearing her comfy sweatpants and a hoodie that is two sizes too large, and her hair is pulled up in a crooked pony-tail. Her heart aches from how at home she feels right now.
Then, she starts talking. She talks about how her boss needs her to sell Violetta, getting out the bad news first. She talks about how she doesn’t want any strangers to live in this house. She confesses that she has thought about buying Violetta herself, which makes the light in the room shine brighter. But it dims when Teresa admits that she doesn’t have the necessary funds. She rants about how every one of her clients always points out that they don’t like the purple color and that it makes her angry, because she loves this violet. She loves how unique and ambitious and welcoming this house is, if people could just put their petty thoughts aside and learn to love Violetta for what she is. She sobs that she doesn’t understand why she’s suddenly crying.
And then, because why not get it all out of her system now, she talks about Brenda. How good she makes her feel. How she might have finally found someone who likes her for who she is, in all her weird and complicated ways. How she doesn’t really know where things will go, because she’s never been in this situation with anyone, but that she isn’t scared at all. Which, on its own, would usually scare the shit out of her.
Violetta doesn’t offer any solutions. How could she? But she’s here, she listens, she warms the air around Teresa, dims the light just perfectly, and protects her from the outside world.
And Teresa knows that she could never, ever sell this house to anyone.
~~~
hey teresa! newt, minho and i are hosting a little game night on saturday!! do you wanna come?? we’re playing monopoly and i know you love monopoly
Hey Thomas, thank you so much for asking. I actually do have plans on Saturday, can you believe it? :)
OMYGOD WA´HAT??
YOU’RE HAVING PLANS!!
THAT’S SO COOOOOL
Calm down now, I’m feeling made fun off!
NO GENIUNELY THAT’S COOL!!
huh
brenda also has plans on saturday, what a coincidence ;)))))
No comment!!
have fun you two heheheh <333333
…
Thanks. <3
~~~
There’s rarely anything Teresa loves as much as having a big, steaming bowl of freshly made ramen in front of her. It’s only made better when she has just come in from the cold outside and each drop of broth warms her from the inside out.
Brenda is also a really nice bonus.
She’s sitting opposite Teresa in a cute little corner booth, hair a little damp from the melting snowflakes, and head thrown back in a laugh. The broth isn’t the only thing that’s warming Teresa.
Teresa can’t remember the last time she had such a nice day. Brenda had picked her up at noon, and they spent four hours in the museum, taking the time to check out every exhibit. They read every single description, shoulders pressed together, hands brushing sheepishly. Teresa almost collapsed when, after four rooms, Brenda finally entwined their fingers casually. She didn’t let go unless she absolutely had to.
After that, they got some seasonal coffee drinks and simply strolled around the city, holding hands and talking about everything and nothing all the same. Teresa doesn’t remember the last time she went out with someone like that, if there ever was one to begin with. She thought she wasn’t the type for public displays of affection, but here she is now, sitting in a beautiful Japanese restaurant opposite a gorgeous woman, pressing their ankles together under the table.
Going out with Brenda feels like solving a particularly difficult equation after years of confusion. Like everything suddenly makes sense since Teresa found the missing piece, and she can finally put down her chalk and face the world with fresh energy. Even her ramen tastes better with Brenda opposite her, which she didn’t believe possible.
“..and then I told Janson that he can stick that USB drive up his ass,” Brenda includes her thrilling story of how she had a dispute with her team lead — and got away with it.
Teresa snorts and almost drops her precious noodles from the spoon back into the bowl. “He deserved that! I wish I could be as bold as you, but I just swallow it down and deal with it on my own.”
Brenda nods supportively. “I haven’t always been like this, so I get it. And to be fair, it often gets in the way as well.” She lifts one shoulder in a crooked shrug and grins. “But hey, I am who I am, and if people can’t take me as I am, I guess they don’t deserve me.”
Smiling down at her ramen, Teresa tries to work up the courage for a compliment, but Brenda is quicker. “What would you tell your boss if you had the courage?”
Teresa looks up at Brenda, caught off guard by the question. “Oh. Good question.” She doesn’t have to think long about this. Finally, the arguments she’s had in her head are useful for something. “I would tell her that selling houses isn’t the most important thing in the world, that I don’t care whether I make her 2 million or 2.2 million dollars, that I hate lying to people just to sell a house way above its worth, and that…that I…quit?”
Brenda’s brows lift curiously. “You want to quit?”
“No! I mean…you asked what I would tell her if I was bolder, right?”
“I think that means you want to quit.”
They stare at each other for a few seconds before Teresa can’t stand it anymore and slumps her shoulders with a sigh. She doesn’t understand how it’s so easy for Brenda to get her to say things out loud that she’s sometimes even too scared to think. “Yes. I do want to quit. I have been wanting to for longer than I have actually worked there. But…I had to pay off my loans, and now I’m getting used to having this job and earning this specific kind of money. Sometimes I despise this job so much that I don’t even want to leave for work in the morning. But I can’t just quit like that. Too much depends on this job.”
“Oof. I’m sorry that you have to go through that every day,” Brenda says softly. She reaches out and takes Teresa’s hand, which makes this painful confession almost worth it.
Averting her suddenly burning eyes, Teresa shrugs half-heartedly. “Other people have it much worse. At least I’m making decent money.”
“What would you do if it didn’t depend on that?”
“Go back into science,” Teresa answers without a second thought. It’s one of the few things she’s absolutely certain about. But it’s a dream she cannot afford to think about too often.
“Huh,” Brenda hums, and Teresa looks up to see her face in serious thought. She almost has to smile at how seriously Brenda treats her problems. Is this how it’s supposed to be? “Just because you have this job now, doesn’t mean you will never get back into science, right? I mean, you have this huge amount of knowledge up in that beautiful head of yours! This won’t go to waste! Who knows, in ten years you could be working as the most famous scientist in the world and be happy that you left behind your shitty job with your shitty boss! You could achieve anything!” Brenda beams at her, a lighthouse leading Teresa safely to shore.
“Thank you, truly,” Teresa manages before she has to quickly dab away a tear that is threatening to escape. “I…I guess you’re right. Nothing is written in stone and such…”
“And such,” Brenda agrees, smiling softly at Teresa and running her thumb over the back of Teresa’s hand. “So…what else would you wish for if everything was possible?”
Teresa laughs wetly. “Such existential questions.” She clears her throat and takes a sip of her yuzu lemonade. Part to wet her throat, part to buy some time to think about this question. Her eyes roam over the pink, twinkling lights that are hung over their booth. “I would wish for a quiet life. An abundance of books. A cat on the windowsill. S-Someone who…” she quickly skims over the thought, “Maybe a nice house I could call my own.” A nice violet house, surrounded by yellow flowers and bumblebees.
“That sounds lovely.” Brenda’s voice is almost a whisper, her gaze a gentle sanctuary. “One like that purple house you showed Thomas?”
Teresa’s ears commit an act of betrayal by going red as her eyes snap back to her bowl of ramen. “Oh, he told you about that?”
“He said it was cute, even though a little... strange on the plumbing. He also mentioned that you seemed to be…how did he phrase it…protective of it?”
“It’s a house. How would I be protective of it?”
Sensing that Teresa is about to shut off, Brenda back-paddles. “Just his words!”
Teresa’s jaw tenses, and she has to force herself to look at Brenda. She doesn’t understand what she’s so scared of. Maybe that Brenda will think that she’s crazy. That Brenda will turn her back on her just when Teresa started to truly feel comfortable in her presence. This kind of behavior she’s showing right now might just do the same.
Willing herself to relax, Teresa unclenches her jaw. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be snappy.”
Visibly relieved, Brenda breaks into a smile. “No, sorry for probing. It’s none of my business.”
“I…am protective of that house. And it's strange plumbing,” she offers, careful not to give too much away.
“I did look up the listing online. It’s truly gorgeous and so unique! I love the color.”
Before she can even attempt to stop herself, Teresa’s cheeks go up in a wide smile. “Yes! Thank you! Everyone always points out how ugly it is, and it’s annoying me so much!”
“What?!” Brenda looks downright offended on behalf of Violetta. Teresa is seriously falling for this woman; she realizes it in that exact moment. It doesn’t scare her as much as she would have thought. “God, people are so freaking boring. I bet those straight couples would go and paint it white or beige.” There is serious disgust at the sheer idea in her voice.
“Minho said he hated it as well!”
Brenda rolls her eyes so excessively that it gets another one of those steam engine laughs out of Teresa. “Well, he’s a man after all, I guess. A lesbian would never listen to such idiotic thoughts.”
Grinning, Teresa puts her chin in her free hand. “You know…the woman who used to live there, who was named Violetta, was reported to have never lived with a man. I like to think that she was a cool, eccentric lesbian who just did as she pleased.”
“I like that woman! More of us should be cool, eccentric lesbians who do as they please. The house is still on the market, right?”
Teresa blinks, dumbfounded at the sudden change in the conversation. “Um, yes.”
“Can I see it?”
Trapped between the realtor who desperately needs to sell this house, the self-conscious woman who is too protective of a literal house, and the girl who is slowly but surely falling for Brenda, Teresa’s answer gets lost somewhere on its way. In her head is a tornado of yes no yes no yes no that is leaving absolute chaos behind.
She wants to keep Violetta to herself.
She wants to keep this secret to herself.
She wants Brenda to know this secret.
She wants Brenda and Violetta to meet.
She wants her life to be normal.
She wants a reality where she has her scientist career, her beautiful violet house, and a person who loves her for who she is.
She wants and wants and wants, yet can never advocate for her own desires.
Maybe tonight, she will have to learn to commit to her own happiness.
“I bet the color looks even more beautiful when it’s sunny.” Cast in the 9 p.m. winter darkness, Violetta's violet walls and shutters can’t live up to their own beauty. And yet, Brenda looks at them as if they were a true piece of art.
“They do,” Teresa agrees timidly, holding on tightly to Brenda’s gloved hand. She feels as nervous as she did when she was twelve, asking her school crush to dance with her at the winter ball. He was a total dick, but at least she learned that night that men will never be an option for her. Now, touching shoulders with this wonderful woman, she had hoped her heart wouldn’t beat so quickly.
“I, um, should warn you about something,” Teresa starts, too silently for Brenda to hear as she hurries towards the entry with Teresa in tow. Before Teresa can start over, the lights in the house start emitting a gentle glow.
“Woah,” Brenda mumbles, eyes shining like a kid’s at Christmas. “How did you do that?”
Teresa wants to hide her face in the folds of her scarf. “I…guess you will figure it out.” With shaky hands, she fishes the key out of her pockets, almost dropping it as she unlocks the front door. A welcoming warmth wraps around them as they step inside.
“I didn’t think they’d heat the place when no one is living in it,” Brenda muses in surprise.
“Yeah, well.” It’s all Teresa manages.
The wall scones start shining brighter as Teresa watches Brenda turn around her own axis, her eyes finally resting on the bay window. A crooked smile sneaks onto her face. “Perfect spot for a cat.”
The lights twinkle in tandem with Teresa’s heart. This time, Brenda notices the change in ambience and glances curiously at the scones. “Can I see the rest of it?”
Before Teresa can agree, the door to the kitchen swings open on its own. This is it, she thinks in horror, the moment where Brenda will run.
Brenda’s eyes widen, and Teresa braces for the surefire freak-out, but like with so many things, Brenda takes her by surprise. “So the house is haunted after all.”
“I…what?!” Teresa gapes at Brenda, sure she must look like an utter fool.
With an apologetic, endearing kind of smile, Brenda turns to face Teresa. “Thomas kind of told me about that faucet incident.”
“That doesn’t mean a house is haunted!” Teresa hates how high her voice gets. She stands ramrod straight as her mind tries to quickly work out a way out of this situation, but Brenda renders her speechless and thoughtless once again with her next statement.
“Sure, but the communicative lights, the self-heating rooms, and the well-mannered door are huge indicators as well.”
“Um…”
“I think you know what I’m talking about, right?” Brenda’s voice is kind, her head tilted gently to one side. “Again, I don’t want to probe. I just want you to know that if you tell me that this house has a personality, I will believe you.”
In lieu of an answer, Teresa sinks ungraciously to the floor, where she sits down helplessly. Brenda stares at her, probably not knowing how to handle this situation. “Um, Teresa? Are you okay?”
And then, Teresa laughs. A bubbling thing that starts deep in her belly and shakes her whole body as she falls back on the warm hardwood floor, covering her face with one arm. Alarmed, Brenda appears on her knees by her side. “You’re scaring me!”
“Sorry”! Teresa manages between laughs. The weight of the past month has suddenly evaporated from her shoulders, and apparently, neither her body nor her mind knows how to deal with the sudden weightlessness. “I’m okay, I swear!” Peaking from underneath her arm, Teresa watches the small V between Brenda’s brows disappear. This small detail makes her heart skip a beat.
With a rustling of fabric, Brenda lies down next to Teresa. If anyone had told her that at one point in the day, Teresa would be lying here with Brenda, staring at Violetta’s ceiling, she would have panicked.
But it’s quite nice, actually.
Teresa drops her arm from her face and takes Brenda’s hand. “Her name is Violetta, as you know. Thank you for reacting so kindly. I was…really scared you’d deem me crazy.”
“I told you that I believe in ghosts,” Brenda reminds her kindly, squeezing Teresa’s hand. “Hey, Violetta! You seem to be a really nice house.” The wall scones lighten up in a welcome.
Teresa smiles and turns her head to watch Brenda more closely. “I think that means thank you. You can ask her questions as well. One blink means yes, and two mean no.” She looks back up at the ceiling. “Violetta, do you like Brenda?” The lights shine brighter than they ever have before. And because Teresa is learning to be brave but not 100% there yet, she whispers almost inaudibly, “Me too.”
There is movement to her right, and before she can look, Brenda’s face is suddenly above hers. Her hair is lightly brushing Teresa’s hot cheeks. She barely dares to breathe. “I like you too,” Brenda whispers as her eyes wander down to Teresa’s lips and snap up again. “Is it…weird if I kiss you in front of Violetta?”
Just like that, the room goes dark. Brenda and Teresa laugh in unison, but it’s cut short when their lips meet in the darkness.
Teresa can’t even tell who moved closer first. She only knows that this feels right. That Brenda’s lips are impossibly soft and warm against her own. That Brenda tastes like candlelight and late-night walks in winter. That she never wants them to stop, and that suddenly, Brenda’s words from earlier make sense.
Whatever she has had until now, it doesn’t have to be permanent. She won’t always live in her apartment. She won’t always work this job that she hates. She won’t wake up every day, regretting the choices that she’s made.
This lack of permanence used to scare her. But tonight, for the first time, she sees it for what it really is: a chance for something brighter in the future. A future where she might live in this house, with a cat, with a woman she loves.
Brenda makes her feel as if she could figure everything out. She knows that she won’t have to do this alone.
And as they lay on the ground of this kind, haunted house, getting wonderfully lost in their kisses, they become part of their own beautiful symphony of possibilities.