Work Text:
Vilnius, 1990
The showroom was large.
Lithuania noticed that before he noticed anything else. The ceiling was high, the lights bright, the displays arranged in wide, open squares meant to be inviting.
“Looking for a kitchen?” the salesman asked, already smiling in the confident way of someone who expected an easy answer.
“Yes,” Lithuania said. “Something… practical.”
“Excellent. Most people these days are going for open concepts. Very modern. You cook and still stay connected to the rest of the home.”
He was led to a display where the stove stood alone on a polished island. Nothing behind it but air and a staged dining table. A bowl of artificial fruit sat in the middle, as if to prove how relaxed everything was supposed to be.
Lithuania stepped up to the counter. He placed his hands where they suggested a person might stand to cook.
Then he paused.
There was nothing at his back.
He turned slightly, just enough to check the distance to the walkway. Anyone could cross it without sound on the smooth floor. Anyone could stand there. Watching. Waiting.
“I think I would prefer something… more closed.”
The salesman blinked.
They tried one more row, tucked farther back in the showroom.
This one was narrower. Cabinets ran along both sides, solid and tall. The counter faced a window. Behind the cooking space stood a full wall of cupboards, unbroken. The entrance was a single opening, easy to see without turning.
Lithuania stepped inside.
The difference was immediate. The space held itself together. Sound softened. There was a place for everything, and everything had edges.
He moved to the stove and rested his hands on the counter again.
Window ahead. Wall behind. One doorway, visible in the reflection of the glass.
“I will take it,” he said.