Toy Soldiers: Go When I Am Lost (PG)
Summary: Apartment-hunting is never easy.
Notes: For prompt 90, "home". Post-canon. Heartstring yanking kept to a minimum. Not an AU.
GO WHEN I AM LOST
*
“…just put in a new stove,” the realtor says. She’s old enough to be Billy’s mother at least, with the same kind of pantsuit with sharp-pressed creases on the sleeves and legs. She’s smiling like the stove was a personal favor. She gestures toward the empty space next to the stove, smile fading only a little. “I believe the new refrigerator will be here by next week. Downstairs in the basement-“ a door on the far side of the kitchenette, “-there’s a washer and dryer, and water is included in the rent.”
“But nothing else,” Joey says from the front doorway, where he’s still standing, arms crossed across his front.
“Nothing else?” Billy repeats.
“No,” the realtor says, and her smile dims again briefly. Billy tries to remember her name. She introduced herself back at the rental office. Ms. Owens, something like that. “Those apartments with utilities included do tend to go first, and it’s -“
“Yeah, I know,” Billy says, before she can repeat what he’s heard way too often in the past week -- it’s late to be looking for an apartment, at least for September lease. So much for brilliant ideas about off-campus housing. He glances back at Joey.
"There's dry-rot on the walls out in the hallway," Joey says, still not moving. "I saw it coming in. It's not worth it."
Billy opens his mouth to protest -- who, exactly, is the contractor's son here? -- but catches himself in time and looks back at the realtor. “What else do you have?”
The next one is a short walk away. Billy lags behind as much as he can without being obvious about it, but it’s not far enough. Fuck. Joey might be willing to tell him what was wrong with the apartment (besides it being small), but he’s not bastard enough to ask right in front of Ms. Owns. Instead he follows her down the block, back toward Harvard, to a light blue house with two empty planters next to the stairs.
“This one’s a two-bedroom,” Ms. Owens tells him crisply as she unlocks the front door. “It’s larger than you said you were looking for, but I wanted to give you a better idea of the options available.”
“You’re looking to upsell,” Joey mutters. But he takes Billy’s hand and follows him in.
It’s definitely a better apartment - higher ceilings, more light, more air. Joey wanders over to the window and shades his eyes, looking out, while Billy lets go so he can investigate the kitchen (which has both stove and refrigerator), the living room (big enough to have half of Tau Delta over, never mind the guys from Regis), and the bedrooms (which are beige, as if to balance out the rest of the apartment). Billy emerges from the second one to find Joey still peering out the window and Ms. Owens waiting patiently. “How much?” he asks.
Ms. Owens quotes a rent that makes Billy wince. He could afford it, barely, if he’s willing to ask one of his parents for help. Or if he went looking for someone to share the apartment. Except the reason why he suggested off-campus housing in the first place was because he was sick and tired of everyone knocking on their door, of the hiding, which is a cliché but Joey shut up when he said it and the next day they started looking for an apartment.
He looks over at Joey again. Joey turns away from the window and says, “No.”
Billy sighs, because it is a nice apartment, and says, “No utilities?”
“No,” Ms. Owens says. Her eyes flicker over toward Joey for a minute, and her eyes narrow as if puzzled.
“Right,” Billy says. It’s not that nice an apartment. He casually shifts his weight so he can see out the window: the first thing he spots is a tall stone steeple of a church.. No wonder Joey was distracted. “Any more available?”
“Two more,” Ms. Owens says, and smiles again. “This one’s a little further, so we can drive, if you don’t mind.”
It’s about a five minute drive, cutting through campus and across Mass Ave, out on the edge of Harvard Square. Billy watches out the window, doing mental calculations: maybe ten minutes’ walk to classes, five minutes’ walk to the T stop, closer to the big Star Market over by Central but not by much. They pull up in front of a pale yellow house, and Ms. Owens leads him and Joey around to the back. Joey’s steps slow as they enter a small stone courtyard with a statue of Buddha sitting in one corner, in the same kind of plastic seashell that usually encloses equally plastic Marys in Catholic backyards Billy’s seen around here.
“Come on,” Billy mutters.
Joey catches up with them in time to follow in the door and up the stairs to the apartment. Billy listens to his footsteps, like counterpoint to Ms. Owens’ spiel: heat and hot water included, hardwood floors, landlord on site, shared laundry room in the basement.
“Are pets allowed?” Joey asks suddenly.
Ms. Owens opens the door to the apartment - separate key, that’s good - and they go in. The ceilings aren’t as high as the last one, but the living room is big enough to hold, maybe not half Tau Delta, but all the guys from Regis, even if Ric and Phil bring their girlfriends. The sunlight’s bright and cheerful. Joey shrugs when Billy looks at him, but he’s grinning.
“Are pets allowed?” Billy repeats, remembering Joey’s earlier question.
Ms. Owens thinks a moment. “I believe so,” she says. “Small pets only.”
“How much is the rent?”
It’s still a lot - but this is Cambridge, right near Harvard. He checks with Joey again, but Joey just gives him a look this time. Billy turns to Ms. Owens and says, “Okay, then. I’ll take it.”
“Good!” she says brightly. “If you’ll just come back to the rental office, you can give me the deposit and we’ll get the papers signed.”
Halfway back down the stairs, she slows a bit and says, “Are you, ah, religious, Mr. Tepper?”
“Not exactly.” Billy doesn’t dare look over at Joey this time.
“Oh! I had thought you were…well. My brother is very prayerful, you see. Do you go to church at all?”
No, Joey’s the one who used to go. But then he’d have to explain who Joey is, and where he was actually looking, and no he’s not crazy. Instead, he takes Joey’s hand, loosely, so someone who can’t see ghosts - someone like a random real estate agent - could pass it off as just his hand hanging there, and says, “Sometimes,” and follows her down the stairs to her car.
-end-
Notes: For prompt 90, "home". Post-canon. Heartstring yanking kept to a minimum. Not an AU.
GO WHEN I AM LOST
*
“…just put in a new stove,” the realtor says. She’s old enough to be Billy’s mother at least, with the same kind of pantsuit with sharp-pressed creases on the sleeves and legs. She’s smiling like the stove was a personal favor. She gestures toward the empty space next to the stove, smile fading only a little. “I believe the new refrigerator will be here by next week. Downstairs in the basement-“ a door on the far side of the kitchenette, “-there’s a washer and dryer, and water is included in the rent.”
“But nothing else,” Joey says from the front doorway, where he’s still standing, arms crossed across his front.
“Nothing else?” Billy repeats.
“No,” the realtor says, and her smile dims again briefly. Billy tries to remember her name. She introduced herself back at the rental office. Ms. Owens, something like that. “Those apartments with utilities included do tend to go first, and it’s -“
“Yeah, I know,” Billy says, before she can repeat what he’s heard way too often in the past week -- it’s late to be looking for an apartment, at least for September lease. So much for brilliant ideas about off-campus housing. He glances back at Joey.
"There's dry-rot on the walls out in the hallway," Joey says, still not moving. "I saw it coming in. It's not worth it."
Billy opens his mouth to protest -- who, exactly, is the contractor's son here? -- but catches himself in time and looks back at the realtor. “What else do you have?”
The next one is a short walk away. Billy lags behind as much as he can without being obvious about it, but it’s not far enough. Fuck. Joey might be willing to tell him what was wrong with the apartment (besides it being small), but he’s not bastard enough to ask right in front of Ms. Owns. Instead he follows her down the block, back toward Harvard, to a light blue house with two empty planters next to the stairs.
“This one’s a two-bedroom,” Ms. Owens tells him crisply as she unlocks the front door. “It’s larger than you said you were looking for, but I wanted to give you a better idea of the options available.”
“You’re looking to upsell,” Joey mutters. But he takes Billy’s hand and follows him in.
It’s definitely a better apartment - higher ceilings, more light, more air. Joey wanders over to the window and shades his eyes, looking out, while Billy lets go so he can investigate the kitchen (which has both stove and refrigerator), the living room (big enough to have half of Tau Delta over, never mind the guys from Regis), and the bedrooms (which are beige, as if to balance out the rest of the apartment). Billy emerges from the second one to find Joey still peering out the window and Ms. Owens waiting patiently. “How much?” he asks.
Ms. Owens quotes a rent that makes Billy wince. He could afford it, barely, if he’s willing to ask one of his parents for help. Or if he went looking for someone to share the apartment. Except the reason why he suggested off-campus housing in the first place was because he was sick and tired of everyone knocking on their door, of the hiding, which is a cliché but Joey shut up when he said it and the next day they started looking for an apartment.
He looks over at Joey again. Joey turns away from the window and says, “No.”
Billy sighs, because it is a nice apartment, and says, “No utilities?”
“No,” Ms. Owens says. Her eyes flicker over toward Joey for a minute, and her eyes narrow as if puzzled.
“Right,” Billy says. It’s not that nice an apartment. He casually shifts his weight so he can see out the window: the first thing he spots is a tall stone steeple of a church.. No wonder Joey was distracted. “Any more available?”
“Two more,” Ms. Owens says, and smiles again. “This one’s a little further, so we can drive, if you don’t mind.”
It’s about a five minute drive, cutting through campus and across Mass Ave, out on the edge of Harvard Square. Billy watches out the window, doing mental calculations: maybe ten minutes’ walk to classes, five minutes’ walk to the T stop, closer to the big Star Market over by Central but not by much. They pull up in front of a pale yellow house, and Ms. Owens leads him and Joey around to the back. Joey’s steps slow as they enter a small stone courtyard with a statue of Buddha sitting in one corner, in the same kind of plastic seashell that usually encloses equally plastic Marys in Catholic backyards Billy’s seen around here.
“Come on,” Billy mutters.
Joey catches up with them in time to follow in the door and up the stairs to the apartment. Billy listens to his footsteps, like counterpoint to Ms. Owens’ spiel: heat and hot water included, hardwood floors, landlord on site, shared laundry room in the basement.
“Are pets allowed?” Joey asks suddenly.
Ms. Owens opens the door to the apartment - separate key, that’s good - and they go in. The ceilings aren’t as high as the last one, but the living room is big enough to hold, maybe not half Tau Delta, but all the guys from Regis, even if Ric and Phil bring their girlfriends. The sunlight’s bright and cheerful. Joey shrugs when Billy looks at him, but he’s grinning.
“Are pets allowed?” Billy repeats, remembering Joey’s earlier question.
Ms. Owens thinks a moment. “I believe so,” she says. “Small pets only.”
“How much is the rent?”
It’s still a lot - but this is Cambridge, right near Harvard. He checks with Joey again, but Joey just gives him a look this time. Billy turns to Ms. Owens and says, “Okay, then. I’ll take it.”
“Good!” she says brightly. “If you’ll just come back to the rental office, you can give me the deposit and we’ll get the papers signed.”
Halfway back down the stairs, she slows a bit and says, “Are you, ah, religious, Mr. Tepper?”
“Not exactly.” Billy doesn’t dare look over at Joey this time.
“Oh! I had thought you were…well. My brother is very prayerful, you see. Do you go to church at all?”
No, Joey’s the one who used to go. But then he’d have to explain who Joey is, and where he was actually looking, and no he’s not crazy. Instead, he takes Joey’s hand, loosely, so someone who can’t see ghosts - someone like a random real estate agent - could pass it off as just his hand hanging there, and says, “Sometimes,” and follows her down the stairs to her car.
-end-