Yves. Well this is exciting. I'm not sure I've ever positiviely anticipated a social occasion before. There is always the chance that this is some kind of horrible trap, and I'm going to be dragged into the room and murdered, but there is also the chance that it's someone's sweet attempt at housewarming. I'll try and stay optimistic.
I wonder what I should wear? I want to make a good impression on this mystery person, whoever they are. I try and push the vision out of my mind but I can't help picturing a woman around my age, long dark hair, lipstick and bare feet walking through a lush carpet, inviting me in for tea...it's unlikely, but I'll try and dress for that occasion anyway.
By 3 o clock I'm still not dressed but ready in every other way imaginable. I put off scouring my clothes suitcase for general household duties, like creating some makeshift curtains and taking things out of boxes. It's starting to look quite comfortable here, actually- my inspirational/ridiculously pretentious Fellini poster stares down at me from opposite my bed, that should hopefully be no longer too uncomfortable.
Running around doing things for this amount of time means that by quarter to four I have forgotten entirely about going out, remember with a panic and put on the first thing I see.
Navigating the staircase, I hope I look alright.
On arrival, the door looks ominous and I suddenly panic that I've got the wrong flat, misread the number on the card, and someone will open the door and shout at me for being a random uninvited stranger. Or this is the right house, and they'll drag me in and murder me with a Christian-Bale-as-Patrick-Bateman smile. And an axe.
I convince my hand to knock. I feel a bit stupid now, so I take three steps back and hope they don't think I'm too weird. You never know, it could be that attractive young woman I envisioned. My fingers tingle for me to cross them behind my back.
No response. Why did I panic? Of course that's what would happen. The most likely and boring outcome- they don't answer at all, no one is in. I'm about to turn around and leave feeling more comfortable but a little disappointed that I didn't get a chance with my dream-lady, when I hear the door click open.
-Hey! Where are you going?
Male. Hmm. I turn around to see a figure in black, leaning against the doorframe. He doesn't look the housewarming type, but at the same time he doesn't look the mudering type, so I assume the situation is safe.
I try to respond verbally but in social situations my mouth has a habit of drying up a little, so I wave the piece of paper at him instead.
-Yes, I gave you that. Are you coming in or what?
He looks like he moves at a constant speed of faster-than-me, pausing only to pose languidly in doorways that give his stature, which is nearing two-dimensional, the look of a painting in a frame. His tone is already slightly impatient, but quite friendly all the same. A grey cat has come out to curl itself around his legs. It's one of those really soft, friendly cats, with a round face but keeping an elegant shape. It's male, I conclude, as it softly headbutts the back of his owner's knees. I realise now that I haven't actually looked at my new friend's face- I must look incredibly rude, or just a bit strange. When I do, all becomes a little bit clearer.
The image in my head that I'd just caught a flicker of on the stairway last night is staring at me right now, unmistakable eyes that look like ice caves.
-You've seen me before,
I venture. What a friendly intrroduction.
-Yes, I don't just post notes under random doors for fun, you know. I hadn't seen you before, and concluded that you must be new around here, because you didn't look familiar with the place. Also, you were going home at around eleven. Anyone who goes out here, does not come back at eleven. What's your name?
He doesn't stand still for an answer, he walks into his house leaving the door open and vaguely motioning for me to follow. I assume I should, and try and inconspicuously check the coatpegs for axes or chainsaws or anything else that might hint at psychopathic tendancies. It's silly though, really, if I were a murderer I wouldn't keep my weapons by my front door. I wonder if I'll get the chance to go through his cupboards.
-Well?
An impatient voice from another room. I remember the question, just about.
-Yves. I'm Yves, and yes, I moved here yesterday. Sorry, I don't think I caught your name?
That seems like a subtle enough way of asking. I'm worried that in this really quite surprising situation he actually told me, and it was my instant expectation of him to be an unusual sort of person that prevented me from hearing it. Although thinking carefully back, I'm sure I've been listening to him.
I'm standing behind an old-looking sofa in what I assume is his living-room, and taking in my surroundings. It's beautiful, and nothing like anything I'd ever imagined people lived in. The place is covered in dark-coloured cloth, rich with brocade and heavy curtains. Everything looks slightly old but still glitters a little bit. Artefacts that I couldn't put names to litter the room, displayed on the walls, or on corners of walls, or on little wooden tables with plants next to them. It's all very...exotic.
I nearly jump when he's standing next to me, offering a cup. Either I was too absorbed by the decor of the place to hear him come in, or he moves without making any sound at all. I'm convinced it's the latter.
I take it, hoping it's tea.
-Thank you...
He looks disappointed.
-You take sugar.
I look up in vague alarm. How on earth did he know that? He takes my cup and returns a second later, I barely notice he's gone, I'm so surprised.
This might be quite a strange afternoon.
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