The first thing he was going to do was invest in some improbably thick carpets. Schuldig's steps echoed through the house as he padded barefoot from room to room, examining a painting here, a light there. His ghost followed a few steps behind in the fading echoes of his passing, the only sound that dared break the silence of a house that seemed to be holding its breath. The implied isolation was unnerving, even by his own misanthropic standards.
He had napped on a leather couch, splashed around a Jacuzzi tub. He had commanded a pot of coffee with a few absent flicks of a finger against buttons. Everything was streamlined, perfectly suited to Schuldig's particular sort of lazy.
Schuldig had gotten bored of sloth hours ago.
He arranged mugs in one mammoth cupboard. Settled tacky arcade toys atop the television. His brush settled atop the sink, displacing his toothbrush and forcing it to lurk in the medicine cabinet beside toothpaste and a small pharmacy's worth of pain killers.
The house was perfect, really. There was a large bedroom with windows facing away from sunrise, decorated with thick dark curtains just in case light should try to sneak in. The bathroom was spacious enough he could live in for days without feeling cramped. The kitchen contained a maze of cupboards and crannies he could arrange and rearrange as the inclination took him.
It was home, or would be as soon as he finished distributing the artifacts of his life to their proper places. Schuldig fixed a cheap calendar he had received from a Chinese take out onto the fridge with a solemnity usually reserved for the star atop a Christmas tree and stepped back.
He grinned when he noticed the phone had already been programmed with the numbers best suited to his habits. Schuldig hit the first speed dial button and leaned against the counter, hair catching a bit of afternoon sun in a wicked red halo.
Schuldig's smile broadened. Now it was home, with that voice filling the silence. "Hey Bradley. Would you mind grabbing some beer on your way home?"
"You are fully capable of…"
"I was going to get nice and familiar with the bed. I think I want the right side, but I'm not sure…"
"And some Chinese. Maybe a real trashy movie..."
Bradley Crawford had learned to hear what Schuldig meant, not what he said. Schuldig's voice was rich with amusement, as well as meaning. It rolled off of every flippant word, was buried beneath his smirk, in the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. It was something that had taken Crawford years to recognize, and even longer to accept and appreciate. "You're welcome."
Schuldig hung up, graced the phone with a fondly obscene gesture, and went to try out the right side of the bed. It was furthest from the window after all.