Wresting in its foundation, the house smiled at the new couple, greeting them as they climbed up the front steps. The door swung open, the previous owner handing the two individuals the clean keys, a set for each. Stepping up to the open door, both of them wave at the calm man as he climbs into his nice car, quickly pulling from the cul-de-sac after returning their gesture. Entering the house and walking through the bare halls, an overly strong sense of cleaner crawling into their noses, the couple stretched over the scarce furniture in the family room.
"I'm, gonna take a shower," the man sighed, tossing the t.v. remote to his fiancee before climbing up the stairs, creaking under foot. The girl flicks through a few channels before putting on a random cartoon and attentively watching. The pipes hiss to life, shouting through the walls over the sound of the television, sounding the start of the shower in the master bedroom. Closing her eyes, the white-noise like effect lulls her into a warm sleep, a dream of low waves on a beach, the residual condensation dripping from the shouldering rocks thickly.
"Fuck," the man shouts from the stairs, his fiancee quickly jolted from her comfortable sleep, as he hold his foot up to look at. "Stupid nails," he grumbles, "stupid house."
Climbing over the couch, the girl approaches, asking, "What happened?" but upon seeing his foot, she rushes to the kitchen, passing the empty fridge, and shuffles through a few cupboards, before pulling out the first-aid kit. Pulling an alcohol wipe from the unzipped bag and kneeling in front of him, she calmly cleans his bleeding sole, him wincing as the alcohol meets his open wound, before stretching the bandage over the cut.
Now smiling, he laughs, "You might wanna watch out for nails," standing up and picking up a pair of socks to put on, then slipping his shoes on afterwards. "I'll head to the store now," he approaches the door, slightly limping with every other step.
Throwing away the trash, the door closes behind her, and she slips back to the catch to fall back asleep.
As her husband approaches their car, the house glares at him, the van slowly pulling from the driveway in the direction of the town area.
Pulling back into the driveway, the house dismissively greets him, his girlfriend running out the door to aid in carrying in the groceries. She begins to open the trunk as he rounds the corner, stiffly smacking him in his chin.
"Watch out, Jane," he groans rubbing his chin as she steps closer to see the damage. "I'm so sorry," she apologizes, "um, how about you go get ice on that. I'll carry the groceries."
"No, it's fine," he dismisses with a pained smile, grabbing half of the bags as she grabs the rest. Inside now, they happily sort the groceries, neatly lining the food in their respective places as he holds a cold bag of ice against his chin. Once done, yawning, they both walk together to their bedroom, the boy hesitating on the step with the nail, the girl trailing directly behind. They turn left at the top of the stairs, entering the closest room, the door creaking open, a sole lamp glowing warmly through the room on the bedside table, as they crawl to bed and slip under the covers.
"Goodnight," Jane calmly mutters, clicking the lamp off and bathing the room in darkness, closing her eyes. "Goodnight," her fiancee whispers tiredly. "Love you."
"Love you too."
And their lives continued like this, a boring monotony, as their expressive house watched over them, until the times of their death's, both falling victim to the severe illness inside the house, a tortured end to a tired lifetime.