The House Above the Sea

27.

Did you know there's a basement?

Neo stares at Kit for a second, wondering if he's serious. Kit stares back. He's serious.

"So that's what this was," Neo says, getting to his feet. Kit stays where he is, watching Neo from his spot in the center of the floor. "This whole time, you were just seducing me so you could drag me to the basement and murder me. You're a stone cold killer, aren't you, Kit? Gosh. I should have known."

Kit's face crinkles with laughter, the actual noise itself more air than voice. I'm not gonna murder you, unless you get on my nerves, Kit writes, and Neo rolls his eyes. I just think there's something down there you might wanna see.

Neo cannot imagine anything worth seeing in a basement, especially a creepy old haunted basement, but Kit is beaming at him, his brown eyes squinty with barely suppressed glee, and dammit if he's gonna say no to that face.

It's annoying and alluring at once, how Kit's existence would very well control Neo if he let it: a tether around his waist that connects him not to the hands of a puppeteer, but to a spacecraft as he floats among the stars.

Kit, clutching his notebook against his chest, leads the way down the main staircase and around the still-wet paint puddle. Where they would've entered the kitchen he cuts right, bringing them to a black door Neo could've sworn was a hall closet. Neo gives Kit one last risen eyebrow, as if to say, Are you sure you're not gonna murder me? But Kit just shakes his head, swinging the door open.

A set of wooden stairs descends from the landing, disappearing into foggy darkness. Neo's knees give an infinitesimal twitch. He trusts Kit, of course. It's just very hard to not be afraid when you're faced with a situation that reminds you terribly of a horror movie you've seen before.

There's a soft click, and the stairwell floods with light.

A ruffle of notebook pages. Better, you big baby?

Neo almost reminds him that he was the one hiding in a closet just moments before, but decides against it. Instead, he says, "Kit, I will push you down these stairs."

Kit presses his mouth into a pout. Rude, he writes, but meets Neo's gaze with a smile, taking his hand.

The basement reeks of sawdust and musk, the moulding peeling off the walls and exposed bricks and wooden beams around every corner. Kit flicks on another switch; an industrial lantern flickers to life above their heads, casting eerie yellow light around the space. Shadows of cardboard boxes and plastic Christmas decorations lurk at the edge of Neo's vision.

Neo's about to ask what exactly the punchline's supposed to be here, when Kit grunts and points at something to Neo's left. It's a narrow alcove, some sort of wooden frame peeking around from around the corner.

Neo takes an uneasy step closer, and laughs.

It's a wine cellar.

"Kit." He stops, laughing again, his eyes tracing the plethora of wine bottles that rest between the diamonds of wood—everything from deep red to pinot blanc, which he only recognizes because his parents used to drink it all the time. "You're not—are you serious?"

Kit stares at him. He's serious.

I was saving it for a special occasion, Kit tells Neo.

Neo panics for a moment. Had he forgotten his birthday? No. He could've sworn Kit was a winter baby. "What's the special occasion?"

Kit pauses for a moment, then shrugs his shoulders. You're here.