Between the lines

Chapter 6: Stella

After wandering the huge and labyrinthine mansion for what felt like an eternity, I finally stumbled upon the gym, possibly the only room that does not have any paintings, or illustrations.

I peeked into the makeshift gym, where Quincy was standing in front of a boxing bag, a fierce expression on his face. He was violently punching the bag, making it sway and sway with the force of his blows. He was shirtless, his chiseled muscles gleaming with sweat.

Quincy was entirely immersed in the workout, hitting the punching bag with an unrelenting ferocity and intense focus. His every movement seemed designed with perfection and precision. If I hadn't known better, he would be giving the impression that he was a machine designed specifically for training and nothing else.

I clear my throat, feeling awful for interrupting his strength training.

He stops striking the heavy bag and casts a piercing glance in my direction. "Did you know there's an action called knocking?"

I sigh, too weary to argue with him
"Sorry, the door was open, and you said you'd be here anyway. " I take a few steps toward him.

"What is it then?" He inquires

Before I could answer him, I realized my eyes had wondered around his sweat covered body. He looked as if he was crafted specifically by the gods himself. If it weren't for his rude attitude, I wouldn't be able to deny how attractive he looked.

"It's rude to stare." Quincy states, gazing out the window momentarily, clearly exasperated.

I shyly stare at the at the rubber floor, fidgeting nervously.
"Sorry" I mutter under my breath
"A-anyway, I was wondering if I'd have my own room? Because the room from earlier looked more like a storage room than a bedroom."

"I thought you'd already secured a space for yourself? Do you still need assistance?" Quincy tilts his
head slightly.

"No, not yet, and yes, that would be great. I'm still having a hard time figuring out the directions of this place" I smile nervously.

"Give me a minute."
Quincy goes to grab a towel, gently wiping the sweat off with it.

He puts on a black hoodie, which perfectly coordinates with his dark hair, he walks past me, out the gym door.
"Let's go"

I follow slowly behind him, leaving some distance between us down the hallway. After a while, he stops in front of a door. He pauses and sucks in a breath then reaches his left hand out to twist the doorknob.

The door opens to reveal a near empty room, with only a bed, some portraits, a window, a wardrobe, and a bookshelf in it. Along with a built-in bathroom.

He takes no time and walks out the door after I step in.

I don't have to unpack, for my clothes are long gone. Quincy didn't even bother to bring my luggage with me while dragging me into his house. I should also get used to not having a library anymore. Though, the bookshelf does contain a few books about literature. It could keep me company for a while.

I lie down on my bed, thinking about what the world's become. How I could possibly die if I were to go outside right now.

I spend around half an hour evaluating my life, thinking about how different it would be if I were to be born in in another generation.

After that, I decide to explore the room I'm in, due to boredom.
I step towards the paintings on the wall, being extremely fond of art has it's benefits.

This one was hung nicely and not by a thread.
It's a portrait of a family

A father, A mother, and two sons.

One a couple years older than the other. They look quite similar but at the same time, completely different, due to the clothing, expressions and hand placement.

The younger one, has an arm around the older one's waist. He's laughing playfully, while the other seems to be annoyed.

They both seem quite familiar to me, I'm positive I've seen their faces somewhere.
But I'll cast it aside for now.

Before I could move to the other painting, a knock on the door startles me, "I made dinner." He steps in and leans against the door frame in my room.

My gaze is still fixed at the painting, but hearing him say that surprised me. "You can cook?"

"Of course I can, I'm a man of many talents. and besides, how do you think I survived living alone for 7 years?" He replies, scoffing.

"Well, that's nice of you to-" I start

"Oh, it wasn't for you." I frown
"I was hungry and overcooked. I don't think I'll be able to finish it. You don't start work until tomorrow anyw-"

But before he could finish the sentence he glances at the family portrait, seeing that I've been staring at it, and closes his eyes for a few seconds, tilting is head backwards towards the wall.

"Don't look at that."
His voice had a piercing quality to it, and for a moment, I saw a flash of something that looked like deep sadness behind that sharp expression. It only appeared for a split second, and he quickly recovered.

I look away, deciding to respect the request. As Quincy turns away to leave the room, I have one last glimpse of an expression of misery and disbelief on Quincy's face.

I'm sure I'll find out the meaning behind the mysterious family portrait eventually, but for now it was time to join Quincy for dinner.