The problem started with boredom.
Most of Larius's problems started that way.
Not because boredom was dangerous.
Because boredom gave curiosity enough room to start making decisions.
Usually bad ones.
The library was quiet.
Rain tapped lightly against the windows.
A few students occupied scattered tables.
The usual afternoon crowd.
Larius sat behind the circulation desk during a slow period.
A half-finished spreadsheet remained open on one side of the monitor.
The other side displayed a browser tab.
He wasn't supposed to be browsing.
Technically.
But nobody cared as long as the work got done.
The work was done.
So naturally he ended up looking at real estate listings.
Not seriously.
Just curiosity.
At least that was the lie he told himself.
He clicked another listing.
Then another.
Then another.
Most of them looked impossible.
Too expensive.
Too large.
Too fancy.
He closed several tabs.
Then stopped.
One particular listing caught his attention.
Not because it was impressive.
Because it wasn't.
Small.
Older.
Slightly worn.
The cottage sat near the outskirts of Los Angeles.
Far enough away to be quiet.
Close enough to remain practical.
The paint looked faded.
The fence needed work.
The garden looked abandoned.
The photographs should have made it unattractive.
Instead they made it feel real.
Larius leaned closer.
There was a small porch.
A yard.
Not a large one.
Just enough.
The kind of place where someone could sit outside with coffee in the morning.
The kind of place where flowers could grow.
The thought arrived before he could stop it.
Lily flowers.
Then another.
Maybe roses later.
A vegetable patch.
A cat.
The image appeared so naturally it startled him.
A cat sleeping near the porch steps.
Larius frowned.
"...where did you come from?"
The imaginary cat offered no explanation.
The cottage remained on the screen.
For several minutes he simply looked at it.
Something strange settled in his chest.
Not longing.
Not exactly.
Something quieter.
Want.
The realization surprised him.
Because for the last month most of his energy had gone toward surviving.
Working.
Training.
Learning.
Adjusting.
Wanting things hadn't been a priority.
Yet here he was.
Looking at a small cottage like it contained state secrets.
1The mistake happened fifteen minutes later.
He checked the price.
Then checked his bank account.
Silence.
Long silence.
Very long silence.
Larius looked at the cottage.
Then his bank balance.
Then the cottage again.
Then back.
"...that's rude."
The numbers disagreed.
His savings existed.
Technically.
The problem was that they existed in the same way a spoon technically qualifies as excavation equipment.
Useful.
Just not enough.
Not remotely enough.
The down payment alone looked painful.
Then he checked mortgage estimates.
Pain became suffering.
Then property taxes.
Suffering became comedy.
Then insurance.
Comedy became tragedy.
Larius leaned back slowly.
The cottage suddenly looked much farther away.
As if somebody had physically moved it.
2The gym made it worse.
Because Marcus accidentally said something reasonable.
Which was deeply irritating.
"What's wrong?"
Larius was resting between exercises.
He considered lying.
Then decided against it.
"House."
Marcus blinked.
"...house?"
"Cottage."
Pause.
"Someday."
Marcus nodded slowly.
"Okay."
"I checked prices."
Understanding appeared instantly.
Marcus laughed.
Larius felt betrayed.
"You knew?"
"Everyone knows."
"Nobody warned me."
"They do."
Silence.
"...they do?"
"That's what older people complaining about mortgages is."
Larius hated how reasonable that sounded.
3The flower shop somehow made things even worse.
Sofia listened carefully.
Then laughed.
Again.
Everyone kept laughing lately.
Larius suspected this was a conspiracy.
"I found a cottage."
Sofia nodded.
"And?"
"I can't afford the cottage."
"That sounds normal."
"It shouldn't."
"It absolutely should."
Fabian looked up from his notebook.
Interested immediately.
The boy always appeared whenever suffering was involved.
Larius pointed accusingly.
"Don't encourage this."
Fabian grinned.
Then wrote:
YOU HAVE HOUSE DREAM NOW
Silence.
"...that's not the point."
Fabian underlined it twice.
HOUSE DREAM
The traitor.
Absolute traitor.
Sofia read the notebook.
Then laughed harder.
4The conversation changed unexpectedly.
Because Sofia stopped joking.
Only briefly.
"My father bought this shop through debt."
Larius blinked.
"What?"
She shrugged.
"We weren't rich."
The flower shop suddenly felt different.
The shelves.
The plants.
The counter.
Everything looked established.
Permanent.
Successful.
Sofia noticed his expression.
"It wasn't always like this."
"How long?"
The question escaped automatically.
Because apparently every important answer in life involved time.
Sofia smiled.
"Almost twenty years."
Larius groaned immediately.
"There it is again."
"What?"
"Years."
The word practically fell out of him.
"Everything is years."
The gym.
Years.
The library.
Years.
The flower shop.
Years.
The cottage.
Years.
The future.
Years.
Reality apparently had only one answer.
And Larius disliked it immensely.
5That evening he made another mistake.
He opened a loan calculator.
The calculator immediately chose violence.
The monthly payment appeared.
Larius stared.
Then stared harder.
Then physically leaned back.
"...who is paying this?"
Apparently many people.
Somehow.
The amount looked ridiculous.
Then came maintenance estimates.
Renovation estimates.
Utility costs.
Emergency repair costs.
The cottage continued attacking him financially.
Even in imagination.
The final blow arrived when he considered renting part of it.
A reasonable plan.
A practical plan.
A responsible plan.
The numbers remained terrible.
Even best-case scenarios left years of debt.
Five.
Maybe more.
Larius closed the laptop.
Immediately.
Before the numbers could invent new ways to hurt him.
6The apartment felt smaller that night.
Not physically.
Comparatively.
The cottage had done something dangerous.
It had given him a picture of the future.
Now his current apartment had competition.
Larius sat near the window.
The lily had grown noticeably.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
Enough that denying it would be dishonest.
He stared at it.
Then at his notebook.
Then at the bank balance displayed on his phone.
Then back at the lily.
The comparison felt unfair.
Yet his brain made it anyway.
Thirty days ago:
No routine.
No jobs.
No flower.
No gym.
No savings plan.
No direction.
Now:
Still confused.
Still struggling.
Still behind.
But moving.
The cottage remained impossible.
At least right now.
That part was true.
The strange thing was—
for the first time he didn't interpret impossible as forever.
Just not yet.
The realization settled quietly inside him.
Not optimism.
Not confidence.
Just distance.
The cottage wasn't impossible.
It was far away.
Those weren't the same thing.
Larius hated that realization immediately.
Because it sounded suspiciously mature.
And maturity, he was learning, was often just disappointment wearing comfortable shoes.
Outside, Los Angeles continued moving beneath the night sky.
Inside, the lily continued growing.
And somewhere on the outskirts of the city, a small cottage existed completely unaware that a stubborn man had decided to dream about it.
For the first time in a long while—
Larius allowed himself to dream anyway.