As I mentioned, there's another one of them standing there. This one is carrying three backpacks and two grocery bags, he's wearing a snapback that is probably blocking his view, cause he's constantly trying to adjust it with his elbow. Needless to say, he looks ridiculous. But who am I to judge, I just embarrassed myself with that failed attempt of calling the cat.

Predictably, the first thing he looks at is me. Yet the amount of confusion he has on his face is not that great. He looks more.. impressed?

"Didn't know we were expecting someone," looking back and forth between me and his friend, the guy puts down the grocery bags and frees himself from the backpacks.

The other guy, the brunette, bangs on the bedroom door without answering. It's locked, and the weird one is refusing to open it or just react verbally at least. And it's not surprising that in such a condition I become their only source of information. So they both look at me and speak almost in sync.

"What's going on?"

I wish I had an answer to their question. Luckily the next question leaving the brunette's mouth is way easier to answer.

"Who are you?"

For a moment I'm tempted to say my name and make a fool out of myself once more, but then I realize that he probably doesn't give a shit about my name. All he wants to know is what brought me here and what happened to their friend.

"I'm... I rented this house for 6 months, I'm supposed to be living here," I struggle my way through the sentence sure of my words but unsure of the effect they would have.

"What a coincidence," the guy in a snapback shakes his head, "We rented this place for 6 months. You've got the wrong house."

"I think you've got something confused," I shrug, "I'm positive I'm in the correct house."

"No, most definitely you have," I don't like how overemphasized this guy's sentences are. He just got here and is acting like he knows what's going on better than me, even though I've been here for more than 20 minutes and still have no clue. And the way he speaks is also annoying. He sounds like he's mocking me.

I frown, still not understanding what's going on but positive that I'm in the correct house.

"I have all of the papers and I even have the keys," I explain, already hurrying my way toward my suitcases to take those said papers out, "if you have the owner's number you can call and ask them."

"Can somebody explain what's going on?" The brunette raises his voice a little bit as if I had any idea and didn't tell him, "First of all, where's Clay?"

It takes me about 15 seconds to find everything I needed thanks to the fact that I had the important things organized in my bags. And it takes another 15 to realize that the blonde guy is the real Clay, not the cat. Anyway, one more look at the papers gives me the confidence to speak.

"I have the papers," I announce happily and carry them to the table, "and if Clay is your friend, the blonde guy, then he's in that room."

While I'm putting the papers on the table, the other guy is looking through each and every single one of his backpacks and suitcases, supposedly trying to find their papers. I can't wait to see the disappointment on his face once they find out that I was right. It's not always I get to feel the satisfaction of being correct, usually, it's the other way around.

It takes me a few seconds to quickly run my eyes over the page and double-check the address, apartment number, date, everything. I feel relief. Everything looks right. My hard work of reading the agreement carefully a few times finally paid off.

When it comes to them, more than just one thing looks wrong. The crumpled and disgusting papers that guy pulls out of his backpack look like they belong in the toilet paper factory.

"I have our papers, George, don't worry," the guy feels the need to reassure his friend (George, I suppose) as he tries to de-crumple them. While he's doing so, George comes closer so that we can all look at what we've got.

I know I'm supposed to concentrate on the stuff sprawled over the table, but my knees go weak from the smell of the brunette's cologne. I take a moment to collect my thoughts as he approaches, hating the fact that for some reason I liked everything about him so far. And knowing how easily I fall for guys, I'm starting to become scared of him.

"Sorry," he presses his lips together and smiles after accidentally bumping his arm into mine.

I blink like an actual idiot looking at his face and nod, deciding not to speak to minimalize the risk of my voice breaking or worse, something stupid escaping my mouth and embarrassing me even further.

He's too pretty, he has an accent and even smells good, I'm sorry, but it's not my fault he's perfect.

"Nick, what the fuck?" He cringes, and I try to keep the other guy's name in my memory, "Did you piss on the papers?"

Just to let you know, I was holding a few of the said papers. And just now I'm noticing that they have yellowish stains all over them. Slowly but surely, I put them back on the table and make my way to the bathroom to wash my hands as Nick proceeds to make up stories about how it's not piss and it's actually apple juice.

And even though it made more sense for it to be apple juice, my brain kept telling me that it was definitely piss. I washed my hands for a little longer. Maybe a few more seconds. Or minutes.

And when I eventually finished, I joined them. Both are still arguing over the stains. And they don't stop for a while, they give me enough time to compare the papers I brought and the ones they had. The scariest part of the whole thing is the similarities I see almost immediately. They're basically the same papers, almost identical, just signed by different people.

Yet one thing. A single thing makes me let go of a breath of relief. The dates.

"It says from April to November," I put my finger under the line of dates on their paper, "mine says from November to April. It's November now. You're supposed to be here in 6 months."

George takes in a breath, snatching their paper away from my hand and checking it himself. Meanwhile, the other guy, Nick, doesn't see what's wrong.

"So what? From November to April is basically the same thing as from April to November."

Even though I wasn't that bright myself and totally failed every single step of education I took in my life, I knew that Nick was speaking nonsense.

George takes in a deep, exhausted breath before speaking.

"You're an actual braindead idiot," he slaps the paper down to the table, "if you're that fucking dumb and you don't know how months work, then at least you should be smart enough to check the year. It says 2023, you dumb fuck.."