He’d been watching the student living under him for almost a week.
He hadn’t thought they’d last, at first. Not with him rustling around in the middle of the night, with his bad habit of leaving the shed door unlocked and his tool uncleaned. The house had a reputation for being haunted, and though he wasn’t a ghost, he was the thing haunting it.
Classes started today, and he’d watched the student frantically get ready, changing binders and socks and glasses at least three times each before they’re satisfied, tucking soft skin into dark slacks and an embroidered belt before they smiled at themself in the mirror. They’d been gone for a few hours now, and the house felt oddly empty in a way it hadn’t in years.
He didn’t mean to watch the student. Really, he didn’t. He’d just become interested slowly, in this frazzled student who seemed so young and so old at the same time, who calls their sister twice a day and yet forgets to eat for hours on end. He’d only been watching them for a few nights, and already he wanted to know more about the research they muttered to themselves when they tried to fall asleep.