By the time we got home, the four strangers had fully settled into the townhouse across the street. Like, curtains hung, porch light on, potted plants by the door. It was weird how fast it all happened.

I asked my landlord, casually of course, if he knew who moved in.

"Creevey family," he said. "Transferred here for work, I think. Real quiet. Polite."

Creevey. I wasn’t sure if that sounded like something out of a children’s novel or a horror film.

That night, I sat at my desk with my sketchpad. I tried to draw something, anything, but every time my pencil touched paper, all I could see was icy blue eyes and dark silhouettes.

I got up to open my window. It was a warm night, and the air helped calm my thoughts. That’s when I noticed him.

Alexander. In his window, just across from mine. He was writing in a black notebook. Pen scratching, gaze flickering up every so often.

For a second, I just watched him. Not in a creepy way. Okay, maybe a little creepy.

Then he looked up and met my gaze.

I jumped slightly but waved. "Hey."

He didn’t smile, but he did nod. "Happy belated."

Then he shut his window.

Okay then.

I shut mine, too.

But I left the curtain cracked. Just in case.