꧁ Ann ꧂

Her god damn rug was back. Staring at her on her own porch was her rug. Hazel’s beautiful, gigantic, colorful rug. Her first thought was to run to Andy to see if maybe his cameras caught anything, but she saw him leave already. It was wrapped and tagged by a rug cleaning company she researched to see if it was real. It was. 

Jen and Hazel’s doctor both thought Hazel might have been hallucinating the second voice she heard that night. Hazel was never sure. She decided to blame the now clean rug on the second guy, purely for her sanity. She couldn’t imagine a man who was okay with assaulting people after dates would feel guilty over a rug, but she obviously didn't know people very well. Maybe he took it to see if it was worth something? Rugs are expensive, but this one wasn't. It was a mass-produced plain white one, probably meant for a dorm or a young adult's first apartment, but, being an artist, Hazel saw an opportunity, bought some fabric paint, and went to town on it.

 After dragging it back inside, she placed it where it had been in her living room. She stared at it for a long time, trying to see if there was a trick. Why else would he return it? Did he feel bad? After probably too long, she finally snapped out of her staring and compromised with herself. She got an envelope and a pen and wrote a letter.

She had a box full of them by now. Six weeks isn't a long time in most aspects. It was to her. She had a hard time while Andrew was gone. Everything felt emptier. Even spaces he didn't occupy. Sleep wasn't coming to her as easily, and to top it off, the scent of her chair was fading. She tried to curl up on it and breathe deeply, but it wasn't enough anymore.

On bad nights, she’d go out on the dock and write him a letter. They weren't really for him. It was journaling just in a different form.

It was creepy. If he ever found them, he’d think she was obsessed and stalkery. 

They weren't weird or anything, just a few paragraphs about her day or her dream, things she wanted to tell him but thought it would come off weird or annoying. She had a plan to burn them. When that would be was still up in the air. Hopefully he would appreciate that she didn’t call him every night like she wanted to.

This letter went by quickly, just a recap of her finding her rug and how she liked the ginger undertones in his hair because it carried light nicely.

She laid it nice and flat on top of the other ones in the box and slid it back under her bed.

The creak of her stairs followed her down as she headed towards her front door. The cameras sat right by the door and taunted her.

She bought a drill while he was gone, and a taller step stool. Jen had come over many times and offered her ‘professional opinion’ on where they should go. There wasn’t enough to cover the whole house, but she really just wanted to cover the doors. 

She could ask him. He would say yes. 

He just got home from a trip. Wasn’t that rude? 

Hazel could hang up some cameras.

~𖤓~

Can a human hear a small electric drill inside their neighbor's house? No. Maybe? That would explain the knocking at Hazel’s door and the very loud “What are you doing?” being shouted through it.

She had a plan to wait until he left before attempting the exterior one lest he foil her plans of independence, but it seems he would be doing that anyway.

If she continued working, she could pretend she didn't hear him. Fuck. He’s definitely taken the half minute of silence as confirmation that she knew that he knew that she was doing the job he said he would do.

Lying was useless. He’s not dumb enough to fall for it. Ugh. She got off her stool and brushed her hands on her thighs.  

“What are you doing?” a very familiar, rough voice asked her again. 

Inside of her house. 

Somehow without detection, Andy, as she's taken to calling him, had made it into her living room.

She must have left her door unlocked again. It’s going to happen to you again if you aren’t careful. The last few days have been a bit rough for Hazel's mental state. It felt like she was constantly being bombarded with reminders that she was attacked and that he was still out there.

“Wh- How?”

“I told you I would do that.” He had stopped yelling.

“Yes, but you just got home, and I bought the stuff while you were gone because I was going to have Jen’s brother come over and-”

“Hazel.” He interrupted. These were the times the constant deep, impassive expression he used was more confusing than endearing.

Concerned or mad? Concerned or mad? Concerned? Mad? Mad.

“You’re mad.” She whispered. She wasn’t saying it to him, more just a general announcement.

“You have a concussion, and you're on a ladder using power tools.”

Oh. Concerned. She’d have to file that away.

That got a good giggle out of her Although he wasn't laughing, he was a little less tense. You couldn’t see it in his posture or body language. His eyes always told on him, though. Their crinkles softened, and he was looking less through his eyebrows and more past them.

“Okay, drama. That was like two months ago, and this is a step ladder with a battery-powered drill.” She remarked.

Andy shook his head and shrugged off his jacket. Hazel had put up coat hooks when she moved in. Really pretty ones she got from a secondhand shop. She never used them. She often opted to toss her jackets onto the back of her couch. He used them. It made her happy.

The one closest to the door was his go-to. His eye caught on the new decoration placed on it. A small clay ‘A’. After only a moment, he reached up and gently ran a finger over it.  

“I will finish up; you go sit.” He said to her with a calmer tone now. She huffed at first but didn't argue much. He liked his hook. Her cheeks hurt.

“First you break into my house, then you boss me around.” She grumbled under her breath.

“You gave me a key.”

Oh right. She did. It made her feel safe, knowing that he could get to her.

“Fine, I wanted to make something to eat anyway.” She marched to the kitchen and looked around. She didn't have a lot, just the stuff she was going to whip up later when Jen got there. Does he like movies? She should invite him. She’d like that. Would he like that? 

Back in the living room, she gave herself a couple of seconds to admire the view of him before asking. He looked even bigger standing on that step stool with his t-shirt fitting tight around his arms, the hem riding up the slightest bit.

“Jen and I are going to have a movie night if you want to join?”

“Uh- I can’t tonight.” he sounded sheepish about it.

“Oh, okay, no worries. Do you work tonight?” She sat on the couch and looked up at him while he worked. She understood. Of course she did. She was still bummed.

“No, I have a-” He searched for the word for a little longer than seemed appropriate. Was he trying to come up with something? A lie to tell her so she’d stop asking? Finally, he supplied his answer: “A thing.”

That's it. ‘A thing.’ Why was he being so cagey? She doesn’t care what he gets up to in his free time. It's good for him to get out and do stuff. He doesn't need to spend every moment of his time with her. He’s a bachelor who just got back from a six-week work trip; he should be going out, having fun, dat- Oh. 

He was dating. 

He was acting weird about it because she might have some residual trauma around the topic. After all, he’s just that damn considerate. That shouldn’t make her chest tight the way that it does. They weren’t anything but some friendly neighbors. She tried to speak, but all the effort her brain was using so she didn’t cry made it difficult. 

She was sculpting his initials and writing him letters, and he was dating. 

“Oh, that’s exciting. I hope it goes well.” She finally squeaked out. It’s not a lie. He deserves that.

They worked together to position the cameras, and she kept a friendly smile the whole time. Her jokes felt flat, and her questions felt more pestering. 

She talked less. 

Maybe she read into things a little too much. Maybe this was all pity.

He kept looking at her while he worked.

The smile she kept on her face felt forced. He could probably tell.

When they started on the last camera, she pulled out her phone and found someone online who offered to assemble plant beds and even gave advice on what to plant. She sent an email for a quote. He’d be too busy with his date come the spring.

Her chest hurt. Rubbing at it didn't help.

“What’s wrong?” He’d finished installing it and was watching her hand move over her ribcage.

“Nothing. Thank you for helping me.” She stood straight and gave him her best ‘I am perfectly normal’ face. He tilted his head at her.

He sure could spot a liar.

“Did I do something?” His voice was soft. She hated that. His sympathy. It felt sharp. Undeserved. She had to get over herself. “You’re upset.” 

“I just think I forgot some stuff for movie night.” She turned to grab her purse from her coffee table. Her hands shook. 

“I’ll be by to help you bring it all in.” He said.

Shaking her head helped clear the tears a little.

“No. Don’t bother. You go get ready. I’m a big girl.” She waved her hand in the air. So carefree. She didn’t care at all. Not one bit.

“I’ll be by.” He insisted.

She felt numb watching him grab his coat and leave. He stared at the ‘A’ again.

It was removed as soon as the door shut behind him.

~𖤓~

Hazel didn’t go to get stuff for movie night. If he noticed, he didn't come by to ask questions. He left his own house as the sun started to set. It had been hours, and he was still gone. Her cameras kept her entertained for a little while. She played with the angles of them, but she couldn't find a way to cover the kitchen doorway.

Jen would be here soon. Their movie was picked out, and snacks were made. She just had to wait.

Whenever her mind drifted to the neighbor (which was embarrassingly often), her chest hurt again. Lying on her kitchen floor, Ridgid and staring at the ceiling. 

It wasn’t fair. Jen was all she really had.

No parents, no pets, no other friends, no boyfriend, and now he was going to start pulling away. She couldn't blame him. She knew she was getting ahead of herself. It was one date. He wasn’t getting married.

She just felt alone. She never felt alone out here. It sucked.

Maybe she should get a cat?

Eventually she zoned out to the texture of the ceiling until she heard his car.

Andrew’s back. She sprang up and made her way to the living room window. It was getting late.

Maybe it wasn’t a date. Maybe she did jump to conclusions. There was no proof that was what he had tonight. What else would he act so odd about? Could be many things. An appointment for a weird rash, a party for only his close circle and he was trying not to offend her by not inviting her, or an appointment for a weird lump.

He stepped out of the car, all serious like he always was. She felt giddy at the sight of him. That was bad.

Dread pierced her chest when his passenger side door opened too.

Maybe he brought S home. He’s done that before. He said it wasn’t work, but she was pretty sure they were friends too.  

S didn't have long blonde hair or wear small two-piece outfits. He didn't wear heels or body shimmer. He certainly didn't grip Andrew's bicep as he walked up to his door with him.

She whipped herself around away from the window.

Oh god. He brought a girl home.

Of course he did. He's handsome. Oh god. She had sat here for over a month thinking maybe they were getting closer. How fucking embarrassing. 

She scoffed out a laugh at how pathetic she had been the past two months before calling Jen.

As soon as it connected, she spoke: “He has a girlfriend.” 

“What? Who?” Jen’s voice cut through some background noise, letting Hazel know she was already driving.

“A- Michael. My neighbor. He just got home with a girl.” There were a few seconds where she heard how ridiculous this all sounded. Maybe a few months ago she could have been rational about this, maybe before she gave him that painting. What would he say about it if his date asked?

“Okay?”

Biting her thumb muddled her words, but Jen still understood. “Jen, she was shimmery.”

“Hazey, we don't know they're together.”

“She grabbed his bicep.”

Jen sighed, and Hazel’s chest cracked anew. That meant she was stumped, out of other explanations.

“Okay, I'm on my way anyway for the movie; I’ll be there soon.”

~𖤓~

After Hazel gave her the full rundown on everything she saw and everything she scientifically deduced. Jen very gently said-

“You're assuming an awful lot, Hazey.”

Her friend was right, yet there was no one more stubborn than Hazel. She likes to think. Determined not to feel like the loser, she got an idea.

Dating apps were all similar enough to work; she could start fresh on a new one. Her account was made before Jen could blink.

“If he’s dating, then so am I,” Hazel told her friend. She felt tense. No, she was ready. Two entire months had gone by; that's plenty of time. Sure, the nightmares were still there, and she'd reopened her head wound once or twice by scratching in her sleep. Those were irrelevant facts to this situation. 

“Hazel.” Jen reached for her phone, but Hazel was quicker. “Just because he might have gone on a single date does not mean that he is dating. I think you should talk to him before jumping in-”

She swiped faster. 

“See? I’ve already got a match.” She tried to sound victorious, but even to herself she sounded scared. Jen knew her friend; the more she pushed, the harder Hazel committed. Hazel knew she knew this, so when Jen said-

“Not him, he looks boring.”

Hazel almost lost all nerve. Was Jen really going to let her do this? She wasn't ready for this. All of the tension left her as she slumped to her floor and dropped her phone. Jen was right there. Like she always was. Her hand rubbed Hazel's back in long soothing strokes.

“You weren’t there, Jen. I thought-” She finally turned to her friend with new tears in her eyes. “I really thought he liked me.” Jen nodded and shrugged.

“Maybe that’s his sister? A coworker?” It was weak; they both knew it. It was definitely a lost cause. It did get them to smile. Not happy smiles. Humorless ones. Ones that said ‘this sucks, but we both know we can’t do anything.’

“Yeah, dressed like that and touching his arm. Sure.” Hazel scoffed.

The distinct sound of a car starting up got their attention. Trying their hardest not to be seen, they crept to the window and watched. She had a hoodie on now. Andrew’s hoodie. Andrew’s hoodie that he wore to rake up Hazel’s leaves that one time.

“Hazey, I-” Jen tried again.

“It’s okay. At least I didn’t tell him, right? I saved myself from that.” Hazel offered up a small positive. At least she wouldn’t have to move.

When Michael met Hazel’s eyes through the glass, he didn’t look like he cared at all. Not about being seen with this girl. Not about being obviously watched through a window. He didn’t care about any of it.

BUZZ

Oh right. Her phone. Dating app.

She broke their eye contact. He wouldn’t care about that either.

Tristan - Hey. 8:25 P.M.

Tristan - Drinks on Thurs? 8:25 P.M.

Me - Sure! 8:26 P.M.

Jen’s disappointed face almost made her cancel.

~𖤓~

Thursday came quicker than she thought it would. She stalked Tristan a little and noticed he never wore anything other than neutrals, and neither did any of the women he dated. 

Another corporate wannabe. Great.

Haze had to dig deep for this outfit. It was a lot of effort for a date she didn’t want to go on.

“It has been months. You’re ready.” She whispered to herself.

“What are you doing now?” Andrew spoke behind her. Her nerves were so fried it didn’t even spook her.

They hadn’t talked since movie night. He still came by and did whatever needed to be done, but he never came inside. She didn’t offer, and she never went outside. He didn't ask.

“Putting on my new wiper blades but the clip won’t clip.” She didn't look at him. Couldn't. She felt guilty about going. The shaking of her hands was so bad she couldn’t align the blade. It didn’t make sense for her to feel guilt. They weren’t together. He was dating. She could date.

Hazel was unwilling to admit to herself that she was terrified. She had thrown up four times today and got a whopping two hours of broken sleep last night. Exhausted, scared, guilty, and in love with her neighbor. What a mindset to be in for a date. She should cancel, but she was committed. How would it look to him and Jen if she lost her nerve now? Pathetic. 

“Here.” He spoke again before gently replacing her hands with his own, taking over her five-minute mechanical job. When he reached for the other blade, he scanned her outfit, and she swore his brows furrowed. “What are you wearing?”

Rude? Yes, but a fair question given the answer; black.

Flats, slacks, shirt, belt, and blazer. All black. You’d never know, but her no-show socks were pink, just for her. Her hair was down, no clips, glitter, or tinsel. Even her matched undergarments were neutral.

“Is it bad?” She asked him. Never in her life did Hazel think she would be hoping a guy she liked would insult her outfit. First time for everything.

“You got jury duty or something?” He asked.

She shook her head and played with the hem of her blazer. They stood together in front of her car, a nice, neighborly distance apart. That hurt.

“I have a date.” She spoke towards his chest. It constricted with the deep breath he took. “But it might rain, and my wiper blades are worn so- " Look, I’m being safe. Say something.

“You always dress like that for dates?” He interrupted. Rude, again. Their eyes met. Oh, right, that's why she didn’t want to look. He looked sad. Asking why would mean admitting she cared about him. Friends would still ask though. Can they be friends?

“No, this guy’s just not the type to like my usual outfits.”

“Then why go out with him?”

She wanted to scream at him. For a few reasons, she decided against it, the least of which being that it would give her away. Instead, she kept her voice calm.

“I need to grab my purse.”

She ran inside and collapsed against her door. Crying would ruin her makeup. 

BUZZ

Jen - You don’t have to go, Hazey. 6:20 P.M. Jen - BUT if you do, it’s okay if you leave at any point. 6:20 P.M. Jen - I’ll even come get you. 6:20 P.M.

Any response to that would tell Jen that she was stalling. She should be halfway to dinner by now. Only a few minutes longer than it would take to grab her purse, and she was back outside.

Focusing on the asphalt-scuffed knees of Michael's pants, she said goodbye and got in her car.

Except it wouldn’t start. It won’t even sputter and try. Nothing. Nada. Zero. 

Relief crushes her into her seat as she finally allows herself to cry. This wasn’t her normal amount of crying; this felt like the worst kind of adrenaline dump. She should feel embarrassed. Michael is right outside and probably staring. 

The only thing that mattered was that she didn’t have to go. 

From an outsider's perspective, this must have looked insane. Her hands gripped the steering wheel as she looked up to the ceiling of her car and smiled, tears cascading down her face onto her stupid black outfit. She doesn’t have to go. 

Hazel put her face in her hands and let herself revel in that odd feeling of safety. 

The warmth of his hands under her knees was the first sign that he had moved. As soon as he turned her so her legs hung out of the car door, she launched herself towards him. He took the force of her throwing her weight against him and gripping his neck in her arms while she continued to cry. He barely moved, just put a hand on her back and let her sob into his shoulder.  She would feel embarrassed later, but for now she just needed Andy. 

When she relaxed enough to pull away, she grabbed a tissue from her center console.

“You aren’t ready.” He ducked his head a little to see her face.

He was right. Obviously. Her now blotchy face and swollen eyes were enough proof. Well, if he had been into her before, he definitely wasn’t now. That was okay. She’d be okay if he at least stayed her friend. He was good at that. 

Shaking her head, she tried to clear some of the fog in her mind. What was she doing? Losing a game of chicken with someone who isn’t even aware they were playing? When she looked into his eyes, he still seemed tense. She was good with tense Andrew.

“I bought this for jury duty.” She admitted to him with a small airy laugh. “They wouldn’t let me do it though.”

“Why?” He was still squatting in front of her, no longer touching but not a neighborly distance away either.

“I said the justice system was rigged to protect the rich and penalize the poor.”

“Who’d you say that to?” Andrew’s smile helped ease a bit of the ever-present ache in her chest.

“The judge. He was getting water outside the bathrooms; I didn't know it was him.” They both laughed before he stood and offered her a hand. She was grateful when her legs trembled as she bore her own weight.

“You should get some sleep.”

“It’s six P.M.”

Closer to seven now.

“You look like you tried to fight a bus.”

“Rude.”

His shrug earned him another small laugh from her. They dropped their hands.

“Are we going to stay friends?” She was nervous for his answer. Gone were the days when she could guess what he’d say.

“As long as I can handle it.”

Right. As long as it doesn’t impact his life too much. She could do that.

~𖤓~

“Fucking bitch. You all make it too easy.”

Nightmares had been a constant since her attack. Recently there had been an uptick triggered by the downloading of that stupid app.

This time she woke up screaming. Hopeful Andrew couldn’t hear her; she ran to the bathroom and promptly emptied her stomach. Vomiting on an empty stomach was always worse for Hazel. More exhausting.

“You’re okay. He’s not here. You’re okay.”

Chanting helped bring her back down after particularly bad ones. When the nausea started to subside, she stood and shook the tension from her muscles. Jen always massaged her head when she was here. That helped. She tried to replicate it on herself, but it wasn’t the same. 

Water. She needed water.

“No one is in your house.”

Walking to her kitchen helped some of the tension ease out of her joints. The cold water did too. It soothed her hoarse throat for a few seconds. 

She could never go back to sleep after these dreams. Journaling, movies, and yoga seemed to help the most. On this night, her couch was calling along with her nice soft blanket and a movie she’d seen half a billion times.

She was convinced every time she woke up that someone was in her house. As a small reassurance, she had started putting a small piece of masking tape across the gap between her doors and their frames after checking the locks at night. She remembered the trick from a field trip she went on in middle school. Every time she woke from a dream, she would give a glance at the tape and feel a sense of safety.

The same sense of safety that soapy scent of her chair gave her. Andrew smelled like that sometimes. Like today, when he let her cry all over him. 

Maybe he used the same soap that she could pick up on her own chair. Maybe he could tell her what it was.

She needed air. Real air. Lake air.

Remembering the walk down to the dock would be a task for future Hazel. Present Hazel cared only about the feeling of cold water on her bare feet. Everything from the night and the day before her made her feel heavy. Trying to focus on anything made her head hurt worse. She was exhausted and dehydrated. 

No more dates. She was pretty sure Andy ruined it all anyway. Who else would do the stuff he does? Look the way he does? 

It hit her how out of it she was when she didn't even flinch at the sudden voice behind her.

“Found you.”

~𖤓~ ~𖤓~ ~𖤓~ ~𖤓~ ~𖤓~ ~𖤓~ ~𖤓~ ~𖤓~ ~𖤓~ ~𖤓~

I AM FIRMLY AGAINST AI!! I DO NOT USE IT AND I DO NOT CONSENT TO THIS BEING FED TO IT.

~𖤓~ Last Night ~𖤓~

Andrew had been on a job for six weeks now.

He had figured something out before he had left. Something bad. 

They had to get into their client's phone. Same phone that Hazel had. She had given him her number before he left.

He knew when she left home. He only panicked when it lagged, and it looked like she stopped in the middle of the road for minutes. He knew Jen’s house now, and Hazel's favorite coffee shops. She had been by the library a few times. A dense wave of worry always followed her middle-of-the-night trips to the dock. She wasn’t sleeping well.

He wasn’t either.

This is bad. He knows it. It’s just until he gets back to town.

Tonight.

Then he’d stop. He was gonna stop the visits too. 

No more tracking, no more watching, no more breaking things so she’ll indirectly ask him to fix them. 

He was going to be a good neighbor. That started with letting her know when he’d be back home so she didn't have to worry about watering his pants anymore.

Me - I’ll be back tonight. 9:00 AM Hazel - Really? :) 9:00 AM Me - Yes. 9:01 AM Hazel - Finally! Did you have fun wherever you were? 9:02 AM Me - Sure. Stay warm. 9:02 AM

It was getting cold by the lake. He had a lot to do before the first snow.  It should have been done by now.

Hazel - See you soon! 9:02 AM

As he always did, he scrolled up and read every other past message she had sent over the weeks.

Most were just her telling him about her day or asking about his. He couldn’t tell her much. She understood. Some were reassuring,

Unknown - I’m in bed. Locks are locked. 9:50 PM Unknown - It’s under my pillow. 9:50 PM Me - Good. 9:50 PM Hazel - You worried me. 9:51 PM Me - Don't be worried. 10:25 PM Hazel - You’ll come back? 2:36 AM Me - Soon. 4:10 AM

Projects she wanted to work on,

Hazel - I bought the wood to build the garden bed. 2:50 PM Hazel - Do you think daisies will grow here? 2:50 PM Me- Don’t build anything. 3:25 AM

Double checking,

Hazel - You're still coming back, right? 11:30 PM

Me - I’m coming back. 12:00 AM

Questions. A lot of questions,

Hazel -  What does ‘S’ stand for? 7:00 AM

Me - South. 7:21 AM

Hazel - Ha Ha. No. Your friend. 7:22 AM

Me - Don’t know. 8:00 AM

Hazel - You haven't asked? 8:00 AM

Me - No. 3:00 PM

Hazel - Maybe that's what I’ll do lol change my name to ‘H’ 4:27 PM

Me - No. 4:28 PM

Hazel - Okay, M 4:28 PM

Me - Hazel. 4:30 PM

Hazel - (◕◡◕) 4:33 PM

And some were just statements.

Hazel - I miss my neighbor. 1:28 AM Me - Soon. 1:28 AM

Those were his favorites.

They had a nice day before he left. The guilt he carried for ruining it was heavy. He always thought he'd get used to the feeling of elephants standing on his shoulders. He never did.

Andrew had a few minutes before he had to meet his partner and boss. A few minutes to stew in his memories. She could still reject him when he got home. Tell him to get out. She could move away. If she didn’t want anything to do with him, he’d have this. He could make it enough. He could live off the fact he got to know her. His Hazel. 

~𖤓~ Six Weeks Ago ~𖤓~

It had been five entire minutes since Andrew pulled into his garage. A light pink envelope taped up with something colorful was the only image in his head as he sat here waiting for this fucking call to end.

“Why did you call me?” he shot out, no longer bothering to act polite.

“Did you have ’s number?” S finally asked outright. Andrew almost ended the call there. 

“That's it?” He spat out, “That's all you needed? A text would have worked, S." He sighed deeply. “Yes, I'll send it to you,” and he ended the call. Pope ripped open his truck door and walked out of his open garage.

He knew it wasn't right to run. He tried to walk.

He jogged.

Compromise.

 He used all of his restraint to read the note written on the envelope rather than just rip it open to see what it was.

You weren't home yet, and I was running late :( 

Soooooo, I hope it's okay that I left this here for you.

I didn't want to leave the painting outside. 

It’s right by the door! 

P.S. I also realized I don't 

know your middle name, so maybe you can tell me 

Sometime? (I think it says a lot about a person)

P.P.S  Thank you for fixing my stairs (I never would have). I tripped again, and your spoke held up just fine to my whole spine colliding with it. (I am okay) I wasn't hanging another picture! I was actually-

The note covered the whole front and half of the back of the envelope. More of a letter than a note. He read it all. She got up to P.P.P.P.P.S before finally signing it off.

Your Favorite Neighbor / Painter /  Housework Burden

Hazel <3

He opened the envelope to see what she had left. The envelope was a light purple, while the writing was in deep blue ink. One of the bottom corners had some paint smeared on it. He rubbed his thumb along it and pictured her at her desk, teaching some kid to paint as she does. He could tell she really loves her job. 

He found himself rubbing that same thumb over his new bracelet a lot. When he couldn't sleep, and he felt too much shame sitting in that chair, he'd sit at the edge of his bed and fidget with it. Rubbing, twisting, or pulling at it gently to make sure it's not coming loose. It reminded him of Lena. She would've liked Hazel's lessons.

When he gently pulled the top of the envelope open, he felt a flash of disbelief at its contents.

She left him a key to her house. It was small and gold, with an adorning flat silver charm hanging from it. He flipped it a few times in his hand. It was a simple initial charm, an H for Hazel. 

Does she not realize anyone who walked by could have taken this? Any insane person could have access to her home.

He could copy this.

The key was placed into his pocket with his own. He felt it dig into his thigh as he walked and chose not to adjust it.  He took the envelope inside his own house and made his way to his bedroom. He placed it on his nightstand before opening the top drawer. Inside was a folder full of various pieces of paper, a collection of receipts, packaging, mail, and now, an envelope. 

They all meant something. He was relieved that if anyone ever found it, he would have the defense that it wasn't all Hazel. Andrew placed the folder onto his bed and placed the envelope inside.

Hazel <3

It fits her, signing her name with a symbol you would use in text communications and not a normal heart.

She asked about his middle name in the letter. He knew he couldn't tell her his real one. He could make one up. 

No. 

He would just tell her he didn't have one.

Yes. That was simple; she would believe that. Though if he knew her (he did) she would assign him one. Probably something old or a reference to a movie. He could see that. Maybe he'd make her guess and just go with whatever she threw out first. The excitement of thinking she guessed it right would make her happy.

Housework Burden

That got a small smile from him. He would have to correct that one day. He liked that she didn't have to worry about any of that stuff. It kept random people from coming in and out of her house to do things. 

The walk to her house was quick.

He walked casually like he was meant to be there because he was. She left him a key to her home so he could grab a painting.

It probably came from habit; how he scanned the street while he unlocked her door. No one would be around to see, not that it would matter. He was meant to be here. She gave him the key. When he heard it click open, he turned the key back the other way and locked it again.

He should wait for her. He could wait behind that big tree and pretend to drive up a few minutes after her.

That's worse.

He turned the key again. Click.

What if she's changed her mind?

Click. Locked.

This was way more suspicious than him just going in. Fuck.

Click. 

He turned inside quickly, shutting the door behind him. He saw it leaned up against her couch.

Andrew hadn't been expecting anything. Painting styles and composition weren't something he thought about too much. If he was ever asked his favorite artist, he was prepared to say “My neighbor” even before having seen a painting of hers.

The first thing you notice when looking at it is the light reflections off the water. He wasn't sure how he knew it was meant to be the lake's surface, but he did. After the reflections, you see him. 

Not Andrew, but a man sinking beneath the calm surface.

All he felt, all he heard was the ringing in his ears and the weight of his gun pressed to the small of his back. He turned it around quickly so all he could see was the frame and blank underside of the canvas stretched around it. He wanted to tell her to keep it. Not because he didn't like it or didn't want to keep it himself, because he didn't deserve this from her. It had to have taken a lot of effort to create.

The bracelet he let himself take because he knew she wasn't too attached to it. It didn't have any color, like something she would have made for herself. It was probably something to pass the time. This wasn't that. This was colorful in the way she made the light bounce off the rippling water. It took weeks of her time. She had mentioned it was helpful while processing her attack. Why would she give him this?

He was pretty confident she was physically healed. He could tell her scalp still bothered her sometimes, but he wondered if some of that was phantom pain when she was remembering it all. He wanted to know about the bruises. To make sure they were going away, but who was he to ask?

The box of cameras caught the light from the window, reminding him that he still had to install those. He lied to her, told her he didn't have the right drill yet. He just needed a few more days to come up with a plan.

He did feel guilty about the visits; he knew they were wrong. He knew she wouldn't like it.

The cameras were pretty basic. They connected to an app to alert her to motion. He could make a clear route. Hazel didn't want any cameras upstairs, so that was easy. He could position the rest to leave a route for him. That might work until he put on her window locks. Those would be tricky. 

He could take one and make it seem like she was short one. He would need to do that first. Wait to see which window she chose to be left unlocked. Her kitchen would be best for him.

He picked up the painting and headed out of her home. He took the key to make sure her door would stay locked.

He would give it back as soon as she asked.

~𖤓~

They actually got to see each other later in the day.

While he had finished up his own yard, Hazel stood in hers, looking around. He watched to see what she was doing; she wasn't dressed for yard work, a flowy yellow blouse that twisted around her waist when she turned at the hips to look around. Big sunglasses and platform slippers. He couldn't see from here, but he could tell they had some form of decoration on the toes. 

She shouldn't wear those outside if she wants to wear them inside.

After a few minutes, she nodded at nothing, making the dangling decorations on her hair clip catch the light.

He headed into her yard through their shared gate before she could go inside.

“I want to build a garden.” Her voice was confident.

“You want to build a garden? It’s almost fall.” He slipped his sunglasses off to look her in the eye.

“Yes. I can do it.” She was still nodding like she had made up her mind and was stubborn enough to try to do it.

He would end up doing it. They both knew it.

“Okay.”

That's how he ended up out here clearing a spot for her first raised bed. She had gone back inside but told him she'd be back soon. She was looking at him now. He could feel it on the back of his neck. He let her for a few minutes before he turned back to her house. It was only fair.

Hazel was already making her way towards her back door with a book under her arm and two glasses in her hands. 

He rushed to open the door for her. He gently pulled the book from under her arm and placed it on her lounge chair.

“Hey, do you mind if I hang out with you back here?” They’ve both grown to enjoy these moments since she gave him the bracelet. He’d work some menial labor while she sat nearby on her computer or doing one of her many hobbies. He’d never had someone intentionally spend so much time with him just doing nothing. It was a good way for him to check on her during the day. Watch her for a little while and make sure she wasn’t getting too into her own head about what had happened.

A few days back, he overheard her on the phone with Jen talking about the attack and all the ways she could have prevented it. It wasn't her fault. It was Roy's fault. He should have killed him.

“It’s your yard.” He turned to resume his task, not wanting to see if she could tell when he was getting angry. That might freak her out.

“Yeah. I always pegged you as someone who preferred quiet and solitude while you worked, so I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask.” And she did. Everytime. Often in her own home. “This is for you. Smoothie.” She came around to the side of him and held out the glass. It even had a straw. A colorful one that bent at the top. Hers was yellow, his navy. He looked at them both. Ah. She matched their straws to their clothes. Of course she did. 

He took it from her with a small “Thanks.” He didn't turn with her as she went to sit in one of her outdoor chairs.

After what he deemed to be a sufficient amount of time, he looked back at her. She had her legs kicked in front of her on a lounge chair. Her shirt had ridden up a bit, showing a sliver of her waist, and her book was spread open in one of her hands. He rolled his eyes good-naturedly at her shoes. Thick soles like that were definitely a tripping hazard.

He found relief at the sight of her sunglasses now being used for relaxation in the sun instead of a form of refuge from it while she recovered from her concussion.

Building the actual bed would have to wait until spring. Getting this spot cleared now would make it easier for him. The first bad cold front was expected in the next few days. 

The smoothie was good. Different, but good.

An hour or so must have gone by before Hazel's voice carried over to him suddenly. “Do you think we're friends?”

“Why wouldn't we be?” He pulled off his gloves and walked over to her.

“Just checking.” She happily replied.

The sun was bright today. Can he tell her to wear sunscreen? He decided no while he walked over to her.

Andrew grabbed her empty glass from her hand and went through her open back door to her kitchen sink. He washed them before leaving them to dry, then he squatted down in front of her sink and opened the cabinet doors. 

It was easy enough to fix a leak, especially one you caused. She would worry, though.

Next time. This time he should get back outside; no need to get ahead of himself.

She gave him a sweet smile as she thanked him for taking her glass. “Do you need anything else? A snack?”

“No, I’ll be done soon; I have to head to work.”

“For how long?” Her book was now abandoned on the ground.

He sat on the side of the other lounge chair with his elbows on his knees. “Only for tonight and maybe tomorrow night.”

“Oh. Okay, will your friend be there?” His head tilted to the side. He doesn’t have friends here.

“I’ve seen him come by before- um- dark hair, a little shorter than you, always talking your ear off.” She gestured with her hands to mimic someone talking.

“S. Yeah, he’ll be there.”

“That’s good. You won't be alone.” 

He leaned over and grabbed her book, placing it on her little table. Only Hazel would care about that.

~𖤓~ Last Night ~𖤓~

He felt bad over how he left her; it was sudden. He scared her. She’ll tell him he didn't, but he knew what it looked like when someone was scared of you.

His bracelet’s beads were starting to get dull; the finishing was rubbing off from his fidgeting. The other artifacts he keeps will have to be taken better care of. 

He had to leave her with it. How else would he make sure she was safe?

~𖤓~ Six weeks ago ~𖤓~

“It’s going to be longer than we thought.” S hadn't waited until they were inside to break the news to Andrew. They stood on his porch, Andrew's bag at his feet. He had packed for the two days he was told he’d be out of town. This was always a possibility with these jobs; he knew that. If his boss needed more information, then they had to get it. Simple.  “Boss called.” He could tell S didn't want to tell him the rest of the news; he was bouncing on his toes, and hadn't made a single joke since he showed up. It made Andrew's skin itch. “He got a tip about that guy we dumped.” No. That was supposed to be over. Roy wouldn't come back here. If he did, Andrew would have to - No. He wouldn't come back.

Andrew had not killed Roy. He was kept for three days. Away from Andrew, per his request, after they had removed his bindings, when he looked at S and spat out, “All this for that bitch?”

He almost did. The gun was against his forehead before he had processed it.

Hazel wouldn't want him to kill somebody for her. She would assume this was his first time ending someone's life; she would blame herself for it. In that moment, Andrew had a hard time caring. He did care. He did. He couldn't help himself when he pictured what Roy could have gotten away with that night. Hazel could have died. His Hazel. Dead. Cold.

He pressed the barrel a little harder into his skull. “Say that again.”

It wouldn't be the same. If Roy made another comment, he would have to do it.

Roy stared ahead and didn't speak. Andrew waited until S came over and pushed the gun away. “I got it, man.”

Roy’s jaw cracked with the force of S’s punch.

Two days with S, and he had gotten an apology out of him before they dropped him off a couple of states over. He would live. It would be a long walk, but he would be fine.

“He’s back in the state.” 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“I can't leave her.” His fists clenched at his sides as he shook his head. They were a ways from the border; he knew that. He had to stay. What if he got back in? No.

“You have to.” S widened his eyes, pleading with Andrew not to fight him on this. Their boss was already irritated at him; he couldn't push it. “Michael, you have to go if this is what we think it is; then it’s big. We have to go.”

He was right; the guy they were watching was not some low-life criminal this time. He was bigger than that. They needed to know just how big before they could act on their client's demands. “How long?”

“A couple of weeks at least.”

A couple of weeks with her alone in that house.

“I need twenty minutes.” He said, facing Hazel's house. She only had one light on downstairs, probably finishing her book on the couch. He had to tell her. Not about Roy, not yet, but that he was leaving. 

“We leave in ten.” His partner called after him.

She opened her door quickly.

“Do you trust me?” He knew he had startled her by knocking this late, but he only had so much time left.

“I- Are you okay? You look upset.” She looked so worried for him; it made him ache.

“I have to leave for longer than I thought.” He braced himself on her door frame.

“Okay. Do you need me to watch your house? Is that what you're worried about? The chores? I’ll do them.” Fuck no. He was worried she would get killed by some stupid egomaniac while he was dumb enough to leave for a job.

“Fuck no. No, don’t touch anything I- that's not your job. I’ll do it when I get back.”

Fuck. He should have killed him. He’s going to leave her here all alone with Roy somewhere in the world. He should tell her. Maybe she could stay with Jen.

“Hey. What's wrong? What are you upset about?” She ducked her head to look underneath the hand he was rubbing on his forehead. Bumps were forming on her skin from the cold breeze.

“Can I come in?” He can't tell her, but he has to do something. She stood to the side as he entered. “Do you trust me?” He paced in her living room.

“Of course.” She was wringing her hands in front of her. Her pajamas were what made him stop. Small, blue, and soft. How does she stay warm? Focus. Okay. He reached to the small of his back and took out his pistol. It let out a dull thud when he placed it on her coffee table. 

“You need to keep this while I’m gone.” He couldn't look at her when he said it. What if she got mad? Told him to leave?

She shook her head and took a step back. Fuck. He was fucking this up.

“You have to, Hazel. You are going to take this, and while I am gone, every single time you open this door, you will have this in your hand. I don't care if you look through the peephole and see Jen or me; you will have this in your hand. When you're sleeping, you'll have it-” She doesn't have nightstands. Shit. He shouldn't know that. “- under your other pillow, okay? Not the one you sleep on.”

She was shaking her head harder now. Hands dropped to her sides. She was trying to stand firm. Be brave. He braced for it. 

“You can’t just come into my house and give me a gun.” She kept her voice as steady as she could. Her face tensed while she held back tears. He hated it. Her eyes were locked on her coffee table. It didn't belong there amongst the colorful yarn coasters and decorative candles. He didn't belong there.

“I won't be here.” He went over to her slowly, silently pleading with her not to flinch back. She finally met his eyes again when he placed his hand on her shoulders. She was warm. That was good. “I won’t be next door, Hazel.”

“Is something bad happening?” Her eyes were filled with tears, and her voice grew watery. He felt her barely grip the hem of his t-shirt. Right. He hated seeing her get attacked. She had lived it. This was deeper than just her neighbor coming over and giving her a weapon. 

“No. Nothing is happening. I just can’t take that chance.” He guided her to sit on her couch. Her craft of the night had been hastily placed on the arm of it. They sat a few inches apart. She wasn’t kicking him out. That was a good sign.

“Is that legal?” She whispered while flicking her chin at the gun. He didn’t answer that. “How long will you be gone?” She tried again while she wiped her eyes with her sleeve. 

“I- I don't know. A couple of weeks at least.” Andrew tried to make it seem better than it was. He was never good at that. She nodded before clasping her hands together between her knees.

“Okay. When do you have to leave?”

“Ten minutes ago.”

“You're going to come back?” Hazel finally looked at Andrew, and he could see that she wasn't just asking; she needed to hear him say he would.

He would.

“Yeah. Someone has to keep your yard clean.” He tried to lighten her mood. He wanted to touch her. To console her. He didn't deserve that from her.

“You'll see. You'll come back, and it'll look better than you left it.” She joked back. Good. She wouldn’t joke with him if she were mad.

Her eyes darted to where she felt his hand twitch towards her leg.

A loud honk outside made him drop his head with a small groan.

“You're going to come back?” She had gotten quieter.

“Always. Here.” He kept his voice calm. Hazel kept a notepad on her coffee table. He scribbled his number on it. “Something happens, you call me. Got it?”

“Got it.”

He made it to the door before she asked another worrying question that shattered him all over again: “What if he comes back?”

He’d have to kill him.

Hazel hadn’t noticed Andrew coming back over and sinking to his haunches in front of her. He spoke gently but firmly. “You’ll run upstairs and hide on the roof. Take the gun and shut the window behind you. Go as high as you can and lie still. Be quiet. Call me.” Her sniffles made him reach for his phone. He wasn’t going. 

Fuck.

He had to. Legal jobs don't pay what these jobs do. “Repeat it.” Hazel wiped her nose with the back of her hand and nodded.

“Um- take my phone and um- the gun up to the roof, shut the window, climb high, lie still, and call you.” 

She wasn't crying anymore - his brave Hazel.

Another honk, longer this time.

“Do you know how to use it?” He would take the time to teach her. S would have to wait. He’d live.

“Yeah, my dad would take me shooting.”

Thank god.

More honking broke through their shallow goodbye.

Before he walked out, he draped the blanket she kept on the back of her couch around her shoulders. She looked cold.

“You’ll come back.”

The way she looked up at him was so hopeful he almost laughed. Someone wanted him to come back to them? Laughable. He didn't for her sake. She didn't find this funny at all. She looked as if she had already begun grieving him.

“Soon.”

That's what he could offer her. He couldn't tell her that he’d be safe, and he couldn't tell her when he would be back either. Everything hung in that one word. Soon.

~𖤓~ Today ~𖤓~

He did get back that night. Too late to see Hazel, but he’d make time today.

Andrew liked the cooler weather when the breeze brought the scent of the lake throughout the town. He found himself walking just to walk most days. Sometimes it felt like he was sweeping a perimeter, making sure he didn't see anyone from his past life infiltrating his new one.

Hazel can’t know.

Mrs. Hansen was walking her dog towards him with the same smile she always used when she was going to stop and talk about nothing for longer than necessary. He shifted his weight to turn into the next storefront, but that was a little too obvious. He was good now. Good men don't avoid old ladies just to get out of small talk.

“Michael! How are you doing?” Her voice was raspy from the years of chain-smoking she would tell him about.

“Good.”

Suddenly, her eyes went from kind to accusatory as she placed her hands on her hips.

“You haven’t been at the library. The other lady helps me, but it's not the same.”

The library was the first place he went after crashing in this town for the night. After he got settled here, he went back almost every day to keep busy before he started working. Mrs. H marched up to him one day and all but demanded that he grab her a book.

Obviously, he did, which led to more and more books he got told to grab until she had a sufficient haul to go through. It became a small routine of theirs when they’d see each other. He would be standing or sitting somewhere, and she would walk right up to him and say, “You look bored.”

He hadn't been finding time. He would have to.

“My work keeps me busy, but I'll stop by soon. You still go on the same days?”

“I’m holding you to that. If you don't show, I’m calling for a welfare check.”

“I'll show.”

Hazel's hair always caught the sun. Andrew wasn’t sure why or how, but it did; a beacon so he could locate her. Right then it shone through the cafe window across the street. She was sitting at a table with her laptop out, typing away.

It was a lesson planning day.

She hadn't noticed his staring. Either she was missing that sixth sense that humans had to know when they were being watched, or she didn't care. That was lucky for him. She hadn't taken more than a couple of sips from her latte that was sitting at the table with her. She must not have been there long.

He was pretty sure his favorite feature of hers was her nose. She used some sort of makeup to make it sparkle in the sun. He liked that.

She must have developed that sense; he thought she was missing. Their eyes met, and he got to watch her face as her brain caught up to who she saw. At first, her brow was still furrowed in concentration from her work, and her lips were a bit pursed as she bit the inside of her lower lip. When she caught up to the fact that it was him, she lit up like a firework. Her eyebrows shot up, and her mouth bloomed into a big smile. She smacked the side of her laptop, trying to wave at him quickly.

“Go talk to her.” Mrs. H tore his attention away. Right. He was mid-conversation with the older lady. Now he looked like some creeper watching a girl through a window.

“She's my neighbor.” He explained, but kept his eyes on Hazel, lifting his own hand to return her wave.

“Didn't ask.” She snorted. When he looked back at the woman, she was smirking at him knowingly. His head shook as he made his way across the street towards his Hazel.

“I'll see you at the library.” He called over his shoulder.

“You better, and bring her next time. I’ve got questions, lover boy!”

He chose to ignore that.

Hazel whipped her head towards the door when the bell chimed above Andrew.

“What are you doing here?” She asked as he walked to her table. He stopped in front of her, blocking the rest of the cafe. At the angle they were at, with him standing over her, he could just barely see the spots on her nose where her sunglasses had left marks in her makeup. She was biting her bottom lip lightly as she waited for his answer. He shoved his hands in his front pockets before he gave her his reply.

“I was taking a walk.” He sounded dull to his own ears after comparing his voice to hers. “Mind if I sit?” He gestured to the empty chair across from her.

“Please!” She shut her laptop and turned herself in her chair back to the table. It had only been quiet for a couple of seconds before he spoke again.

“Andrew. I used to go by it.”

He froze. That was not the plan. ‘I don't have a middle name,’ was the plan. Waiting until she asked again was the plan. She can't know that; she can't know Andrew.

“I’m sorry?” She tilted her head before taking a small drink of her coffee. Right, it had been weeks since she left that note.

“My- You asked about my middle name.” He explained. Too late to take it back now.

“Oh! Yes. I like that. Andrew.” She moved her mouth like she was trying the name out on her tongue. He had to admit it was nice to hear with no last name following it. No reputation. Just Andrew. “Why did you stop going by it?” She closed her laptop and leaned forward on the table.

“I- I don't know.” 

“Did you prefer that over Michael?” 

He preferred it over ‘Pope’. That counts. 

“Uh- Yeah, I guess I did.”

She nodded before continuing her questions.

“Did you ever shorten that? Andy? Drew?”

“Andy. Sometimes.” He had to change the subject. She can't know him.

“Andy.” She smiled again at that. She said it breathily like she was mid-sigh.

It was stupid to tell her. It was worth it to hear her try it out.

“Did you like the painting?” She sounded nervous.

“Of course I did.”

Don’t remember your key. I have to give it back if you ask.

She didn’t; she just started telling him about how she made it. Techniques he didn't understand. He listened.

They stayed for only another half hour before he stood. He wanted to stay longer, listen to her tell him about her work. Her latte was empty and she kept adjusting in her chair, shifting her weight. He had noticed how she liked to sit with her legs up on chairs she couldn't do that on these stools.

“I have to get back to the house. Chores. They need to get done soon.”

“Mine or yours?” She leaned back in her chair to look up at him.

“Both. Mine first, then yours.” He nodded to her.

“Oh, yours first. I see who gets priority.” Her voice was teasing, matching her theatrical eyebrow raise.

“I don't have as many this week.” He offered with a stiff shrug.

“You shouldn’t even be doing mine, Andy.” 

Andy. Andy. Andy. Andy. Andy. Andy. Andy. Andy. Andy. Andy. Andy. Andy. Andy. Andy.

“Come on.” He nodded his head towards the exit. “Let’s get going, Hazey.” He saw Hazel's quilted laptop bag hanging from her chair, grabbing it gently as she shook her head with airy laughter. She was facing away to grab her purse as he put her laptop away. She placed her hand into his empty one when he offered it to help her up.

He didn't grip it when she pulled away after standing. He should have.

They had obviously driven separately. His car followed hers the whole way.

Later he would break his resolution from the night before. He was getting bolder now as he turned the chair to face her more fully. He could have sworn she smiled when he sat down.

~𖤓~ ~𖤓~ ~𖤓~ ~𖤓~ ~𖤓~ ~𖤓~ ~𖤓~ ~𖤓~ ~𖤓~ ~𖤓~

The weather was starting to get cooler around the lake. Hazel and her friend had a good time playing some quiet music and eating the small picnic Hazel had packed; now they just picked at some grapes as they watched the water, enjoying the tail end of the summer warmth. They had plans to go out for lunch, but that would be pushed until the next day. 

Neither was in a rush to wash off the sun and lake water. The sun was only a few hours from setting anyway.

Hazel had always loved sitting out here. It made her feel watched, like the forest knew when she was lonely. That tingling you get on the back of your neck when someone is looking at you never really went away for her. 

She liked that about living out here. 

You can't be lonely when you have fish and deer always aware you are around. She wondered if her neighbor liked that.

They sat at the end of the dock with their feet in the water, leaning back on their hands as they talked on and off, sometimes just sitting together and thinking. Their hair was still slightly damp, and their skin had that lingering warmth you can only get from being in the sun a little longer than you should. 

Hazel had decided during her time under the water; she was done dating. 

What was the point? So she can, at best, go through several more rounds of wasting her time, and at worst, get attacked again? 

Besides, she doesn't feel like she's missing anything. What would a boyfriend be good for anyway? Sex? It’s not like any of her dates were particularly good at that. She likes her life. She's got a good job, a nice house, a best friend, and a nice neighbor. She doesn't need anyone to pay for anything in her life. It might be nice, but it's not necessary.

“I'm never going to date again.” She finally announced to her friend before she asked, “What are you thinking about?” in a weak attempt to skip past her giving up.

“I think I'm going to get a pair of prescription sunglasses. I can't see anything,”  Her smile spread across her face slowly as she talked. One of Hazel's favorite things about her friend was her laugh. It was musical and trilled pleasantly. They laughed together until she responded to Hazel's announcement.

“If you're saying that because you know you can find fulfillment and happiness without a partner, then I support you. If you're saying that because you're scared, rightfully so, then I think you just need time, Hazey.” She reached over and placed her hand on top of Hazel's, “It's only been a matter of days. Nobody is expecting you to jump right back in. Besides, you don't really need to with Mr. Man next door.” She peeked over her shoulder, and Hazel knew she was looking at her neighbor's house.

“What?” Hazel said with a scoff. She tried to laugh a little, but it came out all wrong. Her friend lifted her hand to gesture vaguely.

“You know the fixing things, the yard maintenance, the dock he lets you use, and when's the last time you needed to wash your car?” She looked back at Hazel, tipping her sunglasses down to meet her eye. “We have to talk about it, Hazey.”

She could be right. She doesn’t need help around the house, and everything outside is always taken care of. Her friend had expressed before that this wasn't ‘normal’ neighbor behavior. Hazel didn't think that meant it was bad. He's not breaking into her house or anything. She thought about saying that, but that didn't sound reassuring.

“Well, we don't know that any of that stuff is him. Maybe I'm a sleep fixer and cleaner.” She was mumbling a bit, and her friend was rolling her eyes at her. So what? She's seen him clean up his yard before; he probably just likes his space to be orderly. He would do it for any neighbor.

She should have said that. That was better than extreme sleep activity.

“And dock builder.” Her friend followed up with a dry tone.

“Well, obviously that's him,” she admitted. “That doesn't mean he's acting like a partner.” He’s not into her like that. He just doesn't use it often. When he is out here, he just kind of stands at the edge, usually when it's a bit stormy.

Hazel didn't particularly like how her friend was looking at her; exasperated and slightly empathetic. She stared out at the water and tried to ignore the burning in her face. 

“He hardly uses it. He’s being nice, Jen.” She broke the silence just like her friend knew she would. Lawyers.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Jen said knowingly. Hazel turned to her with a furrowed brow, and Jen just shrugged and kept talking while facing the water. “You are one of the bravest women I know, and yet you never go after men you actually like. Ever. He's probably talked to you more in the last week than he has in two years, you know why?” She dragged out the last word as she lifted her brow and looked back to her friend.

“He cares, Hazel. In a creepy way, sure, but he does. That's better than most guys.” Jen shrugged again. Hazel felt a small flash of anger towards her friend. He was never creepy. He just likes to observe things. That's smart. That's tactical.

“He’s not creepy. I’d care too if a man broke into my neighbor's house. Anyone would.” She deflated a little as she said it out loud. He felt bad for her. Of course he did. 

“He’s been doing that stuff for years, Hazel. Don’t boil it down to pity. Besides, would you stare at your neighbor through your window?” She had turned her face back towards Michael's house, and Hazel snapped her eyes to her.

“What? He is not-”

He was. When she turned to look at his house, there he was, standing in his window, looking at them. She had reluctantly given him a little wave; in return, she got the tilt of his head before he walked away from the glass.

Jen spoke to no one specifically, “God, I would kill for his posture.” Then directly to Hazel, “Ten bucks says he's on his way over.” Jen shook her head lightly with an amused expression. 

Hazel snapped back to Jen in a panic. She should've asked him. He told her she didn't have to, but maybe he had wanted to use it today, and now he was being nice enough to wait until they were finished. She was suddenly mortified that they had been out there all day. Literally. 

“Do you think he wants to use the dock today?” Hazel stood and started gathering their stuff into their respective bags, taking care to leave out their coverups and Jen’s shoes.

“No.” Jen didn't move yet, just laughed quietly.

~𖤓~

Jen was right, he did come over, and he didn't want to use the dock. 

“I’m Michael.” He spoke to Jen. The girls had both stood and donned their coverups by the time he stepped onto the dock. He reached out his hand, and she looked at him long enough that it made Hazel think she was going to say something about his neighborly habits. She tried to catch her friend's eye and silently beg her not to make it weird, but she was honed in on Michael.

“Jen.” She gripped his hand and quickly let go. 

He nodded before adding, “The lawyer.” He finally looked at Hazel, and she nodded back to him. “Oh, you've talked about me?” He nodded again without looking away from Hazel. “She likes having you around.” Jen squinted her eyes. “Did she tell you that, or have you watched enough to see me?” Her smile was not kind.

No. No. No.

Jen was always blunt; Hazel knew that, but god did she have to ask him that now?

“Do you still want that painting? It's done!” It's not. Hazel spoke quickly so her neighbor didn't have to answer her friend. He looked at Jen for just a second longer before answering Hazel.

“Of course I do.” He gave her the tiniest tilt of his lip. She wished he would smile more. 

She knew that her students often fed off her energy. 

If she was nervous or short-tempered, so were they. 

If she showed up to their lessons positive and bright, they would learn to mirror that. 

Her neighbor was not a child. He was quite far from being a child, but he was human. Maybe he was guarded because he didn't know where he stood with her, especially after Jens' question. She should smile at him. 

She did. She gave him a small reassuring smile, and while he didn't smile back, his face softened for her. She liked this look too. Maybe next she can get him to relax his shoulders.

She had temporarily forgotten about her friend as she nodded back at him, a little dazed. When she did remember the third person, she also remembered she now had to find a not-awkward way to say:

‘Hey, sorry I lied about it being done, I just didn't want my friend to interrogate you, and then you hate me because I like being your neighbor, and maybe that’s why I won’t tell you that I think I like you, because what if we broke up? I'd have to move, and I don't want to move. I like my house, but you probably wouldn't move either, so then we’d just be exes living next to each other, and honestly, I don't want to do yard work, and I don't want to hire some random man to do it for me, so please ignore her and sorry again about the painting.’

She wouldn't have to say all of that. 

‘Hey, sorry I lied about it being done,’ was still bad.

“Well, Hazey, I will see you tomorrow for lunch? Have fun, but not too much. Don't change the population and all that.” Jen went around Michael to hug her, luckily whispering the last part so Hazel could at least pretend he hadn’t heard it. Her face flooded with warmth as she hugged her friend. “Yes. lunch.”

Jen grabbed her bag and started to walk back up the dock with a smug smile. “Bye, Michael.”

Hazel gave him another nervous smile. That could've gone worse for her.

“Hazey?” He raised a brow at her.

“Yeah, she thinks it's cute.” Hazel rolled her eyes and shot a playful glare at the back of her friend's head.

“It is. I like Hazel better.” He looked overly serious when telling her that. She had never liked her name as much as she did in that moment.

His gaze flitted downward and caught on the fading bruise left on her thigh. It wasn't bad persay. The doctor said it probably happened when she hit the ground. It was a bit larger than any other bruise she’s had before. She pulled her cover-up a little lower to try to hide it. The movement made him snap his eyes to meet hers before he spoke again. “Are you ready to head up?” He had scanned her and the deck to make sure she had everything she needed. He had paused at her bare feet. “Where are your shoes? Stepping on rocks hurts, ya know?” 

She appreciated his attempt not to make a big deal out of it. 

“I- you made the path, and you sweep it every day, I don't know if that's possible, but I promise next time I will wear my shoes. You don't have to worry about me getting injured on your property.” While she had been smiling, he still looked almost offended that she didn't have proper footwear for an apparently treacherous walk down to the dock and back to her door.

“I sweep it because I find rocks. Are you ready?”

That made sense.

“Oh! Yes.”

She started to walk up, and he fell into step a few feet behind her. She knew he was staring; it felt like the forest. Her face was hot as a giddy smile spread across it.

~𖤓~

When they reached Hazel's door, she started to feel nervous again for more and more reasons. He had never seen the inside of her house. What if he didn't like it? It’s definitely messier than his. What will he think about the broken spoke in her stair railing? What will he think about the unfinished painting she just told him was finished?

He hadn't said anything on the short walk up from the dock. He did wave to Jen as she drove away. She didn't wave back.

Hazel opened her door and took a few steps inside, but quickly turned back towards her neighbor. He hadn't crossed the threshold yet, so he had to place his hands on the frame for stability after the abrupt stop. 

Her face went hot. 

Again. 

She tried to come across serious enough so he wouldn't push the issue, as she stated: “I don't accept payment for art.” She said it as firmly as she could. 

He tilted his head to the side at her strict tone. “Okay.”

“I teach,” she whispered nervously. 

He looked behind her, and she followed his eyes to the broken spoke in the stair railing. She could've sworn she heard the wood groan from the doorframe where he gripped it. “I teach online. Art. Color Theory and lighting stuff like that to kids of pretty much all ages. So there is a guaranteed mess from yesterday that you can’t judge me for.” She turned back to him, but he was still looking past her. 

She should say it now. ‘It's not done, sorry I lied.’ Ugh. No. ‘I didn't want my friend to scare you off, so I lied about your painting being done, but I’d still like you to come inside.’ No. God No. She would like him to. She could think of something to get him inside to keep him around for a little longer.

He pushed himself off the doorframe and met her eyes again. “It's not safe to have that big gap there.” He stated. She was going to mention that she had already called someone about it, ‘Someone’ meaning a hardware store. Before she could get a word out, he was stepping off her porch.

She was frozen as she watched him walk back to his house. Was he going to fix her stairs? Today? She was going to fix them. She had already glued the spoke back together; she just had to glue it into the railing. She thought. 

She should get changed. 

She should shower. 

She can't shower; she doesn't have time. She should change. She looked down at herself and realized she was in her cover-up she's had since middle school, zebra-print and everything. He probably thinks she's ridiculous.

She ran up her stairs. 

~𖤓~

She was stopped briefly while changing by the itching that would seem to overtake her scalp since her wound began healing. All she wanted was to scratch it. Her doctor had told her this would happen.

She got lucky that it wasn't worse; she didn’t end up needing stitches. She tried to use these moments where it all hit her again to be grateful. It could've been worse. She's okay. She wouldn't label the feeling as panic; she would label it as dread.

He is out there. He will come back.

Who left that note? Was he just messing with her?

Hazel ran her hand over the back of her head gently and took some deep breaths. He won't come back. She's being safer. Even if he does, he won't get as far this time. Maybe Michael would hear. Maybe he would help. She’s okay. It could’ve been worse.

She knew she was overthinking everything when she went to change her shirt for the third time. “This is fine. It's not a date. He's fixing your stairs,” and not getting his painting, she remembered. “Oh God, what do I tell him? Oh God, what if he's back already?”

~𖤓~

He wasn't. She got back to her door and leaned out to see that he was shutting his. She had put a hand to her forehead when she realized her door was left wide open. Luckily, he would be here if any critters had gotten in. 

No wonder she was attacked if she can't remember to shut her door.

She could hear Jen in her head, “It’s not your fault, Hazey. He would have found a way in.”

Hazel realized she had greatly underestimated this job when her neighbor returned with power tools. She didn't own regular tools, let alone any with a plug. Without thinking, she turned to the side and let him in. 

She wasn't sure what to do while he worked, so she perched on top of her desk behind him.

“Do you have the missing baluster?” He asked her while he knelt on her floor to assess the damage.

“The what?” Did she need that? He got some black gloves out of his pocket and pulled them on his hands.

“The spoke.” He turned with a raised eyebrow. Of course. Obviously. 

“Yes!” She hopped up and found herself jogging. She slowed herself down. It felt unnatural, almost mechanical.

“Why are you nervous?” He asked as soon as she got back with the fully cured spoke. She had been biting her thumb when he looked her way again. “You've been fidgety.” She dropped her hand. She was going to have to tell him while he was doing her another favor.

She kicked her toe into the ground before finally admitting. “Your painting isn't done. I thought it would be, but I just can't get it right, and I don't want to give it to you knowing I’m not happy with it, so I just-” She trailed off.

“There's no rush, Hazel.” He talked over the tail end of it.

Of course, there isn’t. He doesn’t really want it.

“You're not going to ask why I told you to come get it when it wasn't even done yet?” She wanted the ground to swallow her. Maybe if she shut up, he wouldn’t even remember that.

“You didn't tell me to come get it. You asked if I still wanted it.” He had the baluster angled into the railing. Hazel was pretty sure she had messed something up. That was not going back in.

“I told you it was done.” Again, she was mentally slapping herself.

“Do you want me to ask?” He asked. She couldn't see his face as he began measuring something, but his voice carried traces of humor. What needed measuring?  

“No.”

“Okay.”

Okay. 

She can live with ‘okay’. 

Hazel went to sit on the desk and saw the bracelets she had been making with a younger group of kids to teach them the order of the rainbow. That would keep her hands busy, no more fidgeting.

While he fixed her stairs, she sat in her desk chair and started to make a new one. A simple one. Just a brown braid with a few dull silver beads every few centimeters. He wouldn't want anything to catch attention. 

She liked this dynamic. It was a little louder than she liked with how close she was to him as he worked, but it was nice knowing he was there. 

She lost herself in the humming and mindless knots as she weaved.

She could give him this as a placeholder. 

He doesn't want a bracelet. 

She made it extra long just in case. His wrists are probably twice the size of hers. Oh. She couldn't dwell on that.

She kept humming and focused on making the closure. It had gotten quiet again; he was probably cleaning up.

“What is that?” She jumped high enough to bump her knee on the underside of the desk. He was standing at the end of the desk, watching her fingers tie off the final knot. “Sorry. Didn't want to scare you.” He made a small step back, hands now bare.

“No, you don't scare me,” she let out a self-deprecating laugh. “I was always an easy spook,” she waved him off before standing. “It's a bracelet.” Hazel placed it down on the corner of the desk and started putting the supplies back into the box by her feet.

“How do you teach them that over the computer? What if they don't have the stuff?” he was looking at all of the supplies spread around, and she shrugged.

“The company I work for sends them the stuff beforehand.” It was one of her favorite parts. When parents reach out for lessons, they always ask, ‘What supplies would we need to get?’ When Hazel told them that they would send all of the supplies needed for the crafts she taught, the kids would get so excited to open them. 

“Like a present?” That's when the bouncing in their chairs started.

All the kids she taught were already super creative; it was part of what made parents look for private art lessons. Her favorite age was the littles. Three to five years old. They thought the box was the best part, with all the colors and textures. As the kids get older, the supplies get a little more advanced and a little less neon, but still magical. 

“Do I have to send the extras back?” They’d look to their parents before asking, probably worried it would sound rude, wanting to keep them.

“No, but you do have to promise you’ll keep creating with them,” was Hazel's essentially scripted reply, and it warmed her to see their little shoulders drop and their smiles widen before yelling back to her,

“I will!”

Michael hummed before asking more questions, which she answered with a smile. She should ask if he's done and offer to pay. That's polite. After a few minutes, her desk was back to its normal level of chaos, and all of the supplies were neatly where they belonged. 

“It’s already tied.” He had picked up the bracelet and was gently turning it around in his hands. Hazel shook her head and offered her hand. He gently placed it in the center of her palm.

“It's not. It slides open like this-” she slid it open, and he took it as an opportunity to slide his hand through, the bracelet now on his wrist. “Then you cinch it.” She closed it again and smiled up at him. She made sure it wasn't tight, so he knew he could take it off.

“Then you tie it?”

“No, it’s supposed to be removable and adjustable.” Hazel stood and looked at her staircase. It looked done. That sent disappointment through her. It overshadowed her bewilderment that he had actually fixed it.

His brows were furrowed as he looked at the strings dangling down from the braid. Hazel suddenly felt awkward, wondering if she should offer to remove it. She raised her hands, and he spoke again.

“Tie it.”

“Then I would have to cut it off, and that would be a waste of a bracelet,” she laughed a little again, not out of humor but out of nervousness.

“No, I want to wear it. I want it tied.” He clarified for her.

“You want the bracelet?” She asked. He nodded and held out his wrist a little closer to her.

What was she to do? She tied it. “Okay, just until you get the painting. It's like a deposit.”

“How did you break your railing?” He turned; she assumed, to pack up his things before politely excusing himself from her house.

“I fell and kind of kicked it.” 

“You fell down your stairs?” He stepped closer and looked at her body like he’d find an injury.

“No, I fell while hanging up that picture. I had my step ladder on the step so I could reach, and it slid out from under me.” He looked at the small framed picture of a deer poking its head out of the trees, obviously only a few feet away from her home. It wasn't even level. That was another project for future Hazel.

“Don't do that again. If you want something like that done, I’ll do it.” He sounded almost offended.

He would, she knew that. She was affirmed in that belief when he stalked up the stairs and gently tilted the photo until it was perfect. He stared at it for a second. At the young deer blocking the sunlight filtering through the trees behind it.

“Well, what do I owe you?” She let out a nervous laugh, full of hope that he wasn't really going to leave yet. She had to offer something.

“Don't worry about it, Hazey. Maybe I'll take you up on those lessons.” He gave her a little smirk at the nickname, causing her to groan. She could barely hear his steps as he descended. She was impressed with how he intuitively avoided the creaks and groans that came with wooden stairs. He probably has the same kind. Similar wear on them.

“You're not upset that it’s not done?” She asked him again, still a little nervous about it all.

“I knew it wasn't. You haven't left it to dry yet.” He explained as if it were obvious.

She must have looked confused.

“You have a fan that you use when you're drying a piece you've finished. I haven't seen it in your window while I weed your yard.”

“You don't have to do that.” She hoped he would continue anyway.

“Will you?” He knew the answer. She could tell he did by his side-eye look as he knelt again to gather his tools.

“Well- eventually.” She tried to sound convincing. She would, but they'd probably have to get pretty bad before it came to that.

“Right.” His voice carried that trace of amusement again.

~𖤓~

He left soon after that, much to her disappointment. It never quite felt like it, though. Right before he stepped off her porch, he asked: “How- How have you been since the break-in?”

“I’ve been okay. Jen has helped a lot being here.” She had been waking with Hazel throughout the night, reassuring her that she was safe and no one was in her house. Hazel wasn't sure if she would have made it through the first few nights if it weren't for her. “Though I guess I shouldn't be too surprised it happened since I can't even remember to shut my door.” Her laugh was weak. 

His face was on the verge of anger.

“Have you gotten those cameras up yet?” He looked around the outside of Hazel's house searching for the little recorders. She shook her head and rubbed her upper arm. Maybe my very kind neighbor will? She should attempt to do it herself first.

“Oh- Uh- No. I don't own a ladder. Or tools, but I will soon. I just need to look up what I need. I’m also going to attempt to put up some window locks.” She gave him a little smile and bounced up on her toes. She could see the amusement lying underneath his stern expression. “I think they'll make me feel safer.” She wasn't sure why she added that until he shook his head a little and extended another generous offer.

“I’m free in a few days.” That's all he said. They both knew what it meant. Her smile grew, and she thought about hugging him to show how thankful she was; she settled for a polite, “Okay.”

She was leaning on her doorframe as he gave her another smirk before finally walking back to his house. She stayed where she was until he had placed his stuff inside his door and offered her one last wave.

“See you soon?” she called out to him.

“See you soon, Hazel.”

~𖤓~

That night, she sat in her chair by her bed with the window open and watched his shadow move about in his kitchen. It wasn't wrong if he was doing it first. She hoped.

She wondered if he'd put up those cameras for her. She also bought some extra locks for her windows. Her eyes felt heavier than they should this early into the night; she blamed it on the chair. It had always smelt good, but recently she swore it had changed. Deepened. It had a soapy smell that lingered nowadays. It lay under the typical grandma smell of a vintage chair. It made her drowsy. She found herself leaning closer to it at night when she got restless. She’d sleep in it if she wouldn't regret it in the mornings when the neck ache found her.

Maybe just for tonight.

~𖤓~ ~𖤓~ ~𖤓~ ~𖤓~ ~𖤓~ ~𖤓~ ~𖤓~ ~𖤓~ ~𖤓~ ~𖤓~