#wip tracking

He was given a house in a cul-de-sac, filled with a life that wasn’t his own. The memories imprinted into his mind only gave him enough to know the photos of the couple were those of his parents, the books' texts he’d supposedly studied as he became a teacher, and clothes that both perfectly fit his frame or hung loose on his body.

Boxes laid out around the house as though he hadn’t quite finished moving in. There were signs of a human’s life that he couldn’t quite wrap his fingers around, slipping through any time he tried to properly grasp onto the memories the first son had imprinted on his mind.

He first caught sight of his charge on the first night, a tall figure emerging from a car after it pulled into the driveway at night, the light from his window making the figure pause before heading inside the neighbouring house.

It had barely been a moment, hardly worth considering, especially when the shadows concealed his charge’s face. Perhaps it was merely out of shock that the vacant home had been filled.

By morning, he had no better plan to introduce himself to his charge, the whispers of memories giving him no hints as to how to approach the other. It was one thing to know how to guide a soul back to the light, it was a whole other idea to make contact.

He could always try from afar, they weren’t supposed to get too close to humans, to compromise their time in this life with too heavy a hand. It risked corrupting the soul if they were to accidentally cut their life short, or worse, alert hell to their activities.

Perhaps that was why it was some fortune that his charge came to him, with a soft knock on the door in the early evening of his third night, turning to leave just as Tim yanked the door open.