The first time she gets a good look at his face it's ass o'clock in the morning and she's not sleeping well so she decides to have a drink (which she knows is a terrible idea, but fuck her health, she's 78; if she wants some god damn whisky, she'll have some).
She watches through the kitchen window as he's briefly illuminated by the streetlight, slinking off quietly into the darkness.
He's handsome; all sharp cheekbones, stubble and leather jackets, but oh, his eyes, his eyes truly make the picture come together. The kind of guy she would've undoubtedly been warned off of by her parents in her youth.
(The best kind of guy, that is.)
He must've been leaving another tryst with the sheriff's kid. At least, she assumes that's what they're doing. She can't think of any other reason a teenager would sneak a twenty-something guy into his room at all hours. She kind of wants to shake the kid's hand, somehow managing to have a regular little fling with this rough looking guy under the sheriff's nose.
She never would've taken him for the type.
Honestly, she was surprised when she first caught a glimpse of someone climbing into the Stilinski kid's bedroom window around dusk, thought about calling the cops (and isn't that ironic, calling the sheriff to his own house), but then the Stilinski kid and the guy came barreling out the front door and into that dodgy looking jeep, careening down the street and so she put the phone back down. It's none of her business, really.
(So, she makes it all of her business, naturally.)
From what she's seen, the guy follows only one pattern: never using the front door.
He sometimes visits during the day, but mostly at night (and even then she can't keep track of any regular meeting times they might have.)
The guy always just hops right through the window, zero hesitation (and how he always knows when the Sheriff's not home, she'll never figure out.)
Except one night (morning, really) she'd spotted him sitting by the window, just watching through the glass.
The moon was full, bright enough for her to see his hands clench and unclench around the windowsill, irregularly.
She'd watched him swallow and close his eyes, tilt his head, like he was listening for something.
(An invitation maybe?)
Then he'd suddenly jerked upright, body stiff and tight, and when he'd opened his eyes she knew her eyesight must be terrible if she thought she'd seen his eyes flash red.
(He never went into the kid's room that night.)
There were a couple more trysts that she glimpsed, until one day there wasn't.
And so began the strange time where the guy didn't come around for a while.
(She frowned and tutted at the idea that he probably cut the Stilinski kid loose.)
The window stayed open every night.
A few weeks later she'd almost forgotten all about them until she caught sight of them both arguing in broad daylight in front of the house.
The kid looked more pissed than she'd ever seen him, gesticulating in sharp, furious movements, mouth moving a mile a minute (which wasn't so unfamiliar, admittedly).
The guy spoke every now and then, but he was clearly radiating anger, fists clenched tight.
They eventually came to what looked to be a stalemate. She could practically cut the tension with a knife.
And then the guy backed the kid up against the jeep, kissing him hard and furious, shoving a knee between the kid's legs, who was suddenly just as enthusiastic, clawing at the guy's jacket, one hand threaded into his hair.
And just as it was getting good the guy pulled back, putting a few steps between him and the kid, who looked immensely frustrated.
She had a bad angle at the time and couldn't see the guy's face, but she's pretty sure he must've said something pretty cutting, because the kid's face just completely shut down, eyes going cold.
Eventually the kid just turned and walked into the house, slamming the door behind him.
After that, the window was always firmly shut.
(Even the one time she'd caught the guy knocking on the glass.)
She watched the Stilinski kid for the next few weeks.
Watched him go to and from school.
Noticed that the McCall kid didn't seem to be around as much anymore.
Sometimes she sees the same closed off expression on his face, the one from that night, when he's just sitting alone in his jeep, and she wishes she had something she could say to him.
(There's a night that she doesn't like to think about.
A night where it was freezing and pitch black, and she'd seen the silhouette of the guy carrying the kid toward the house, a slight limp slowing his walk.
She'd watched him help the kid through the window, and she only saw him leave when the sun began to filter through the trees.
She'd tried not to notice the dark red splotches of something on the ground the next morning, but it still stuck in her memory even now.)
A few days later, she's pleased to see the guy coming around again.
(And one summer day, when she's pruning the weeds in her garden, she sees the guy walk right up to the front door, and ring the doorbell.
When the kid opens the door and lets the guy take his hand and walk him back into the house, his smile is blinding and beautiful.)