Chapter Text
Sweat ran down his back, and they haven’t even really started yet.
The late-afternoon sun had that soft, honey-gold glow that made everything gold. Cicada bugs buzzing like a car horn every few minutes really added to the charm of the place. Zeal stepped out of the moving truck with another heavy box in his arms, shoulders already aching from hauling crap up and down the driveway. His shirt clung to him in places, loose in others, like it couldn’t decide whether to help or annoy him. Perhaps wearing a flannel wasn’t a good idea.
He huffed out a breath, pushing hair out of his face with his wrist so he didn’t drop the box. His parents on the other hand were chatting it up with the next door neighbors, leaning back on the moving truck with arms crossed. Very much entertained with whatever they had to say, leaving it to him to haul the rest of the boxes. He huffed at that, yet didn’t complain. Not yet at least. He started walking forward to the house, zoning out until he felt a prickle in the back of his neck. The same feeling you get when you know a pair of eyes locked onto you.
He slowed his walking into a stop. Eyes wandering to the left, and there was a row of houses. All lined up in a perfect line, lawns freshly cut in the morning. Some kids playing in the street without a care in the world. And then eye contact.
Barely a sliver of curtain moved, just enough to reveal a pair of blue eyes staring straight at him underneath a droopy set of thick lashes and wonky glasses. A male, who was perhaps an inch taller, wearing a worn-out knitted sweater — stood half-hidden inside the room he was in, fingertips still clutching the curtain like he froze mid-motion. His posture was stiff, shoulders angled as if he’d been leaning in just a little too close before Zeal caught him. None of them looked away, not right away at least.
Raising a brow, Zeal questioned the staring, lifting his fingers off the box and gave him a small wave of acknowledgement. The boy stared for a second longer, giving him an awkward wave back and closing the curtain in a rush. ‘What an introduction...’ He thought, furrowing his eyebrows, deciding to focus on his task instead.
Zeal nudged the front door open with his knee, the box digging into his palms as he stepped inside. The air felt different right away— that warm, lived-in scent older houses carry, like they’ve been holding their breath for years waiting for new bodies. The entryway had this soft, amber glow, the kind that only happens when the sun hits dusty windows just right. A narrow staircase hugged the left wall. The railing was chipped in places, paint wearing thin. Everything felt… hazy. Like the world had a sepia filter slapped over it. His mom loved that kind of thing. Called it “character.” Zeal just thought it was kinda cute.
He kicked his shoes off lazily, socks brushing the cool wood as he shifted the weight of the box. “Where’s my room again?” he muttered, even though he’d been told like three times already.
He headed for the staircase, and the whole thing groaned under his first step — not in a spooky way, more like the house was nagging at him. The banister felt smooth beneath his palm, worn down from years of hands sliding over it. By the time Zeal reached the top of the stairs, his arms were vibrating. The upstairs hallway stretched out in front of him — narrow, warm... Dust motes drifted lazily in the beam of sun slicing through the hall window.
Zeal blew a strand of hair out of his face, 'when did my hair get longer?' he thought to himself, adjusting the box against his chest. “Man, upstairs better not be a sauna,” he muttered, even though he could already feel the heavier heat clinging to the air. Summer did not play fair in old houses.
He moved down the hallway, his socks sliding across the wood floors. The walls were lined with old nail holes and faint outlines where framed pictures used to hang. Someone else’s life had been here long before his — and somehow that just made the whole thing feel… tender. Like the house was offering him a place in its long, old history.
Then he saw it — his room.
The door stood slightly ajar, the same way it had when he was younger and sneaking into rooms he wasn’t supposed to. He nudged it open with his foot, half expecting dust bunnies to launch themselves at him. Instead, sunlight rushed in to meet him. ‘I should probably get an air humidifier in here.’
The room was big. Bigger than he’d imagined when his mom told him “You get the corner one.” Empty, sure, but not bleak. Wide wooden floors stretched across the space, scuffed and wonky. The walls, a little faded, held the promise of posters, shelves, memories waiting to happen.
Zeal stepped inside, finally taking it all in.
He crouched to set the box down, rolling his shoulders with a relieved sigh. It landed with a dull thud, stirring up a puff of faint dust. His gaze lifted again, exploring the corners, the ceiling, the leftover nails he already knew he'd bang his head on. Boxes were stacked against the wall, labeled ZEAL in his mom’s handwriting.
And then—
his eyes stopped on the window.
It was… huge. Way bigger than he remembered from the quick walkthrough. It sat right in the middle, smack center like it was the main show. The frame worn out, the glasses tinted slightly at the edges with dust. Framed with pale curtains the landlord hadn’t bothered to take down. Or as one would say ‘the landlord special’. Zeal scoffed, chuckling softly to himself and on instinct, he walked closer, brushing the curtain aside with the back of his hand.
His breath hitched.
Another window.
Directly.
Facing.
His.
Like someone lined the houses up on purpose just to create this moment. Who would think of such a thing? The curtains across the way were closed, soft yellow fabric shifting a little in the breeze from an unseen fan. Zeal tilted his head, curious. Whoever lived there had their space arranged almost perfectly parallel to his. Same height. Same angle. Same view.
“Oh, sick,” he whispered under his breath. “I’ve got a neighbor window buddy.”
No clue who it was.
No idea they’d already seen him.
No sense yet of the way this tiny architectural coincidence was about to shape his entire summer.
He hummed and turned back around to look at his room. Deciding not to give it much thought. “Well, time to get into action.” He muttered, fixing his ponytail and taking strides.
By the time he was done, the edge of the sun was kissing the top of the trees. The moon making an appearance on the opposite side. Zeal dragged the back of his wrist across his forehead, sweeping away a thin sheen of sweat. The room still looked like a disaster—open boxes, half-built stacks of books, a tangle of clothes he didn’t remember packing—but it was his disaster now, and the mess made the space feel lived in.
His parents drifted past the doorway every so often: a reminder, a quick check-in, a comment about dinner or the neighbors. Mostly, though, they were still outside talking, voices floating faintly through the open downstairs windows like soft background noise. It was strange hearing them socialize so easily. Good, but strange.
Zeal stretched, vertebrae clicking as he finally let himself flop down into the desk chair. The thing protested with a creaky complaint, but he didn’t care. He leaned back until the edge of the seat dug into the backs of his thighs, tilting his head toward the ceiling as he exhaled, long and spent.
His eyes drifted toward the window, thoughts of who could be the one behind the curtain made him curious. His mind flashed to the boy he saw earlier that afternoon, could it be him? Zeal’s eyes stared longingly, curiosity chewing at him. ‘No need to bother, I’ll find out someday.’ he assured himself.
A soft knock broke through the quiet. Cutting off his thoughts.
“Yeah?” Zeal called, voice a little hoarse from not talking for an hour. The door pushed open a crack, and his mom peeked in with that small, encouraging smile. “Hey, sweetie,” she said, stepping inside with her arms crossed loosely. “You surviving up here?”
“Barely,” Zeal said with a crooked grin, gesturing at the mess, sitting up straight. “I think the house is trying to kill me via heatstroke.” She laughed and rolled her eyes as she looked around. “It’ll cool down soon enough. New houses always get a little stuffy.” Her gaze dipped to the scattered boxes. “You’ve made a good dent, though.”
“Mm,” he hummed, lifting one shoulder. “Trying.” She walked farther in, fingers trailing along the edge of his desk before she leaned her hip against it. “Well, I came up here to give you a heads-up.” Zeal arched a brow. “That sounds suspicious.”
“Oh, hush.” She nudged his shoulder. “The neighbors invited us over for dinner tonight.”
“Like… tonight tonight?”
“Yes, tonight tonight,” she echoed, amused. “They insisted. And your father already said yes, because apparently, we’re being social now.” Zeal snorted. “Wild concept."
“I know.” She paused, then added with a hint of excitement in her voice, “They have a son, by the way.” Zeal blinked owlishly. His gaze looking back up to her. “Okay…?” She sighed dramatically, wanting a bigger reaction. “About your age,” she clarified, lightly tapping his arm like she expected this detail to mean something huge. He raised both eyebrows. “Like my actual age, or your version of ‘your age’ that includes a five-year gap?” She made a face. ah. “He’s a bit younger. But not by much.” bingo.
Zeal leaned back in his chair, letting it roll an inch, as he crossed his arms and swiveled his body towards her. “So, this is a ‘please try to make a friend’ talk.” he claimed, tilting his head. “It wouldn’t kill you,” she said with a laugh. Smacking him lightly on the shoulder with the back of her hand, he chuckled, softly leaning away from the hit. “You’re always saying we’re all hermits. This might be a good change.”
That made him laugh louder. “Because we are hermits!” he cried out in between his fit of giggles. “Exactly why we should try not to be,” she replied, crossing her arms with playful firmness. Happy to see him dawning a smile. “And besides… It's good to have someone your age around. New place, new start. You might actually like him.” she cooed in a sing-songy voice, leaning into the tease. Her fingers poking his ribs.
Zeal flinched at each poke, letting out soft 'acks' and snickers before shrugging, a slow, noncommittal motion, swatting her hand away from him. “I don't know..Maybe. Who knows.” She gave him that soft smile again — the one that said she was trying not to fuss. “Alright, anyway. Dinner’s in an hour. Go shower, change into something clean, and please don’t pretend that sweaty flannel counts as presentable.”
“oh-Wow,” His mouth opened in shock, tripping over his own words “roasted in my own room!”
“You’ll live.” She leaned down, pressed a quick kiss to the top of his head, then straightened toward the door. “Clean up, okay? And don’t make us late.”
“Yeah, yeah. I got it.” Before she stepped out, she added over her shoulder, “Oh and be nice.” Zeal scoffed. “When am I not?” She didn’t answer. Just gave him a look that said exactly. When she closed the door, the room settled into quiet again — though something in the air felt shifted, like the night had plans he hadn’t been briefed on yet. Zeal pushed up from his chair with a sigh, grabbing a clean towel on his way to the bathroom.
"Dinner with the neighbors,” he mumbled to himself. “This is gonna be… something.”