Bike
Sitting by his desk on a September evening, Killer had his bedroom window open once more, enjoying the sound of the breeze in the crisp leaves and the smell of late summer grilling. He had a candle lit in the windowsill while he just sat there, watching, wondering if anything could be as beautiful as the last of the sunset's rays in that moment. The sound of frogs and the last of the cicadas met his ears. Everything in that moment reeked of his midwestern home, and he loved it. From outside there came a soft "pit pat" of footsteps down the sidewalk, almost sounding as if the person were barefoot. Killer looked down in curiosity.
The person in question was tall and broad-shouldered, with a slight, feminine curve at his waist. He had short-ish hair, but Killer could not make out his face as he turned down his front sidewalk and across the street away from him. His footsteps were light and even despite his height and build, as if movement itself were an art. For fear of the man turning around, Killer tried not to bend too closely into the window and risk the range of the candlelight catches his features, or his hair. Without another second passing by, the man did turn his head to face Killer's direction, sending the blonde reeling backwards away from the window. The last thing he wanted was to look like a creeper. He figured that he would never see the man again in his future anyway, but it still got to him that his first and only impression of him would be the guy that stared at me from his bedroom window.
Killer wondered about the man..
Within ten minutes of the man's appearance and departure, Killer heard the squeak of an old bicycle coming down the street. It was almost 9:30, and the moon was beginning to fly higher in the sky. How odd that someone would be out cycling at night, but Killer noticed that it was the same man he had seen just minutes before. He still couldn't identify the man, but the man once more took the time to send a glance upwards towards Killer's window. Killer put up a hand to wave as the man went by, not sure in the darkness if the cycler had reciprocated.
Within several more minutes, the anticipated faint squeak of the bike came around once more. Killer disregarded the scenario as stalkerish and decided to just stand there in the glow of the candle. The cyclist came to a stop in the road upon seeing him there, capitulating to being caught in the act. They exchanged a moment of gazing until Killer broke it to go get a piece of paper. He held a hand up for the man to wait and stay there. He scrambled around his desk until he found a small notecard- he wrote hurriedly on the thing and pulled the screen back to drop it out the window. He didn't care if it was a bad idea. The cyclist watched the paper fall from the window and looked back up at Killer quizzically. Killer waited, gesturing for him to pick up the paper from the lawn.
As the man rolled his bike alongside him, Killer saw his jawline crisp and clear in the shadow of the streetlight. He gently laid his bicycle down in the grass and sent Killer one last glance of confirmation before he set foot any closer. Killer tilted his head to the side, waiting. He could see the man's features better in the bright light of his porch's fixture, noticing his red hair, his lips, his nose.. his biceps beneath his t-shirt, the way his quads stretched his jeans.. The observed bent and picked up the paper, standing back up with an amused look.
"Call me," Killer mouthed down to him. The other smirked in return.