Author's note: That was going to be it, I swear. But then a certain two people asked very very nicely. So here you go ladies, you know who you are. (Guh, I need to go brush my teeth.)

Seasons flow, and he and his other develop a rhythm similar to that of the seasons. Every season there is a change to the decorations in their apartment. Something only he cares about. They host parties and celebrations, seemingly content with their world. After they have been living there for five full cycles there is more paint, walls moved again and the apartment made bigger. He was right, the street has changed. There are families and couples everywhere, many living in me; they are no longer an anomaly.

They have let a woman move in with them. I do not approve. She eats a lot and cries and gets all of their attention. I suppose after a few years of their undivided attention I may be a bit spoilt, however she is noisy. She just doesn't stop talking, even if it's just her, alone in the apartment, she talks as if there is someone who can hear her. I'm not stupid enough to think she's talking to me. She does have a nice singing voice though, something I have come to appreciate because he sings so well. The other sings fairly well, but only when he's alone, or thinks that he is.

They come home one day with a baby. It is worse than the woman. He carries it around like precious cargo, singing to it, which seems to be one of the few positives I have discovered so far. The other watches with warm eyes, the same soulful eyes I remember from when I first saw him. I am close one day, when the child opens its' eyes, and I see the same eyes peering from a much smaller face. If I didn't know better I would swear it could see me.

It's older now. A little boy, who starts off the day dressed impeccably and by the end of it is in his third change of clothes. He doesn't cry much anymore, instead he will lie in his crib, hand reached out to touch one of my inner walls. It's peaceful, and I know I am not imagining it anymore when his eyes follow me around the room. He notices as well, often musing out loud as to what his child is looking at.

I am horrified the first time he draws on my walls, but as I watch him draw the outline of a building I know he's drawing a picture for me. It's big. He reaches all the way up on his toes to draw the roof. Inside he draws him, the other, himself, and the newest family member, as well as the kitten he wants but has so far been denied. He pays more attention to me, marking in the steps and windows, and he is truly gifted.

His father does not agree, eyes going wide, baby clutched to his chest.

"Taylor! What have you done…"

I would have thought it was fairly obvious, and the other is looking amused, clearly thinking the same thing. He lets the other take the baby so that he can kneel beside the picture. The boy is quiet, not sure if he is in trouble, but looking proud of his masterpiece regardless. He runs his hand over the wall. Over the picture.

"I don't even know how to get that off the paint without ruining it…"

"Seems like he has your same fixation for the building… I think we should leave it. You can just decorate around it can't you?"

"I…okay. Okay. It stays. For now."

It stays. Forever.