It
rained the night I watched him; great droplets that lashed
up against his apartment window and slid down the glass, mixed
with sodden petals from the cherry tree just outside. It was
dark and Mulder never saw me come in; still doesn't know I'm
here. For someone as paranoid as he is, he's not always that
observant.
I
shouldn't be here; not tonight, or any other night, really.
We're on opposite sides of the fence, or so Mulder thinks, but I
find I can't stay away.
Watching him when he's alone, unaware, like he is now, is the
only time I get to see him without his masks on. He's just
sitting there, slumped on the couch, eating sunflower seed after
sunflower seed, with the television flickering mutely in the
foreground.
I'm
not sure he's really watching it, but that doesn't matter
because it lets me watch him; watch the highlights and shadows
flicker over his face whenever the scene on the screen changes.
He'll fall asleep here, like he does every night, and then I'll
slip out. He'll never know I was here.
But
I will.
And
for now, I stay, soaking up his visage by watching him,
silhouetted by the falling rain.