Gemotions

Leo eyed the box sitting on his doorstep with suspicion. It was a large, flat thing, addressed to "Mr. Alistair Finch," the name of the guy who had lived here before him. Leo hated Alistair Finch. He hated the way the previous tenant had left the place a mess, the lingering scent of stale cigarettes, the subtle air of superiority he imagined Alistair had possessed.

He crouched down, examining the packaging. It was from some fancy art supply store. He tried to resist it.

He really shouldn't open it. He found himself picking at the tape. The temptation to peek was almost unbearable. He ran his hand through his hair, glancing up and down the street, hoping no one was watching.

He finally tore the cardboard open. Inside, meticulously wrapped, was a set of fine artist's watercolors and a sketchbook. Leo felt a surge of… something. He quickly closed the box, his face hot. He couldn't believe he'd done that. He just wanted to get it out of sight, out of mind.