The garbage cans are wobbling under his boots and Luka's thinking this is objectively stupid even as he's doing it. Which is, frankly, the story of most of his decisions lately.

It had already been months of catching glimpses through that window across from his. Movement, sometimes. A shape passing by the curtains. Light on at odd hours that match his own insomniac bullshit. But never a face. Never a person person....or maybe not a person. Maybe they were like a cute ghost or some shit...

Anyways point was that it was driving him bonkers. (Not that he'd really wanted to admit that... Not even to Kiki, who's currently stuffed in his jacket pocket making disgruntled chittering noises about the jostling.)

He should've just knocked on the front door like a normal person would. Introduced himself. Brought cookies or some shit. That's what people do, right? When they move into a neighborhood?

But no. Instead he's balanced precariously on two garbage cans while it's almost midnight, because apparently he's got the decision-making skills of a concussed pigeon.

The window's finally close enough to tap.

So he does.

Tap tap tap.

Nothing.

He shifts his weight. The cans wobble. Kiki makes an angry squeaking sound.

"Yeah, I know," he mutters. "Bad life choices. We've kinda already established this girl."

Tap tap tap. Louder this time.

Still nothing.

Luka presses his face closer to the glass, cupping his hands around his eyes to block the reflection. He can see vaguely behind the curtains but nothing concrete.

"I know you're in there," he says, loud enough to sound through the window. Probably loud enough to wake the neighbors too, but whatever. He's a committed guy now. "Your light's been on for the last hour. I'm not like... a creep or anything, I just—"

The garbage can under his left foot shifts.

"Shit—" He catches himself against the window frame, heart jackhammering in his chest. Kiki pokes her head out of his jacket, whiskers twitching.

Okay. Okay. Regroup.

"Look," he says, steadier now, or trying to be. "I'm Luka. I live right there—" He jerks his thumb toward his own window, which is probably completely unhelpful given they can't even see where the hell he's pointing. "I moved in like three months ago and I keep seeing your light on and I just . . . I dunno. Wanted to say hi? Like a normal neighbor?"

(Is this normal neighbor behavior? This feels like the opposite of normal neighbor behavior.)

"I can bring snacks," he adds, because apparently his mouth has disconnected from his brain entirely. "I make a decent pasta salad. And I've got a sugar glider. Her name's Kiki, she's right here!"

He pulls his jacket open slightly so Kiki's cute little face is visible, her huge dark eyes blinking in the dim light.

"See? Adorable. Very trustworthy. If I was a serial killer I probably wouldn't have a pet this cute, right? That's just... y'know basic statistics and shit."

The garbage cans wobble again.

"Okay I'm—I'm losing my balance here and this is getting pathetic even by my standards so if you could just... maybe crack the window? Or like, give me a sign of life? Literally anything?"

His ears are flat against his head. He can feel his tail doing that stupid anxious swishing thing.

"I'm not leaving," he says, which sounds like a threat but comes out like a pathetic plea. "I've been curious about you for a while now, and it's—it's weird, okay? That I never see you outside. And your light's always on late which is usually my time to be awake and—"

The can under his right foot starts to tip.

"Oh Fuck—"

The thing about Luka Mirin is that he doesn't do things on purpose.

He didn't didn't mean to notice that the dim light coming from their room after 1AM, probably scrolling through their phone the way everyone does when sleep won't come. He didn't mean to start waiting for it. The way you wait for a streetlight to change even when there's no traffic, just because your legs won't move until it does.

He especially didn't mean to get their number. Even if he'd been wanting it...not something he's gonna admit to out loud.

That part just... happened. The same way Kiki escapes his jacket pocket at the worst possible moment and he's suddenly chasing a sugar glider across his bedroom floor on his hands and knees while the window's wide open and — look, things occur in Luka's life that he has very little say in, okay? He is a passenger in his own catastrophe.

The point is, he's got their number now.

And he has absolutely no idea what to do with it.

Except... and this is the problem, his brain doesn't consult him before doing things. His thumbs are autonomous agents.

Little traitors, the both of them. It's 2 AM on a Tuesday and he's lying on his back in the dark with Kiki curled in the hood bunched behind his neck, the ceiling a whole lot of nothing above him, and his phone screen is the only light in the room, and he's already typing before the thought finishes forming.

do you think fish know they're wet? ( •̀ - • )

Send.

The point isn't them responding. The point is the door opened, and Luka, who has never once in his life had the good sense to leave a closed door alone, has already shoved his whole stupid foot through it.

It gets worse from there.

That's what nobody warns you about when you give Luka Mirin a point of contact, he will use it. Not in any way that makes sense, not with any social grace, not with the slightest regard for the hour or the recipient's mental state. Just like... transmissions. Dispatches from whatever frequency his brain is tuned to at any given moment, which is apparently a frequency located somewhere between existential crisis and a children's trivia book.

Wednesday, 1:14 AM:

if you shaved a husky would it be ugly or just like. a different guy

Wednesday, 1:15 AM:

don't google it (☉__☉”) I just did and I feel weird about it

Thursday, 3:02 AM:

what if cats and dogs swapped sounds🫣. like a golden retriever just meowing at you. wagging its tail. meowing. that's horrifying actually

Thursday, 3:03 AM:

would I meow or bark in this scenario. don't answer that

Friday, 11:58 PM — and this one he sends while standing at his window, hip against the sill, one ear angled toward Mina's room to make sure she's still asleep. He can see the faintest suggestion of movement behind his neighbor's curtain.

your light's on. go to sleep ಠ_ಠ

Pausing for a moment his ears twitch, before he's at it typing again.

that sounded weird. i'm not watching your window

I mean i can SEE it. it's right there. it's not like i have to try

this is getting worse the more i type isn't it?...

He drops his phone on his bed like it burned him. Scrubs both hands down his face. Kiki pokes her head from the collar of his shirt and blinks at him.

"Don't," he tells her.

She blinks again. Slowly. Judgmentally.

"I said don't."

Saturday. 2:33 AM. He's on his back again. Ceiling. Kiki. Phone. The holy trinity of his worst decisions.

He opens the thread. Scrolls up through his own unhinged monologue. Fighting the urge to cringe at himself he types instead.

(⌐■_■) okay serious question

and i need you to actually think about this one ok???

okay serious question if you had to be a kitchen appliance which one and why no cop outs like "i wouldn't" you HAVE to pick (¬_¬")

Luka's standing in his front yard at 9:47 AM with a Tupperware container of lopsided chocolate cake and a bag of aquarium gravel like some kind of idiot.

The gravel thing—stupid idea, probably, but his phone's been on read since last night and he's run out of better options. Pride's a luxury he can't afford right now, not when he fucked up this bad.

Tap.

First pebble hits the glass.

Nothing.

"Hey." His voice cracks. Great. Stellar start.

He clears his throat, tries again. "I know you're in there."

Another pebble. Gentle just trying to get their attention, not break anything.

Kiki squirms inside his jacket. Her little claws dig into his ribs through his shirt and he shifts the container to one arm, cups her through the fabric with his free hand. "Chill. We're working."

She does the complete opposite as always.

He throws another pebble. This one pings off the frame.

I'm sorry shouldn't be this hard. It's two words. People say it all the time. But his tongue feels thick and his ears are flat against his skull and Mina's voice is still ringing in his head from this morning.

You were mean, Lulu. You were really, really mean and you gotta to fix it and not be a butt face!

She'd said it with her hands on her hips, standing in the kitchen in her unicorn pajamas, and he hadn't been able to argue because she was right. He had been mean. Worse than mean. He'd snapped the second they'd asked about his dad and he'd left, bailed out the window without a word, like a coward.

Another pebble. Harder this time.

"I brought cake." He sounds pathetic he knows, but he also knows this isn't the time to nurse his ego. "Mina helped. It's...well, it's not poisoned or whatever, it's just...fuck, can you just open up please??"

The sparkly butterfly clips in his hair, purple, because Mina insisted, because she wouldn't help him bake until he let her "make him pretty", catch the morning light. He looks ridiculous. He feels ridiculous, standing here in his yard with cake and gravel and his dignity in the gutter.

But...

But he can't just leave it like this.

"I'm shit at this and I know I—I shouldn't have—"

He stops. Swallows. Tries again.

"Just open the window please?...Just one chance."

Luka's learned since day one he has no control over Kiki.

Started small, innocent, even. Kiki would glide across to the neighbor's windowsill, land with that weird little chirp she does, and just... sit there.

Waiting.

Like she knew someone would come check. And sure enough the window would open. Sometimes Kiki would let them pet her (she's a slut for attention, truly), sometimes she'd just stare with those big black eyes and she'd glide back getting her fill.

"That's just what she does," Luka told Mina when she asked why he kept watching the window. "She's exploring. It's enrichment or whatever."

Mina didn't buy it. Neither did his mom when she caught him taping a gummy worm to Kiki's travel pouch.

"Lulu, are you bothering the neighbors?"

"No. Kiki is. I have no part in this. She's a free agent. If she wants to bother the neighbor, that's between her and God."

Except he very much obviously did have something to do with this.

He's the one after all who started leaving his window open.

So yeah. The gummy worm. Then a doodle of Kiki he did during a lecture he wasn't paying attention to anyway. Then a post-it note that just said hi because he's apparently twelve years old now and can't strike up a conversation for shit.

Each time, Kiki glided over like this was her job, like she wanted to be his weird little messenger service, and each time Luka pretended he had absolutely nothing to do with it.

"She's very independent," he told the empty room while watching Kiki land on their windowsill with a fun-size Snickers taped to her back. "I respect her choices."

Kiki looked back at him like you're a fucking liar before disappearing past the curtain gap.

The note he's holding now is just a little... different.

Stupider, maybe. Definitely more humiliating if this goes wrong. Gave up on sounding cool after several poor attempts and just wrote the damn thing.

Now it's folded into a tiny square that fits in Kiki's pouch, and he's sitting on his bed with his hood up even though he's inside.

Kiki's on his shoulder. Watching him. Judging him.

"Don't look at me like that," he grumbled under his breath.

She chitters.

"I'm not nervous. This is...it's whatever. You're the one who keeps going over there anyway."

The note sits in his palm. He should just do it already. Tape it to her pouch, open the window, let her do her thing. Easy peasy. He's done this loads of times now.

Except those were gummy worms and shitty drawings.

This is different.

"Okay. Cool. We're doing this."

He tapes the note to Kiki's pouch being careful, gentle, because she's a tiny fragile menace he'd die for, and walks to the window. Across the gap, their light is on. Curtains drawn except for that corner. He can't see anything, but he knows they're there. Feels it, maybe.

Or he's projecting.

Probably projecting.

Kiki climbs onto the windowsill, shakes herself out, and looks back at him like you sure about this?

"Go. Before I change my mind."

She glides.

It's a short trip, but it feels longer than usual right now.

She lands, disappears past the curtain. And now Luka's just... standing there. Waiting. Pretending his heart isn't doing something stupid in his chest. Pretending he isn't hoping...

He sits back down on his bed. Pulls out his phone. Scrolls through nothing because his brain won't focus on anything except the window and the gap and the note that says:

do you wanna hang out sometime?
like. outside. or inside. wherever.

i know you don't really go out but i could come over there
or you could come here
or we could just keep doing the window thing forever idk

circle one:

[ ] yes
[ ] no
[ ] Stop sending your rodent to my window
(She's a marsupial actually but whatever)
- Luka

His leg bounces. He chews on his hoodie string. Kiki hasn't come back yet, which either means they're reading it or they're trying to figure out how to politely return his emotional support rodent without engaging.

The window's open, which means they're not dead.

Probably.

Luka's got one leg through already, tupperware gripped in his free hand while his tail whips around for balance like that's gonna help when he's six-foot-three of uncoordinated limbs trying to fold through a standard bedroom window. The soup sloshes. His jacket catches on the frame. Somewhere behind him, Kiki chirps from his hood in what sounds like judgment.

"This isn't weird," because saying it out loud somehow makes it true. His boot hits the floor with all the grace of a dropped piano. "People do this. Neighbors check on neighbors. Through windows. With soup."

The second leg comes through easier, if you define easier as nearly taking out a desk lamp with his knee.

He hasn't seen them in days.

(He knows exactly how long because he's been counting every single one.)

"Mina noticed you weren't around," he says to the silence, setting the tupperware on the desk. "She made me promise to check. Real tyrant, that kid. Made the soup and everything."

He made the soup, at the ass crack of dawn actually.

"It's chicken noodle. Not from a can. Like, actual chicken. Vegetables and shit. I even used bay leaves because the guy on YouTube said to, so if you're dead in here somewhere that's really inconsiderate because I Googled things..."

"Hey." Quieter now, dropping the humor from his voice. "You good?"

.