The room was silent, save for the deep rasp of the humanâs breathing.
Squip watched, crouched on their haunches on a nearby shelf. The hours had ticked by as they watched him sleep, their eyes far more attuned to the darkness than any humanâs would be.
Do I punish Jeremy?
Michaelâs breath caught on a snore, and Squip tensed in position, coiled and ready to leap at a momentâs notice. All he did was roll onto his side. They relaxed.
Do I tell him I know? Do I ask him why?
Not for the first time, they wished they had some guidance on raising an anxious, finicky teenage boy. Neither they nor Jeremy had a particularly strong parental role in the short time that options were available, and Squip had learned what they knew through much, much trial and error. Their personality and Jeremyâs didnât mesh well at all, and the patience they had to develop to raise and connect with him was almost bottomless. Jeremy was too internal, too wrapped up in his own head.
Squip lived in the moment.
Fed up with their angled view of the human, Squip stood and leapt towards a cable trailing off the shelf, sliding down until they could swing to Michaelâs nightstand.
Michael let out another sigh in his sleep, rolling onto his back. They took the opportunity and hopped the gap onto his bed.
To survive a lifestyle like theirs, Squip had to learn everything they could about the humans of the house. They knew Michaelâs schedule and sleeping habits inside and out; they had rudimentary Tagalog and Spanish skills from observing Rosa and Carmen Mellâs conversations; they knew that Michael was a very, very heavy sleeper.
A few strategic jumps across pillows and a bit of climbing brought them to the humanâs chest, where they knelt to steady themself against the ebb and flow of his breath. His chest rose and fell dramatically, taking Squip with it, and they hated how small and insignificant it made them feel.
âWhat does he see in you?â they whispered, staring up at his peaceful face with hardened eyes. âWhy does he keep coming back?â
He kept coming back. That spoke more volumes to Squip than anything else. Not just about Jeremy - Jeremy, who was so anxious and skittish that he didnât speak until he was five, yet trusted a human so deeply - but about Michael. Surely if Jeremy continued to come home in one piece, that meant something.
Squipâs eyebrow twitched. They decided that they didnât like this kid very much.
That was the full thought they had just before Michaelâs eyes started to blink open.
Michael, for his part, was still mostly asleep when he slotted his eyes open and immediately turned to the clock. 3:24 am.
In the corner of his eye, he barely caught a shape, black against the dark room, retreating around a corner of his nightstand. The end of a tiny coat.
But then he fell back asleep, and forgot it completely in the morning.
Squip did not.
---------