g/t scenario from wattpad i wrote -.- the giant in this was supposed to be blind and hear the tiny through vibrations but that went meh
basically, borrower meets blind giant and his talkative parrot
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Journal Entry #3
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It's been about a month since the new tenant moved in, and over the weeks he's been here, I've noticed a few things:
He's a pred, but a weird one. He eats meat, but rarely. He could devour something my size in a single bite, but so far, he hasn't. I'd like to keep it that way.
He's blind, but not stupid.
I learned that the hard way. While I was out scavenging, he suddenly came out of his room, moving like he knew something was off. My heart nearly stopped. He walked straight to where I was, hands hovering just above the counter, fingers trailing over objects with a kind of precision that sent a chill down my spine. I would've been caught if not for the hole in the wall. He didn't see me, but he felt something was different. The way he listened to the air, how he turned his head slightly like he was focusing on the smallest of sounds... Yeah. I need to be more careful.
He cannot cook to save his life.
For a being of his size and stature, you'd think he could at least make soup. But no. I watched him fumble through a meal, forgetting half the ingredients, nearly setting his sleeve on fire, and leaving the stove unattended. It was so bad, I had to intervene. I waited for him to step away, then rushed in to salvage what I could. The first time, I thought I'd just add a little salt. The second time, a few herbs. Now... now I'm practically cooking for him. I tell myself it's just self-preservation. If I have to share his food, it might as well be edible.
The worst part? He notices.
At first, I thought I was in the clear. But lately, I've caught him pausing before eating, tilting his head like he's... testing something. He sniffs at his food more. He lingers by the counter, fingertips brushing over surfaces like he's checking if something's out of place.
And then there's Yapperson.
A white, fluffy, loud-mouthed traitor. I threw a sunflower seed at him once to shut him up, and now we have an unspoken agreement: I leave him snacks, and he doesn't snitch. But I think he's getting too comfortable with our arrangement.
Because today, when the giant sat down to eat, Yapperson fluffed up and proudly announced,
"Little thief! Little thief!"
I nearly dropped the spoon I was holding. My entire body froze.
The giant paused, spoon halfway to his mouth. He turned his head slightly, listening.
Then, in the most casual voice imaginable, he repeated, "Little thief, huh?"
My pulse was thundering. I stayed absolutely still, praying he wouldn't suddenly swipe a hand across the counter. His fingers twitched, hovering just a little longer before finally moving away.
Yapperson, bless his cowardly heart, ruffled his feathers and muttered, "Not tellin'."
That was the only reason I got out of there alive. But now I know for sure—the giant suspects something. And worse? I think he's testing me.
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It's been about a month since I moved into my new apartment, and I can't shake the feeling that something is... different.
At first, I thought I was losing it. My cooking has always been a disaster, but lately, it's been less of one. At first, I chalked it up to dumb luck. But the more I paid attention, the more I noticed the changes—tiny, subtle adjustments to my meals.
Spices I don't remember adding. Ingredients I swore I forgot, somehow made their way into my meals. And—most suspiciously—my food actually tastes good.
Which leads me to one explanation.
I think I have a borrower.
I've heard rumors. Tiny people who live in walls, sneaking around, borrowing things humans don't notice are missing. I never thought I'd have one in my home. But what other explanation is there?
The first time it happened, I left a bland soup on the counter to cool. When I came back, the flavor had changed. I thought I had imagined it. But after the third, fourth, and fifth time, I started testing it.
I began leaving things out on purpose—missing spices, half-prepared meals, and minor adjustments that only someone interfering would notice. And each time, the results were the same.
My food improved.
I kept quiet about it. I didn't want to scare them off. If they really were a borrower, I had no idea how to approach them without making them flee. But today, Yapperson—my fluffy little snitch—decided to call them out.
"Little thief! Little thief!"
I froze.
I hadn't taught him that.
Which meant he heard it from somewhere.
I tilted my head slightly, listening for anything out of place. The air felt... charged. Like someone was holding their breath.
I exhaled slowly. "Little thief, huh?"
Nothing.
But that silence was enough of an answer.
And then, in a rare moment of loyalty, Yapperson ruffled his feathers and muttered, "Not tellin'."
A grin tugged at my lips. Interesting.
I didn't push it. My little guest, if still here, would probably be scared stiff. But now I had proof.
I have a borrower.
And I don't want them to leave.
--Journal Entry #4
I've made a mistake.
A huge mistake.
I got comfortable. Too comfortable. I let my guard down, and now... now I don't know if I can fix it.
It started like any other night. The giant had abandoned another pot of barely edible soup, and I—being the fool I am—decided to step in again. He'd left the kitchen, the apartment was silent, and I figured I had a few minutes to work.
I was wrong.
I was on the counter, carefully adjusting the seasoning, when I heard the softest shift of fabric. The kind you wouldn't notice unless you were listening for it.
I froze, my heart slamming against my chest.
And then I heard it.
The giant's slow, purposeful steps.
I didn't even hear him move, but I knew he was there. I could feel it in the air. He wasn't looking directly at me, but I could tell he was listening intently, the way his head tilted slightly, his posture still and focused. He had to know something was different. I held my breath, praying I wouldn't make a sound.
And then—disaster.
Yapperson, the feathery betrayer, hopped onto the counter next to me and let out a chirp of betrayal.
"Little thief!"
I cursed under my breath. My body stiffened.
The giant's head turned toward the sound. He didn't need sight to track the noise. I could tell from the way his movements shifted that he was listening, focusing.
He let out a small, amused sound—almost a chuckle. "Little thief, huh?" His voice was quiet and thoughtful.
I froze. I'm caught.
But no—he didn't lunge, didn't swipe the counter with his hands. Instead, his fingers hovered near the edge, pausing as if he were considering something. I didn't know what he was thinking. Was he just confirming it? Was he playing along?
"Not gonna bite," he muttered to himself, and I heard him take a small step back.
I stayed perfectly still, afraid to even breathe.
A moment passed. Then, softly, almost tenderly, he spoke again. "I just want to know you're alright. I'm not gonna hurt you."
That wasn't what I expected.
I blinked, still hidden behind the salt shaker. He wasn't threatening me—he was... understanding. He didn't sound angry or confused, just... neutral.
Yapperson, the little traitor, ruffled his feathers and perched on the giant's shoulder, chirping again—though this time he just mumbled something like, "Not tellin'."
I watched the giant, trying to figure him out. He stood there, silent for a moment, waiting. His hand was still, palm up, in an open gesture, almost like he was offering me something.
I didn't know what to do. The air was thick with unspoken questions. Could I trust him? Was he just pretending to be harmless?
But there was something in his posture—he wasn't closing in on me, wasn't trying to trap me. His voice was calm, and his presence, while imposing, didn't feel like a threat.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, I made my decision.
I took a step forward, just enough to be sure he could hear me. "I'm... I'm not here to cause trouble," I said, my voice small and shaky.
The giant paused, then lowered his hand, smiling softly to himself. "I figured." He didn't sound surprised, just... thoughtful.
"I'm not going to force you out," he added. "But if you need anything, food, or just someone to not mess with your meals, I'm here."
My pulse was still racing, but I couldn't help feeling a strange sense of relief.
Yapperson fluttered up to the giant's head, squawking proudly. I could've sworn he gave me a knowing look.
The giant turned away, whistling quietly to himself. "I'll leave some food out for you. Just don't make a habit of stealing it."
I didn't respond. Instead, I just slipped back into the walls, retreating to safety.
I couldn't believe it.
The giant didn't seem scared, didn't seem angry. And for some reason, that... felt oddly comforting.
Maybe, just maybe, things could work out between us.
