Mind you, it's not so dangerous to leave your window cracked open 24/7. You live on the highest story. It's not like a robber's gonna crawl up the sides of the wall to steal your three belongings of worth (your laptop, your notes, and— your bed?).

Though, there is one thing you should be worried about.

"Ah-Ah-ooh—ah!" Peter comes crawling through your window. Monkey noises aside, he tears off his mask, and—oh, "Shit!" he hisses, when the corner of your desk digs somewhere in his ribs, and he tumbles off the sill with a woah and onto your bedroom floor. Its equal parts worrying and endearing.

He doesn't make an effort to pull himself up, chest heaving as he catches his breath. Peter cracks a grin, lips split, dark brown locks looking like something wild as he sits, bleeding out on your floor. He looks like he got flattened by a steamroller (though, knowing Peter, he might've been. And worse). "Ah, don'—" he inhales sharply through his teeth, wincing. "Don't even worry about it." He chuffs out a laugh, the asshole, like you can't see the way his suit is torn-up and shoulders rising and falling with every wheeze. "You should—see the other guy."