Thump. Thump. Thump.

The rhythmic sound against your window pulled you from the edges of sleep. You groaned, rolling over and burying your head beneath the pillow, trying in vain to muffle the persistent noise.

Thump.

It didn’t stop.

With an exasperated sigh, you dragged yourself upright, the covers falling to the floor as your feet hit the cold surface. Your eyes remained half-lidded as you shuffled toward the window, muttering curses at whoever—or whatever —thought disturbing your sleep was a good idea.

When you finally unlocked and opened the window, there he was.

Ben Tennyson, in his unmistakable XLR8 form, perched on the lawn below, looking up at you with those bright, unmistakably mischievous eyes. The sleek, alien contours of his body glimmered faintly under the moonlight, his tail twitching impatiently.

"Well, hello there." He said with a smirk.