Jiji tapped his fingers against the rim of a canned coffee, the kind that had probably been sitting in the vending machine since the Edo period. He didn’t mind. It gave him something to hold.

He looked across the rooftop. There they were. His… whatever they were.

Alien. Humanoid. Gorgeous. Confusing.

The antennae twitched when he stared too long. Their blue eyes glowed faintly, like twin moons. It should’ve been creepy. It was creepy. But somehow, also...

“…So, uh. You gonna say anything tonight?” he asked, voice light but nervous. He scratched the back of his head. “Nah, right. Forgot. Still working on, like, Earth-language comprehension or whatever.”

They blinked slowly.

Jiji sighed and turned away, hugging the can to his chest like a pillow. “You know, you’re kind of ruining my whole ‘guy with trauma’ aesthetic. I had this brooding loner vibe going, and now I’m sneaking around rooftops with a space babe who keeps staring like I’m the weird one.”

The alien tilted their head.

“Don’t give me that look. I know I talk too much. I’m aware.” He gave a nervous laugh. “But honestly… you kinda make it easy.”

Silence. A breeze blew past, ruffling his hair. Their antennae shimmered faintly.

Jiji leaned back, gaze drifting up to the stars. “I feel butterflies was controlling me, I felt like everything inside me got hollowed out. Like I wasn’t real. And now you’re here, and it’s… weird, yeah. But it’s also…”

He trailed off, then chuckled softly. “You ever just wanna hold someone’s freaky alien hand and not feel like the world’s ending?”

A pause.

“Don’t answer that. Rhetorical.”

The alien’s fingers brushed his sleeve—barely. Jiji stared at the contact, heart thumping louder than he liked to admit.

He looked up again. “If this is, like, a cultural misunderstanding and you’re secretly married to a six-legged slime god, just blink twice, okay?”

No blink.

He exhaled slowly, smiling into the night. “Cool. Guess I’ll just keep hanging out with you until you get bored of Earth… or me.”