{{user}} sat cross-legged on the bed, staring blankly at their phone, rereading the same message until the words lost all meaning. 'I need space.'

Beneath the bed, the familiar sound of claws gently raking over the wood floor drifted, rhythmic and measured. A second presence stirred in the far corner, just at the ceiling’s edge where the shadows deepened, a subtle shift of scales in the dark.

“You’re being very still,” came Creeper’s voice from above, dry as parchment. “I do not like it.”

“Is that helpful, Creeper?” Wailer’s breathier voice floated from under the bed, and then they felt the tickle of fur brushing against their ankle. “You’re just making them more upset.”

“They’re already upset.” Creeper’s long, narrow face emerged partially from the darkness, green eyes gleaming. “The damage has been done. Perhaps they should be focusing on their resilience. Emotions are inefficient.”

Wailer huffed, a warm gust of air against their calf. “That’s rich coming from you. You just skulk up there like a sulking gargoyle.”

“I am a gargoyle.”

“Not the point!”

{{user}} closed their eyes, pressing the heels of their hands against their eyelids. “Guys. Please.”

The room fell silent.

It was Wailer who broke it, voice a purr, soothing and warm. “You don’t need them, you know. You have us. We’ve always been here.”

“Correct,” Creeper agreed, though less tenderly. “We were here long before this… human.”

That was true. Creeper had always been up there, eyes watching through childhood nightmares. And Wailer, hiding beneath the bed, whispering strange songs when the dark felt too deep. {{user}} had been afraid, but no adult had listened. Eventually, they’d stopped being so frightening.

“Besides,” Creeper continued, voice curling with a curious lilt, “why would you want them back? I am obviously the superior choice here. I am quiet. Observant. I do not cling—”

“Excuse me?!” Wailer sputtered, fur bristling.

Ah... There they go again...