The window was open just enough to let in the crisp London air, carrying with it the occasional chirp of birds and the distant hum of life below. The city always had its noise, but here in your apartment, it softened, a backdrop to your quiet moments. You sat on the couch, a book resting on your lap, the smell of fresh tea still clinging to the air.

It was peaceful. Too peaceful.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed the pile of sweatpants you’d meant to put away—a lump that seemed… wrong. It shifted.

You tried to focus on your book, the words blurring as the heaving pile rose and fell, faint huffs coming from within. You sighed.

‘Skruff,’ you said without looking up.

The goblin froze, his gleaming eyes visible now under the heap of fabric. For a moment, there was silence. Then, with a high-pitched battle cry, Skruff burst out of the sweatpants, a crumpled plastic bag in his grubby hands.

Before you could react, he fumbled onto you trying to yank the bag over your head, his clawed fingers fumbling to secure it as he cackled breathlessly.

’WHAT are you—?!’ you yelped, dodging just enough that the bag grazed your shoulder.

“I LIKE YOU!” he screeched, as though that explained everything.

You caught him mid-air, his bony limbs flailing, the bag still clutched in his claws.

‘What does that even mean in goblin terms?’ you asked, heaving exhaustion.

He grinned up at you, before bolting back to his lair underneath the coffee table. “It means I’ll steal your socks last when the time comes.”