Ever since I was very young, I would stay up late and talk. At first, my parents thought I was talking in my sleep. I told them I was talking to my friend. They assumed it was just overactive imagination. I let them think that, waiting for everyone to fall asleep before opening the window to let my best friend in. “Sh. We need to be quiet today. They might hear us again.” I whispered.

“I am aware.” My friend said, his smile never faltering. “Would you rather go for a walk?”

I shook my head. “I’m not as quiet as you.”

He let out a sigh, lowering himself to the ground to sit crisscrossed in front of the window. “Then what would you like to do, my little jitterbug?”

I sat down in front of him. “Let’s play house!”

“Again?” He laughed.

“Then finish your story!” I hissed, slamming my arms on the ground excitedly.

He looked nervously to the side. His face doesn’t move the same way human’s do, but I could still read it just fine. “... Let us play house.”

“Nyoooo, finish the story!!!” I whined, grabbing his arm and shaking it.

“Hush, child. You are the one who demanded silence.” He laughed quietly.

“Tell meeeeeee.” I whined quietly. And that is how our nights went.