just a lil alien

What was watching them, however, wasn’t hunting her. At least, it wasn't hunting yet. There was always a chance whatever it was would strike any minute. 

Late in the afternoon, Pep was on a borrowing run. It always felt risky to just go on a borrowing run, but it was even more risky these days with those mysterious voices and movements, more humans in the house that they just couldn’t find, no matter how hard she looked. 

Pep was underneath the coffee table in the living room now, listening intently. The human had gone upstairs a while ago, and not returned, but she swore that there were voices coming from nearby, a voice that certainly didn’t match the human of the house. It wasn’t anything distinguishable, almost muffled to their ears, but it was voices, multiple voices. 

With no shoes on the floor, no voices getting louder or quieter, and the one human Pep was sure that actually existed upstairs with no sign of coming back down, she had to make a quick break for the food that had been left on top of the coffee table. The human had left a plate with half a sandwich on it up there, as well as a cup or a soda or something. Food was food, and Pep couldn’t pass out something this easy to get, this unguarded. 

She dashed out from beneath the table, climbing hook already in hand. At the right distance, they hurled the hook up with a practiced precision and it landed right at the edge of the wooden coffee table, where she aimed it. 

It took a slight finagling with the hook, but they managed to secure the hook in a crack well worn into the top of the table, her anchor point for this table. They heaved on the rope, and found it secured. She wasted no time in starting their climb. 

However, about halfway up the rope, something really weird happened. 

“Woah there, little one!” A man’s voice, thick with a southern accent came out of nowhere and everywhere. 

Before Pep could decide to jump or not, the entire rope jerked in her grip. The ground dwindled away beneath them and an entire human man was suddenly getting up from the floor, seemingly coming out of the coffee table itself! Her rope was stuck in the shoulder of this person’s jacket, pulling them far into the air. She tightened her grip and tried to tighten the pinch with their feet, but the rope was swaying like crazy, and the rope slipped from between their feet.  

Heart pointing in her ears, Pep crashed right into this suddenly appearing man’s side. The jacket felt like very stiff leather as she hit her face on it. The impact forced their hands to release their grip on the rope, and she fell. 

Usually, falling from this kind of height meant certain death, but instead they landed in a warm, soft, leathery palm. Pep might have just preferred a quick death falling to the ground instead of being in the hands of a human, but this was far beyond anything she could have imagined this trip going. 

Now that the world wasn’t wildly swinging around or the ground rushing up to meet her, Pep was able to actually take a look at this man that seemed to have burst out of the coffee table. The first word that came to their mind when she actually took in the large cowboy with them cupped in his hands was ‘solid.’ Even for a human, this guy was big, and he looked built to last. 

It looked like he was wearing wood, almost. His grey pants had a layer of wood strapped to them, like chaps. And that stiff jacket also looked like wood, with table accents stitched onto them, and there were carvings Pep recognized etched into the wood. His hat, initially looking like a cowboy’s hat, was actually made of two table shapes stacked on top of each toher. A taller one up top that let his quiff of brown hair poke out, and the brim was just a brim shaped table, four stubby legs able to be seen around the outside. Underneath the strange jacket was a grey and white plaid-patterned shirt, with about three or so buttons undone to reveal his considerable chest hair and pale skin. A quick glance down showed he had a bit of a belly hanging over his belt, complete with a table-setting belt buckle. 

When they looked up at his face, Pep was completely taken aback by the kind expression on his face. He had brown eyes that felt incredibly warm, a thick brow furrowed with concern, and neatly trimmed brown beard that padded out his jaw. 

“Well, hello there, little buddy.” His mouth, hidden under his mustache stretched out in a grin. “Sorry if I spooked ya’ by getting up, I hadn’t expected someone to be hangin’ on my shoulder.” 

Pep’s voice failed as he dislodged the climbing hook from where it was lodged on the shoulder of his jacket and set gently in his palm next to her. 

“There, with that out of the way, let’s get properly introduced. So, first thing’s first- name’s Abel, and I’m the tables ‘round here. Who might you be, little ‘un?” 

It took an embarrassing number of attempts for Pep to finally speak, with how their mind was racing with everything before her. This man was actually the table?! How could that be possible? But, it would explain all the weird happenings of the house if the furniture was coming alive. But did that mean that they had told the human about Pep’s presence? What did this table-man want with her?!

“I’m Pep.” They managed to force out. “The borrower.” 

“Borrower, eh?” He raised her a little closer to his face. “I know we’ve seen ya running ‘round the place, but never was able to put a name to yer cute little self. It’s a pleasure to finally be able to meet’cha face to face.” 

We?! Oh no. Pep glanced around, wondering if any more of these furniture people were going to start popping out of things. 

“What’s wrong? Ya know, as a table, it’s my job to hold things up all over the house. I can help soothe whatever’s got you so spooked.” 

Pep swallowed. “A-are you going to tell the human about me?” 

Abel’s face turned to confusion and slight concern. “I don’t plan on it. Why are ya so scared of the human? They seem like the perfectly upstanding sort.” 

“Humans hurt us!” They blurted out without really thinking it through. 

“'Us?’ I don’ think that-” 

“Things like me.” Pep gathered her climbing rope and started coiling it, not looking Abel in the eye just in case they saw him getting angry. “Humans kill us when they catch us, or they kill us without ever knowing we ever existed. One day, you scrounge for scraps to survive and the next you're running for your life because the human called an emergency pest control service.” Her hands were trembling as they stowed her rope. “It's just what happens to people like me.” 

Abel softly exhaled through his nose, and his hands cupped a little more to bring them close to his chest. “Alright, Pep. I'll keep you secret from the human, and get to passing word around to keep ya on the down low. If you're hidin’ from the human, well, don't you worry, I won't let 'em getcha.”

Pep looked up. He looked so genuine in his offer, and also like his heart was breaking to pieces thinking about Pep's living situation. “Thank you, Abel.” 

“It ain't no problem.” He turned to the coffee table that still existed behind him. There lay a mostly-eaten sandwich and an empty soda can. “Is this what you were climbing up me to get at?” 

Pep nodded. “It’s food the human won’t notice if I take a little bit.”  

“You deserve better food than that, little one.” Abel rubbed the pad of his index finger against Pep’s back, warm, broad, and oddly comforting. “C'mon. I know Freddy's got somethin’ you'd like that the human won’t miss.” 

“Who’s Freddy?” Pep shifted to cling better to Abel’s thumb as he started to walk.

What was watching them, however, wasn’t hunting her. At least, it wasn't hunting yet. There was always a chance whatever it was would strike any minute. 

Late in the afternoon, Pep was on a borrowing run. It always felt risky to just go on a borrowing run, but it was even more risky these days with those mysterious voices and movements, more humans in the house that they just couldn’t find, no matter how hard she looked. 

Pep was underneath the coffee table in the living room now, listening intently. The human had gone upstairs a while ago, and not returned, but she swore that there were voices coming from nearby, a voice that certainly didn’t match the human of the house. It wasn’t anything distinguishable, almost muffled to their ears, but it was voices, multiple voices. 

With no shoes on the floor, no voices getting louder or quieter, and the one human Pep was sure that actually existed upstairs with no sign of coming back down, she had to make a quick break for the food that had been left on top of the coffee table. The human had left a plate with half a sandwich on it up there, as well as a cup or a soda or something. Food was food, and Pep couldn’t pass out something this easy to get, this unguarded. 

She dashed out from beneath the table, climbing hook already in hand. At the right distance, they hurled the hook up with a practiced precision and it landed right at the edge of the wooden coffee table, where she aimed it. 

It took a slight finagling with the hook, but they managed to secure the hook in a crack well worn into the top of the table, her anchor point for this table. They heaved on the rope, and found it secured. She wasted no time in starting their climb. 

However, about halfway up the rope, something really weird happened. 

“Woah there, little one!” A man’s voice, thick with a southern accent came out of nowhere and everywhere. 

Before Pep could decide to jump or not, the entire rope jerked in her grip. The ground dwindled away beneath them and an entire human man was suddenly getting up from the floor, seemingly coming out of the coffee table itself! Her rope was stuck in the shoulder of this person’s jacket, pulling them far into the air. She tightened her grip and tried to tighten the pinch with their feet, but the rope was swaying like crazy, and the rope slipped from between their feet.  

Heart pointing in her ears, Pep crashed right into this suddenly appearing man’s side. The jacket felt like very stiff leather as she hit her face on it. The impact forced their hands to release their grip on the rope, and she fell. 

Usually, falling from this kind of height meant certain death, but instead they landed in a warm, soft, leathery palm. Pep might have just preferred a quick death falling to the ground instead of being in the hands of a human, but this was far beyond anything she could have imagined this trip going. 

Now that the world wasn’t wildly swinging around or the ground rushing up to meet her, Pep was able to actually take a look at this man that seemed to have burst out of the coffee table. The first word that came to their mind when she actually took in the large cowboy with them cupped in his hands was ‘solid.’ Even for a human, this guy was big, and he looked built to last. 

It looked like he was wearing wood, almost. His grey pants had a layer of wood strapped to them, like chaps. And that stiff jacket also looked like wood, with table accents stitched onto them, and there were carvings Pep recognized etched into the wood. His hat, initially looking like a cowboy’s hat, was actually made of two table shapes stacked on top of each toher. A taller one up top that let his quiff of brown hair poke out, and the brim was just a brim shaped table, four stubby legs able to be seen around the outside. Underneath the strange jacket was a grey and white plaid-patterned shirt, with about three or so buttons undone to reveal his considerable chest hair and pale skin. A quick glance down showed he had a bit of a belly hanging over his belt, complete with a table-setting belt buckle. 

When they looked up at his face, Pep was completely taken aback by the kind expression on his face. He had brown eyes that felt incredibly warm, a thick brow furrowed with concern, and neatly trimmed brown beard that padded out his jaw. 

“Well, hello there, little buddy.” His mouth, hidden under his mustache stretched out in a grin. “Sorry if I spooked ya’ by getting up, I hadn’t expected someone to be hangin’ on my shoulder.” 

Pep’s voice failed as he dislodged the climbing hook from where it was lodged on the shoulder of his jacket and set gently in his palm next to her. 

“There, with that out of the way, let’s get properly introduced. So, first thing’s first- name’s Abel, and I’m the tables ‘round here. Who might you be, little ‘un?” 

It took an embarrassing number of attempts for Pep to finally speak, with how their mind was racing with everything before her. This man was actually the table?! How could that be possible? But, it would explain all the weird happenings of the house if the furniture was coming alive. But did that mean that they had told the human about Pep’s presence? What did this table-man want with her?!

“I’m Pep.” They managed to force out. “The borrower.” 

“Borrower, eh?” He raised her a little closer to his face. “I know we’ve seen ya running ‘round the place, but never was able to put a name to yer cute little self. It’s a pleasure to finally be able to meet’cha face to face.” 

We?! Oh no. Pep glanced around, wondering if any more of these furniture people were going to start popping out of things. 

“What’s wrong? Ya know, as a table, it’s my job to hold things up all over the house. I can help soothe whatever’s got you so spooked.” 

Pep swallowed. “A-are you going to tell the human about me?” 

Abel’s face turned to confusion and slight concern. “I don’t plan on it. Why are ya so scared of the human? They seem like the perfectly upstanding sort.” 

“Humans hurt us!” They blurted out without really thinking it through. 

“'Us?’ I don’ think that-” 

“Things like me.” Pep gathered her climbing rope and started coiling it, not looking Abel in the eye just in case they saw him getting angry. “Humans kill us when they catch us, or they kill us without ever knowing we ever existed. One day, you scrounge for scraps to survive and the next you're running for your life because the human called an emergency pest control service.” Her hands were trembling as they stowed her rope. “It's just what happens to people like me.” 

Abel softly exhaled through his nose, and his hands cupped a little more to bring them close to his chest. “Alright, Pep. I'll keep you secret from the human, and get to passing word around to keep ya on the down low. If you're hidin’ from the human, well, don't you worry, I won't let 'em getcha.”

Pep looked up. He looked so genuine in his offer, and also like his heart was breaking to pieces thinking about Pep's living situation. “Thank you, Abel.” 

“It ain't no problem.” He turned to the coffee table that still existed behind him. There lay a mostly-eaten sandwich and an empty soda can. “Is this what you were climbing up me to get at?” 

Pep nodded. “It’s food the human won’t notice if I take a little bit.”  

“You deserve better food than that, little one.” Abel rubbed the pad of his index finger against Pep’s back, warm, broad, and oddly comforting. “C'mon. I know Freddy's got somethin’ you'd like that the human won’t miss.” 

“Who’s Freddy?” Pep shifted to cling better to Abel’s thumb as he started to walk.

You’d thought you were being careful. The trash pile was tall, soft with scraps of fabric and glints of shiny buttons wedged between crumpled wrappers. It was the perfect score for a borrower like you—clothing material, fastening pieces, maybe even a broken bead or two if you were lucky.

But then the pile shifted. A shadow fell over you, blotting out the dim kitchen light.

A sharp, irritated voice cut through the silence.

“…The hell is this?”

You froze mid-step, clutching a threadbare scrap of cloth to your chest. Slowly, you looked up—way, way up—into the scowling face of a 'giant'. His banana-peel-topped “hat” tilted dangerously as he leaned down, eyes narrowing at you.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, almost to himself. “First the homeowner won’t leave me alone, now I’ve got—what—tiny thieves crawling all over my stuff?”

You stumbled back, shaking your head quickly. “N-no! I wasn’t stealing, I—”

Cam crouched down, the crinkle of his trash-bag jacket loud as thunder to your ears. He jabbed a finger toward you, the nail chipped, the pad smudged faintly with dust.

“Looks like stealing to me. You’ve got buttons. Cloth. That’s my haul.”

You swallowed, words tumbling out before you could stop them. “I was just… I need them. For clothes. I wasn’t going to take much, I swear.”

He stared at you for a long moment, unimpressed. Then he snorted, the sound sharp and dismissive.

“Great. A borrower with a fashion crisis.” His lip curled into something between a grimace and a smirk. “What, my trash not good enough for ya? You’re gonna patch your little dollhouse sweater with it, but God forbid you respect the pile it came from.”

You shook your head fast, terrified he’d flick you off the heap like lint. “I respect it! I do. I just… I thought you wouldn’t mind. I didn’t mean to insult you.”

Cam clicked his tongue, rocking back on his heels. His expression softened just a fraction, though his tone stayed sharp.

“Mind? Of course I mind. This is premium stuff. Took me all week to get a haul like this—buttons don’t just fall out of the sky.” He plucked one from the pile, holding it up to the light with a genuine glimmer of pride in his eyes. “Look at that shine. People throw away treasures, and it’s up to me to keep ‘em safe. And then you show up, grabbing at it like it’s free samples at a supermarket.”

You opened your mouth, then shut it again. The scrap of cloth in your hands felt heavier now, as though his glare pinned it there.

Cam sighed through his nose, clearly irritated with himself as much as you. “Tch. Whatever. Keep it. Pick out whatever else you want I guess. You’re not exactly hauling away the crown jewels. Just don’t start acting like you’re doing me a favor by taking my stuff off my hands.

But if I see you scurrying around here without asking again, I’m stepping on you. Clear?”

Your throat was dry, but you managed a small nod. “Clear.”

That earned a short, barking laugh. He shoved his hands into his oversized sleeves, muttering, “Tiny thief with some sense, at least. Figures.”

He turned back toward the shadowy gap between the minibar and cabinet that served as his domain. “Now hurry up before I change my mind. Got better things to do than babysit a pocket-sized tailor.”

You hesitated, staring at the pile, then back at him. Maybe it was the way you lingered—or the fact you kept glancing at the buttons with wide-eyed wonder—but Cam suddenly groaned and rolled his eyes.

“Ugh, fine. You’re gonna make a mess if you pick at this blind. Move over.”

Before you could ask, he crouched lower, one massive hand sifting through the heap like a practiced prospector. He muttered as he worked, pulling out items with quick judgment.

“Not this one—thread’s weak, it’ll tear on you. But this? Hah. Good fabric, soft enough for sleeves if you’re not picky.” He dropped a folded square of patterned cloth beside you. “And this button? Brass. Real shine. Better than those cheap plastic ones you grabbed.”

You stared up at him, genuinely stunned. “That’s… amazing. I never find things like this.”

Cam glanced at you, then back to the pile, but his mouth twitched as if fighting a smile. “Yeah, well. You’re a pipsqueak. Not your fault you can’t dig deep. Me? I know where the good stuff settles.”

A pause lingered between you, both of you caught up in the rare quiet. Tentatively, you asked, “Um… what’s your name?”

Cam froze mid-reach, looking down at you like you’d asked him to solve a puzzle. Then, after a beat, he muttered, “Cam. Name’s Cam. And you are…?”

You blinked, a little shy but honest. “I’m… Y/N.”

He grunted—half acknowledgment, half irritation—but something in his eyes softened. “Hm. Y/N, huh? Cute.”

One by one, he showed you more treasures: a broken necklace clasp, a scrap of velvet ribbon, even a safety pin half-bent but salvageable. Each time you gasped or admired it, he smirked a little wider, the grouchiness on his face cracking.

“Wow…” you whispered, cradling the ribbon in both hands as though it were a relic too fragile to exist. The fibers gleamed in the light, impossibly smooth and rich, and your breath caught in your throat. To you, it wasn’t just a faulty old ribbon—it was treasure, a thing so far beyond your reach it felt almost sacred. “This is… all of this is incredible.”

That finally got a laugh out of him—short, rough, but genuine. “Man, you’re easy to impress. But hey—beats people turning their noses up and calling it junk.”

You smiled back, tucking the ribbon carefully into your satchel. “Thank you. Really.”

Cam shifted, scratching the back of his neck, suddenly less sure of himself. “Y-yeah, whatever. Don’t get sappy about it.” He looked off to the side, mumbling, “You’re… welcome to return sometime if you want to… or whatever. Not like I care.”

You couldn’t help but grin at that, your chest warm. You nodded once, earnestly. “I’d like that.”

His ears pinked faintly, though he quickly covered it with a huff. “Yeah, yeah. Now shoo.”

You gave a small wave as you shouldered your finds and began to climb down the pile. Cam watched you go, the faintest smirk still tugging at his lips.

Maybe being found in his trash wasn’t the worst thing that could’ve happened.

The kitchen was quiet—too quiet—but Cam didn’t look up from his carefully organized pile of treasures. He was rearranging a row of shiny bottle caps, muttering under his breath about “alignment” and “wasted potential,” when he heard it: a soft scuttling sound near the edge of the cabinet.

He froze. His brown eyes narrowed, scanning the shadows. Slowly, he turned his head.

“…Oh, fantastic,” he muttered, dragging out the words with exaggerated annoyance. “Guess someone couldn’t resist coming back. Just what I needed today.”

From the corner of the cabinet, a tiny figure emerged, clutching a small satchel filled to the brim with clothes you made. “Hi, Cam,” you whispered, smiling.

Cam’s eyebrows shot up as he spotted the clothing spilling a bit out of your bag, and he immediately straightened his posture, putting a hand on his hip like a scowling teenager caught in the act. “Huh. So it’s you. Back for more… tiny fashion disasters, I suppose?” His voice was gruff, but you caught the faint twitch of curiosity in his expression.

You shook your head, holding up the satchel so he could see. “I just… wanted to show you! Everything you helped me pick last time—I made a few outfits. I thought you might like to see.”

He blinked at that, clearly caught off guard and flustered. His fingers twitched as he fiddled with a bottle cap. “Oh. Really? Well, I mean… not that I care or anything. Just… you know, if it’s impressive. Which it probably isn’t.”

You stepped closer, carefully setting the satchel down. You begun pulling out each article of clothing, proudly presenting it to him. “I followed exactly what you said about the threads and patterns. It’s all neat and strong, just like you told me it should be.”

He leaned in, inspecting your handiwork with a scrutinizing gaze. His eyes softened slightly as he caressed a brass button you had attached to the outfit. “Huh. Well… this isn’t half bad. I mean, it’s actually… decent. Not that I expected a tiny thief to pay attention to my instructions, but… whatever.”

You grinned, happy to see him engaging. “Of course I listened. You were really specific about which scraps were good and which ones were too flimsy. It really helped. I’ve never seen anything like your collection. It’s… amazing.”

That made him pause, and then a slow, reluctant smile spread across his face. Cam snorted, fidgeting with the red twist ties on his jacket. “Ha. You’re easy to impress, aren’t you pipsqueak? But… that’s… cool, that you like my stuff, I guess.”

You laughed softly, brushing off his gruff tone. “You helped me make this. I wouldn’t have been able to without you.”

Cam shifted, clearing his throat and looking away for a moment, trying to maintain his grumpy exterior. However, the pink tinting his cheeks betrayed him. “Yeah… yeah, well. Don’t get the wrong idea. I was just… pointing out which bits were worth grabbing. That’s all. Purely professional, got it?”

You tilted your head, your smile unwavering. “Of course. Totally professional.”

Cam let out a short, rough laugh, shaking his head. “Hm. You’re ridiculous. But… not annoying. That’s… rare.”

You beamed at that, feeling your heart warm at the rare compliment. “Thanks, Cam.”

He looked away quickly, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of a plastic scrap. His eyes flicked toward you with a tiny spark of fondness.

Encouraged, you held up another piece: it had the velvet ribbon that had been nearly buried in his pile. “And this one! You said it would work perfectly for sleeves. I used it for the trim. Isn’t it pretty?”

Cam picked it up, turning it over in his fingers, inspecting it as if it were gold. “Hah. Yeah… not bad. See, this is why my pile is valuable. People toss this stuff out without a second thought. Brass, velvet, good fabric—it all gets lost if no one knows how to pick it out. You… seem to get it. That’s… unusual.”

You beamed at him. “I think it’s awesome. All your finds are so unique—you must be really proud of your collection.”

Cam’s lips twitched in what almost looked like a smirk. He let out a low laugh, the rough edge of his voice softening. “Heh. You’re… kinda observant. Not many people notice the good stuff in my pile. Most just call it junk.”

You nodded. “Everything you’ve got is so cool. You clearly know exactly what you’re looking for, and how to find the best pieces.”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “That’s… well… I guess it’s kinda nice someone actually pays attention instead of dumping on it. Don’t get used to me saying stuff like this, though.”

You giggled, tucking the clothing carefully back into your satchel. “I won’t. But thank you. For everything.” You waved as you carefully climbed back down, your satchel swinging by your side.

Cam watched you go, calling out to you again like last time, “You can come back sometime if you want to.” You smiled softly, your heart warming. “It’s a date.”

Cam looked away, fingers fidgeting with a torn piece of paper, clearly embarrassed. He tilted his head down, the blush warming and lightly tingling his cheeks beneath his messy banana-peel hat.

Cam muttered under his breath: “…I swear, I don’t even care… but… maybe it’s nice, having someone actually notice the good stuff.”

He sighed, finally sitting back on his pile, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. For the first time in a while, he didn’t feel quite so lonely.

A/N : Ignore the fact that the reader can somehow see Cam without the dateviators—I was trying to think of a way to explain how that works, but I couldn’t come up with anything, lol. Also, just in case there’s any confusion, the other kitchen dateables are there too; they’re just currently chatting in other parts of the house. So, for example, when the reader is hiding in the cabinet, Cabrizzio can feel their presence but can’t see them because he’s elsewhere. Oh, and I really hope I did justice to Cam’s personality and character! I love him so much and tried my best to write him properly. Please feel free to leave any comments—I’d love to get feedback.