"The City Living Hacks blog."
I nearly drop my coffee mug. "How do you know about my blog?"
His ears twitch again, and I swear there's color rising in his cheeks. Dark green skin makes it hard to tell, but something's definitely happening there.
"I may have researched local freelance writers. For professional networking purposes."
"You researched me?"
"I researched several local writers."
"But you know my blog specifically."
"Your subway navigation post proved particularly informative."
Holy shit.He reads my blog. My nightmare neighbor, the orc with the earthquake voice and the book pajamas, reads my actual work.
"That's deeply weird."
"I apologize if?—"
"No, not weird bad. Just weird." I gesture vaguely around his library-living room. "You read lifestyle blogs?"
"I read extensively across multiple genres and languages. Cultural immersion aids linguistic development."
Right. Cultural immersion. Because that's definitely why someone reads posts about finding decent coffee at 6 AM.
The bass note thrums again, and I realize he's started pacing while we talked. Three steps to the window, pivot, three steps to the bookshelf, pivot. A precise pattern that probably looks random to him but screams anxiety to anyone who's ever struggled with deadlines.
"You're nervous."
"I am not nervous."
"You're pacing in a perfect rectangle and your voice is doing that bass thing more frequently."
He stops mid-step, awareness dawning across his features.
"The harmonic resonance increases with emotional stress."
"So you've been stress-practicing Shakespeare in the middle of the night."
"I have been experiencing difficulty with sleep lately."
"Why?"
The question slips out before I can stop it. Too personal for neighbors who've known each other for exactly one formal complaint and one midnight confrontation. But something about his careful movements, his obsessive organization, his goddamn book pajamas makes me want to understand.
"Immigration concerns," he says after a long pause. "Visa renewal requires demonstrated academic progress. Current political climate makes approval... uncertain."
Oh.
Suddenly the morning practice sessions make more sense. The evening recitations. The linguistic notebooks arranged like holy texts.
He's not trying to torture me. He's trying to survive.
"That's why you can't relocate. Or reduce the practice time."
"Correct."
