jet ♱

He cranes his neck up to look at you, a difficult task given the awkward position he’s somehow gotten himself into on your windowsill. One of his arms is stretched out in reach of the floor, whilst the other carefully grips onto something you assume to be a bouquet of flowers - it’s hard to make out in this light. The white toe of a beat-up Converse peaks out at you from the darkness as he flashes a somewhat guilty smile, only before his other foot gets caught as he attempts to stealthily launch himself inside. 

A loud thump follows as he lands ungracefully on your floor with a muffled ‘ooft’. You wince at the sound of the impact, not with any worry for him, but more out of concern for your roommate, who you hope is sound asleep. Though a quick glance at your blinking alarm clock tells you it’s past 2 am, so you’re pretty sure you’re safe. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” you hiss, frustration building in your tone as you watch him sheepishly attempt to fix the stack of books and burned CD mixtapes he’d knocked down in his fall. You flick on a nearby lamp, but otherwise don’t move from your position in bed, not daring to give the impression that you’re happy to see him. 

Because you’re not. 

You don’t think you ever ‘met’ Park Sunghoon, at least not properly. It’s not like you ever had to, he’d always been there since you’d started college - at the back of lecture halls with his legs lazily kicked up, or pushing past you in hallways followed by his group of obnoxiously loud friends. You heard about him through hushed whispers in the library or frantically yelled stories across dining hall tables, sometimes about the goal he’d scored at last night’s hockey match, always about how handsome he was.

You never understood it, there was nothing attractive to you about someone who didn’t seem to take their studies seriously, or who spent his Friday nights shamelessly flirting with girls at his friend’s party - if the rumours were anything to believe. Sure, he was good-looking, you weren’t a good enough liar to say he wasn’t, but it never seemed to make up for the douchebag persona his reputation held. 

And it probably would’ve stayed that way if your friends hadn’t managed to drag you to some stupid house party at the end of dinals week. In your defence, you hadn’t even wanted to go, but after almost two straight weeks of studying and several meltdowns in the library, you let them convince you that you deserved it. 

But somewhere in between the pounding music, dancing bodies and your friend’s insistence on “just one more shot”, things started going blurry. You could only vaguely make out the sight of your last friend disappearing around a corner, something slipping out of your tiny bag and your hand unsteadily reaching down to pick it up before your entire body weight began to follow. 

Then, a strong hand catching your elbow before you could fall face-first onto the carpet. 

“Woah there,” came a voice you wished you didn’t recognise, and blinking soon helped your swimming vision focus onto a familiarly handsome face. 

An instinctive groan escapes your lips as you make an attempt to push Sunghoon off you. 

“I’m fine,” you huff. 

“You don’t look it,” he says, and you almost scoff at how amused he sounds. 

“Don’t talk to me.” You attempt to straighten back up but your unsteady leg cause you to throw a hand out in search fo stability, which he takes almost too naturally. 

“Okay,” he says through a laugh,” how much have you had?” 

“None of your business,” you grit, but your grip on his arm doesn’t lighten. Had his biceps always been this big? He was an athlete after all. 

“Right, probably too much then,” he sighs quietly, “c’mon let’s get you home.” There’s not mockery in his tone, just pure concern and a soft sense of care. Under normal circumstances you would’ve rather died then let Sunghoon see you like this - drunk, stumbling and a total mess. But your friends were nowhere to be found, and you’d be stupid to try and make your way home alone like this. 

And so, you silently let him loop one of your arms around his shoulder as he takes your bag in his hand. That’s how the two of you walked back to your dorm at nearly 3am in the morning, and even in your drunken state, you oculd feel one of his hands hovering carefully at the back of your waist - never touching, just there. 

You figured that would’ve been it, an embarrassing night that you’d both silently agree to forget the next morning. Except, it wasn’t - and before you knew it your guarded walls slowly broke down, just as the line between irritation and something else entirely began to blur. So slowly in fact that you never noticed when annoyed quips became long night phone calls, or making eye contact with him across lecture halls became him stretched across the edge of your bed, whining about his coach after practice. 

And somewhere along the way, he started climbing in through your window instead of using the door like a normal person and somehow, you started letting him. Mostly because you didn’t want your roomates or friends knowing just how far this had gone. What the two of you had couldn’t be easily explained, not with a Facebook relationship status at least. 

A short beat of silence follows as he looks up at you, almost with confusion as if you’re the stupid one here, and not him who just fell through your dorm window. “I missed you,” he breathes out like it’s obvious. 

“That doesn’t explain why you’re-” you pause, trying to calm your voice before you get too loud. “That doesn’t explain why you’re climbing through my window at two in the morning,” you hiss with annoyance. 

“I thought it’d be romantic,” he smiles, clearly oblivious to your growing irritation. “I saw it in that movie that came out last weekend,” a small pause as he tries to recall the name, “... Twilight!” 

“Edward does that to watch her sleep, you creep,” you say with narrowed eyes before taking a deep sigh. You knew Hoon well enough at this point to know that there was no use in trying to get him to leave, plus it’s not like you were planning on trying anyways. 

Ignoring your attempt at an insult, he straightens up off the floor, silently smoothing out the bouquet of flowers that had broken his fall from your windowsill. 

“These are for you,” he says matter-of-factly, holding them out to you. You’re about to scoff until you take a closer look at it. At the carefully picked colours, the different length stems, the bow tied in your favourite colour ribbon - you’d never seen one like this at the flower shop. 

“You made this?” you say with disbelief, taking it carefully. He shoves his hand back into his pocket a little too quickly, seemingly flustered by you noticing his effort. 

“Yeah,” he says curtly, avoiding your eye and instead focusing on a spot on your floor, “you seemed sort of upset in your message earlier, figured I’d probably said something stupid to make you mad.” 

You can almost hear your heart melt. Looking down at the flowers again, you don’t even try to fight the tooth-aching smile that pushes at your cheeks. “They’re beautiful,” you whisper. 

You hear him sigh out of relief, clutching a dramatic hand over his heart. “Oh thank god, I don’t know what I would’ve done if you stayed mad at me.” 

“I was never mad at you though,” you say with a soft laugh, gently laying the flowers on your bedside table. 

“Really?” He turns to you with round eyes, “well it’s sort of hard to tell with you sometimes.” 

You roll your eyes, but the smile on your lips doesn’t change as you gesture for him to join you on the edge of your bed. He does so without any hesitation, pressing a soft, almost careful kiss to your cheek as he does. 

“You can’t keep doing this, you know,” you say softly, making him look at you again with confusion.

“Doing what?” 

“This.” You gesture vaguely to your room, the flowers, his hand already coming up to play with your hair like it’s instinct. “Showing up whenever you want and acting like…” you trail off. 

Like we’re together, like I’m yours. The thought of it makes your stomach twist, the two of you had never spoken about it before, and you’d been quick to brush it under the carpet any time the topic arose. But the longer it went on, the more questions you began having, about him, about the two of you. 

Much to your surprise, he doesn’t joke. “You don’t make it easy though,” he says softly, with a reassuring tone, “I know you don’t like being seen with me, but I like being with you too much to let that stop me. Hence the window climbing.” 

He lies down on your bed in a swift movement, looking far too comfortable, nodding with his head for you to join him. You hesitate for a second, chewing on your bottom lip in thought. All it takes is to see his pleading expression for you to let out a soft sigh of defeat, sinking into the pillows beside him. 

“For the record, it is actually dangerous,” he continues, “I swear I saw my life flash in front of my eyes when I fell. You’re lucky I like you enough to risk it.” 

“Oh trust me I’m flattered,” you deadpan sarcastically, laying your head on his chest. 

“I sense sarcasm,” you can hear the smile in his voice, and to your surprise the cocky tone makes your heart flutter, instead of twist. 

“Don’t push it.” 

The room falls quiet besides the soft hum of your desktop computer and the distant sounds of other college students returning to their dorms. His arm wraps loosely around your waist, pulling you closer against him, and you hate how easily your body melts into it. You consider for a minute that this is a bad idea, that letting him climb through your window night after night might be more trouble than it’s worth in the long run. But as you feel your lids grow heavy, soothed by the rise and fall of his chest, you figure that’s a problem for you to worry about tomorrow. 

───── ⟡ vamp! hollis who's hands are so cold as they roam your body, mindlessly slipping up your shirt as you lay beside him or brushing a strand of hair away from your face. even when he lazily presses his cheek to your bare shoulder as you scroll on your phone.

───── ⟡ vamp! hollis whose movements are smooth, quick, precise. from how he weaves his fingers between yours or how he'll slip his jacket around shoulders when you're out late at night.

───── ⟡ vamp! hollis who you catch watching you sleep sometimes, not in a creepy way but instead in a silent, almost protective way. watching the way your human chest rises and falls with your peaceful breaths with an endeared smile on his face, he's at peace knowing you're safe.

───── ⟡ vamp! hollis who gets borderline scary the minute he sees you wtih someone else, though he'd never say it outright. instead he silently appears behind you, snaking an arm around your waist and pulling you close, and you swear you can hear him hiss softly.

───── ⟡ vamp! hollis who'd never bite you, but god does he want to. he'll break a kiss to graze his teeth across your skin just lightly enough to make you squirm but never hard enough to break skin before pressing his lips over it in a soothing kiss. you almost feel like he's teasing you.

───── ⟡ vamp! hollis who, for that exact reason, is weirdly protective about your neck and collarbones. he'd never tell you what to do or wear but you find him adjusting scarves to be higher, silently gulping when you wear a shirt too low or staring a little too long when you wear a new necklace.

───── ⟡ vamp! hollis who is so attentive, remembering all your tiny quirks and routines. the weird way you like to eat your cereal, the cafe you stop at before class and the order you get everytime.

───── ⟡ vamp! hollis who is still an old time romantic, kissing hte back of your hand, pulling out chairs for you without thinking.

He started noticing things, things he shouldn't have been noticing. When you'd yawn a little too much, or when you'd off-handedly mention having skipped breakfast he'd silently notice and before you knew it, a coffee and sandwich would find their way to your desk.

He never expected anything in return, not even a thank you, since he always slipped away before you got the chance to say anything. Just seeing the way you smiled, even if small, and to yourself, was enough for him.

And so when, by some chance, you found yourself asleep on his bed after a study session, he didn't shake you off or wake you. He only quietly pulled the covers over you, gently tucking a stray strand of hair away so he could watch your sleeping expression with a fond smile.

Maybe he's weaker than he thinks, though, because it doesn't take long for you to drag him into the nearest empty room - and he'd probably hate you for it if he wasn't so eagerly following.

"Why are you doing this?" he huffs - less of a question, more of a plea. He feels his hands clench at his sides, which he knows is an unconscious attempt to keep them off you.

"Doing what?" Your cruel smile only grows as you watch him struggle in front of you. You lean back against the wall, putting some distance between you two - which he takes no time in closing, his eyes finally meeting yours.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" he chokes out from clenched teeth.

All you do is shrug with faux innocence, which only frustrates him more. Before he knows it, his hands are on your hips, then spreading across your back as he presses you closer to him. The kiss is messy, desperate, and nothing like the composed Light the rest of the world knew. Only you got to see this side of him, the side that grabbed at you like he couldn't quite get enough, and whined against you when he felt you kiss back.

And maybe that was what kept him coming back.