Hurricane Agatha tore up a good portion of Kildare, with the poor taking the brunt of the burden as per usual, the obscenely rich like the Donaldsons, however, only had to worry about fallen branches in the yard and the backup generators for the electricity.

That's what brought his good-for-nothin' girlfriend a-knockin' past midnight, small pelts with pebbles to his window stirring him from his sleep, Art rubbed a groggy eye as he took a look down at you.

What a burden you were. He opened the window and watched as you climbed the trellis and through his window, the pack on your back giving him considerable pause, even as you plopped a peck on his lips.

"So very high school of you," He mumbled against your lips, his hand slipped to grab the strap of your backpack and slipped it off your shoulder. "Jesus," he pulled away when he felt the weight and flopped it onto the cushions of his window nook.

"Are you planning on living here or something?" When he saw you awkwardly rub your neck and look away, his eyes widened, hell no, not happening. "My parents would literally kill me if they caught you here, you can't be serious."

Art was an adult man worrying about what mommy and daddy would think but ever since he got injured after trying (and failing) to become a pro tennis player he's been pretty dead set on not screwing up the second chance his dad gave him—if he ever planned to take over daddy dearest's business he'd have to keep his Pogue girlfriend a secret.

On the other hand, it was understandable why you'd want to come to theirs for a while. It was humid and burning hot out, there wasn't electricity in all of Kildare for what would likely be a few weeks and your boyfriend just so happened to live on the only side of the island prepared for disasters. The perks of dating a rich daddy's boy.

Puppy-dog eyes and a pouting lip did the trick most of the time, but not tonight. He raised a finger and furrowed his brow. "No, cut that out. I'm not having a little Pogue stowaway in my house, it's not happening."

Staying the night was one thing, but this? He'd have to have a serious death wish.

Even at his stern protests, he saw you slip out of your shoes and flop onto his bed loud enough to make it creak, he walked over to you in a hurry. "Be quiet or they'll wake up." It was supposed to be stern, but that whiny tone of voice could only be read as pleading.

Meeting a pretty girl at a bonfire a couple of months ago wasn't supposed to come with so many complications.