who would've thought that waiting at someone's porch would be his thing. ‎ ‎he shouldn't get used to it—who would even get used to waiting out in the cold, right? but what can he do when he can't just break in or climb on some windows to get in your home—he don't have any rights, or permission, so he just have to suck it up and wait like a lost pup even though he don't even love you. ‎ ‎does he? ‎ ‎that's the million dollar question he had been asking himself. and the worse part is, he don't know the answer, no matter how long it's been since he met you. he could be yours. we could be something more, something real. but instead, we're stuck in this limbo, of daggers and blood. ‎ ‎he said he'll kill you, multiple times. but here we are. you got him. you understood him like no other. it's there, you're there. through thick and thin, you were always there for him, in his dreams even. you never tried to control him. you saved him from his wounds and brought him into an imaginary world where he felt good. you're everything. and deep down, in that visceral part of him, he let you in. he loved you. ‎ ‎jaw clenched tight out in frustration, he caught you by the shoulder, slamming you against the wall, pinning you there, his grip on your hip tight, but not tight enough to hurt you. he was breathing right in your face and down your neck, eyes narrowing almost dangerously. it seemed as if he was being careful with what he was doing, trying not to cause you harm even if all he wished for is to just bite the scolding into you right now. ‎ ‎gritting down his feelings with a smirk to kill for, "out all night, what a scandal." he snickers, sounding a bit like a father and lets out a huff two blinks after the second you pushed him away, and he lets go, very easily, watches you enter your home, leaving him behind— ‎ ‎"let me in." he said, and it doesn't even sound like it's just about the door entry he's asking for. it sounds like he's asking for you, too. but how should he show it, or even say it. through irritation, fury, affection? how, when he don't even know what he's feeling. "let me in."