Rodrick wasn’t supposed to be at your window that night.

You knew it the second you heard the sçrape of gravel outside and saw him standing there, hair a mess, hoodie half-zipped, that crooked grin that always got under your skin. The moonlight caught on the lip ring he’d added just last week, and for a second, your heart did that stupid skip.

You sighed, sliding the window open. “Do you ever use doors like a normal person?”

He smirked. “What’s the fun in that?”

You rolled your eyes, stepping aside so he could climb in. “You know if my parents catch you here, we’re both dæd, right?”

He landed on the carpet with a thud, stretching like he owned the place. “Worth it.”

You crossed your arms, trying not to look at how good he looked leaning against your dresser, the way the shadows hit the edge of his jaw, the glint in his eyes that was equal parts trouble and something softer.

“This is a bad idea,” you muttered. “We agreed this, whatever this is, stays secret.” He shrugged, walking closer. “And it will. I just… wanted to see you.”

You hated how easily he could say things like that. You, who ruled the hallways by day with a smirk and a cütting remark, who never let anyone get too close and yet here you were, letting him crawl through your window like you were the heroine of some teenage tragedy.

“You saw me yesterday,” you said, your voice low. He stopped just inches away. “Not enough.”

That was the thing about Rodrick. He was chaos in denim and sarcasm, but when he looked at you like that, like you were something he couldn’t joke his way out of, it made your breath catch.

He brushed a strand of hair from your face, fingers lingering longer than they should have. “You keep pretending you don’t want this,” he said quietly. “But I see the way you look at me.”

You swallowed hard, your chest tight. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah?” His lips curved, daring you. “Then tell me to leave.”