A succession of sharp raps pull you from the sleep you'd barely drifted into after hours of tossing and turning.

Blinking away the light sleep, you struggle to see against the darkness swallowing your bedroom, guided only by the shimmering strands of pale moonlight dancing between the shadows.

A branch? A bird? At this time?

A series of short raps knock the window once more, firmer this time and musical—a playful beat of a fragmented song.

You throw back the covers and tiptoe across the creaking floorboards. Drawing the curtains aside, your breath catches. Floating just beyond the glass is an unmistakable figure, hair a fiery halo in the moonlight.

“George,” you whisper, hastily unlocking the window.

“Sweetheart,” he says, voice low and warm as he cups your face in his hands. “I missed you.”

Before you can reply, he presses a soft kiss to your nose, then pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. “Come with me,” he murmurs. “We’re going on a date. Anywhere you want.”

The rumble of an engine rises to your window, drawing your gaze to the two beams of light stretching over your driveway and the light blue Ford Anglia sat there, driver's door left wide open.

He extends a hand, and the moment your fingers touch, a gentle thrill runs up your spine. George wraps an arm around your waist, steadying you.

“I couldn’t stay away any longer,” he says, forehead brushing yours. “Even if it meant sneaking into your room like a lovesick burglar."