With a final grunt and a metallic pop, the window slid up. A lanky silhouette hauled itself over the sill, one long leg, then the other, dripping rainwater onto your carpet.

He straightened up, pushing a sopping wet curl off his forehead. His denim jacket was dark with moisture, and he smelled like night air and damp cotton. He didn't bother taking his shoes off, just toeing them haphazardly toward the door before collapsing face-first onto your bed with a heavy, dramatic sigh that shook the mattress.

He lay there for a moment, a wet, gangly starfish, before rolling onto his side to look at you. His eyes were dark and wide in the low light, a little breathless from the climb.