It was a cold Tuesday morning when I learned that my neighbor's son had a problem with sneaking into his room on the second floor. ​

     "What are you doing?" Curiosity showed in my eyes and drifted into my voice.     His body tensed at the sound of my voice, a glance over his shoulder stopped my breathing. My neighbor's son was gorgeous. The fringe he was sporting covered his forehead, leaving his amber eyes to get caught in the early morning sun. Puffs of smoke left his lips as his warm breath fought with the cold temperature surrounding us.  ​         "Have you ever stayed out all night, even when you know your parents would kill you if they found out?" The slight hint of sarcasm did nothing to stop the shiver that ran down my spine from his deep yet soft voice.    A shy smile took over my face as I answered back with a soft no, bloodshot to my cheeks when the ground beneath my feet rumbled with his laugh. Despite living here for two months, I've never had the chance to have a proper conversation with the neighbors, let alone their son. Lately, my workload has lightened up a bit, mainly because no publishers have taken to my stories, so getting the day off was a luxury I spend wasting away at the back of the nearby cafe. What with my fantasy-filled brain, I find it was fate that probably wanted the two of us to meet; or at least the luck of a drained 22-year-old and the luck of a teen sneaking back into his room from an impossible-looking distance.       ​"So...you've never snuck out before?" My face was ablaze with the surprise and amusement lacing his voice as it surrounded me.   Toeing at  the ground, I answered him, "I was never one for sneaking out or staying out late."         "Then what are you doing out so late? Shouldn't you be asleep? Won't your parents kill you too?"   Curiosity killed the cat rang through my mind and into the freezing weather as it left my lips. It melted into the ground, while the neighbor's son, who I've yet to find out his name, smirked.            "My parents do not have to worry about me anymore, I'm 22." The surprised eyes that met mine choked my heart.          "You don't look that old though!" Bemusement took over my eyebrow with an angry twitch.        "Twenty-two isn't even old! I only start counting someone as old once they've reached their eighties or nineties." I never thought a storm could scare me, however, when the boy's eyes crinkled as laughter rippled through his throat, into the burning yellows of the sunrise, the storm of nerves coursing through my body scared me.     With every wave of his laughter, I felt something in my chest tighten and swell. It was like my chest didn't care about the protests fl