An hour, a shower, and twenty Winnie The Pooh post-its later, I stood from my place on the floor, my legs having gone very numb. It looked as if I was having some type of book ritual going on with novels piled in one spot, my school books in another (because I was supposed to be studying for an upcoming test), and some other random books in another pile. In the midst of it all was me and my post-its and my teddy bear pens. And my polaroid camera that I found a use for because I had built quite a structure with a few young adult novels. I felt that my book house needed to be documented.

Stretching my legs, I slipped out of my room and padded back downstairs with my empty glass. I looked at the clock again as I entered the kitchen and released a sigh. I should’ve long been in bed, especially when I had realized it was past midnight, but I didn’t feel all that tired and collecting quotes and notes was really entertaining.

Filling up my glass with water this time, I gulped it down as I peered out of the kitchen window. The downpour had started up again not long before I had come back downstairs and it was hard to see much of anything outside. Telling myself that maybe the rain would help me sleep, I placed my empty glass in the sink and reached to flick the light out when there was a loud thump. I froze, hand mid air and looked around. After a few moments, I didn’t hear it again and flicked the light off.

But just before I was about to head upstairs, I heard a series of thumps that now sounded more like knocks. I spun around and searched the vicinity. Had someone just knocked on the door? I looked for the clock in the dark and reminded myself that it was well past two in the morning and that no one would be knocking on our door at this time of the night . . . or morning. Besides, we had a doorbell.

Brushing off the noise, I started up the stairs, feeling like a lead character in a horror movie. But by the time I made it to the top step, I had already spun around and was hurrying back down the stairs and into the kitchen. Quietly opening one of the drawers, I grabbed the meat hammer my mom had and tiptoed back towards the front door, hammer held high. I peeked out the window next to the door, but it was dark out and I couldn’t see anything without turning the porch light on and giving myself away. Which I did anyway.

Reaching up, I tapped my knuckles against the door a couple of times and waited. For a moment, I thought I had only been hearing something that the weather was causing or I was losing my mind from reading too much. But then the knocking came right back at me from the other side of the door and I almost flew through the roof.

Holding tightly to the meat hammer, I reached for the handle and turned the lock as quietly as possible. Chances are it was a stray dog looking for a place to hide during the harsh downpour of rain. But just in case, I was prepared to shriek if a predator charged through. And because someone barging into a person’s house in the middle of the night had never really happened in my neighborhood and I reminded myself of that, I quickly jerked the door open, expecting a drenched dog or a trash can that got caught in the wind.

A big, pitiful-looking drenched human is what I got.

Jaw dropping, I made to throw the hammer and slam the door, horrified. Lightning struck somewhere and momentarily brightened the scenery, only highlighting the shadows and making the person standing in front me look much more horrifying. Tossing the meat hammer, not really worried about aiming, I fumbled to shut the door and ended up somehow hitting the light switch next to the doorframe and illuminating the whole porch.

The meat hammer clattered to the ground and I halted just as I was about to slam the door.

Holding his now bruised shoulder, the drenched human looked up at me with wide eyes. And I wasn’t sure if the big fat tears they held were because I had just thrown a meat hammer at him or something else.

I gaped, that being the only thing I was able to do besides stare straight into the face of the person that decided to show up and knock on my door at 2AM in the middle of a rainstorm. Needless to say, I would’ve much rather it had been a stray dog than Oh Sehun.

Whether it was adrenaline, surprise, or my so-called hate for him, I slammed the door. Reaching to turn the light switch back off, I paused. A second later I flicked off the switch and locked the door again. And rather pointlessly, I stared at the door wondering if I had really just seen Oh Sehun on the other side of that door. Was this some kind of joke?

What exactly was I supposed to do? Why was he at my house? What did he want? My first assumption was that this was some kind of ploy, but right after, I was only left thinking about just who benefited from Oh Sehun running around in the middle of the night, getting soaked by the rain. From the looks of it, it wasn’t him.

I took a deep breath. I couldn’t help but remember the helpless look on his face that night in the street. More than that, my thoughts took me all the way back to the night he tried to make me roadkill. Although I was not all too keen on staying the night at Luhan’s house and I was stubborn enough to stay outside in the freezing cold, I knew Sehun was the one to bring me inside before I froze to death.

But I’m supposed to hate you. Not even twenty hours ago had we had that talk.

Turning my back, I started to go to bed and forget I even saw him. A crack of thunder sounded and the house was momentarily brightened by lightning. I couldn’t do it. I reached out and clicked the lock back out of place and slid the door back open.

He was gone. Thinking I might’ve really just been losing my mind, I glanced around and didn’t see anything. With a sigh, I started to close the door again and hurry to bed because obviously I really needed to sleep, when my eyes landed on a figure sitting on the steps. I flicked the light switch on and there he sat.

Hunched over his knees and head bent low, he flinched when it thundered loudly again. I frowned, unsure of what to do or what to make of this situation. Oh Sehun was cowering on my front step at 2AM, in the middle of a rainstorm. And he was absolutely soaked and shivering.

“Uh . . .” I cleared my throat, not knowing what to say. How exactly were you supposed to approach someone sitting on your front step in the middle of the night when they’d bullied you for two and a half years? “Can I help you?” I asked.

Hearing me ask that, he turned around with wide eyes and I couldn’t hold back my initial shock, my hand flying to my mouth. He stood and I lowered my hand, trying to cover my reaction, but I think my expression only became more horrified as he approached me, hands fiddling with the soaked cardigan.

Expecting him to speak, I eyed the purpling spot on his bottom lip where blood was mixed with rain. And his left eye, where his bruise had almost faded, seemed to be darker again. Obviously he had taken a beating from someone. Noticing just how stiffly he was standing there, I figured my staring probably wasn’t so polite and quickly looked away.

I coughed into my palm and jumped when it thundered. Was he really not going to say anything? What was I supposed to say?

“What?” I asked, maybe a bit too snappishly and entirely out of context. I pursed my lips, looking up at him.

He opened his mouth to speak and again I wondered if this was some kind of joke and he was about to throw a water balloon in my face and run into the street cackling in joy for ruining my night. But the longer I watched him struggle to find a word to say, the more tears welled up in his eyes, and the more on edge I got. This whole situation was odd and I wanted to slam the door again and run.

Trying to figure out what move to make next, I chewed on my bottom lip, watching as he shakily wiped at his face, smearing the blood. Lowering his hand, I caught the intense tremble of it and realized he was shivering all over.

“Why are you here?” was the question I first asked.

He took a shuddering breath and shook his head, wiping at his face again. I couldn’t tell if he was crying or if he was wiping at the rain dripping from the hair plastered against his forehead.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” he admitted in a very low mumble.

My eyebrows furrowed and I alm