I really should be sleeping as I type this.

The whir of my stereo consuming my efterklang CD is a comfortable, familiar sound. As the first mellow tones drift out of the speakers, I leap into bed. Drawing my three comforters up to my chin, I turn onto my left side, the usual side, and reach up to turn off my lamp. The darkness is soft, as is the distant rumbles of thunder. There is a storm coming. The first raindrops hit my window as the combination of warmth and soothing music carry me helplessly toward sleep.

I open my eyes, glance at the red LED readout of my clock. It's 2:27 am, it coldly informs me.
Thunk.
I had thought that's what had woken me before.
Thunk.
Right below my window, again.
Then a quiet--
Clack, clack, clack.
Knocking on the window? Doors make better doors than windows, I chuckle to myself as I trip my way over to the window. It's too early for my humor to make real sense to me. I use my finger to pry a vellum blind down, and, seeing nothing, I let it snap back. Halfway back to my bed I hear the small--
clack clack clack
from before. The rain picks up a little, pounding slightly on the roof. I hadn't realized it was raining harder now. A far-off lightning glows through the blinds. I turn to check the window again when the lightning flashes again, illuminating a shape in front of my window--

a sillhouette, I suddenly realize- there is a person at my window, in the driving rain, on the second floor, on a ladder then? My thoughts are speeding up along with my heart rate. I cautiously tip-toe to the window, crouching, this time pulling a blind located further down on the window. At first there is only darkness- then a sudden flash of lightning illuminates his face. With an exhalation of breath that is almost a scream I fall backwards, startled. I land on an oil painting I had been working on- shit. I peel myself from the canvas and yank the cord that pulls the blinds up, looking at __________. My face is a combination of intense annoyance and fondness, an interesting one. His face is grave as he looks back at me, eyes dark under his black raincoat hood. I unlock the window to talk to him, not really knowing what to do. I had never had a visit like this before. I gently pull the window up, the slight dampness coming through the screen.

"Uh, whats going on here?" I ask _________ quietly.
"Can I come in?" he whispers back. His voice is hoarse.
"... sure...." I lean back and slip the metal loops from the nails holding the screen to the windowframe. What does he need to come in for? I back up towards my lamp and click it on as he climbs in over the windowsill. His raincoat is dripping on my floor, on my ruined oil painting. I go up to him, to offer to take his coat, and he takes a step towards me, grabbing my shoulders and studying my face with an intensity I can't describe. My socks are getting wet from his coat still dripping water. He looks into my eyes, pain apparent- my face drops, my eyes widen. What's happened? I want to ask, but my face is suddenly wet with his raincoat pressed to me in a fierce embrace. He drops his head, his mouth next to my ear, and a whisper-

"I'm sorry."

((this is where my mind split off into two different directions. there are two really different stories that this branches into... yeah. I shouldnt be writing stories, silly me. my style is hard to follow, i think.))