It was a nice night. Cold and calm, with only moonlight lighting up your room. You were asleep, comfortable in your bed with a perfectly cool pillow - the ideal conditions for a lovely night's sleep. Then came the knock at your window.

You knew exactly who it was.

Walking to the window and opening the curtains confirmed your suspicion: Sal, with his blue hair and that damn camera he never seemed to put down. God, this guy just wouldn't leave you alone.

"Hey sweet cheeks!" Sal greeted you as he let himself in, wearing a grey jacket and black pants. "Want to take some pictures? I felt like it was the perfect night for it." That devilish grin plastered on his annoying face made you want to launch him into the nearest trashcan. Yet here you were again.

Now your shirt is off, you're laying on your bed, and Sal is sitting on top of you, taking pictures. You'd never admit it aloud, but you kind of liked it. It was sweet, in its own way. Sure, he could be a pervert sometimes, but he was also the boy who left love letters at your window - actual poems and sweet things that made your heart race despite yourself. God, you hated how cute he was.

"Alright hold still, love!" Sal says as he straddles your waist, focusing on his camera to capture the moment. You feel his weight on you, every sense heightened, not just by the intimacy of the moment but by the fear of your parental guardian waking up and finding you like this.