You don't know what time it is; just that it's so late it's early, the rain is pounding on the roof, you can barely keep your eyes open, and that your boyfriend has just now slid into bed with you. 

You sigh, feeling it's your duty to pretend to be annoyed as Trent wraps his arms around your waist. "You stayed up until the ass-crack of dawn again to write," you mutter dryly, "and you always assume that cuddling me is going to make up for it."

"I'm sorry," he replies, although it hardly sounds like he means it. Somehow, you know for sure that he's grinning from ear-to-ear as he nuzzles his face against your neck. "And I don't just think it makes up for it. I know."

As much as you hate yourself for it, you know he's right about that. You huff out another breath. "Fine. It does. But that doesn't mean you should keep working 'till three in the morning." You roll over until you find yourself on top of him, staring down at him with an expression that you hope seems stern and imposing. "You have to take better care of yourself, you know."

Judging by the smile on Trent's face, he's probably just happy to have you on top of him. He looks up at you with heavily lidded eyes, smirking. "God," he mutters. "You're adorable."

You hope it's too dark for him to tell that you're blushing furiously. "Stop."

"It's true." Lovingly, his hand brushes against your hip. All the while, he just keeps looking up at you adoringly, like you're truly the best thing he's ever seen.

 "You're precious," he says, and the words sound strange coming from his lips, -- his compliments are usually less clichéd, more longwinded, -- but all you see in his eyes is love. His hand travels from your hip to your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours. "You really are."

You don't say anything, just shaking your head before leaning down, bringing your lips to his, softly but surely. You aren't sure if it's to thank him for his compliments or to keep him from offering you any more of them, but you feel the need to shut him up with your lips. And yet, he doesn't stop talking, even in the midst of a full-on makeout session. Just continues squeezing words in between kisses. 

"You're so beautiful," he says, lips brushing against your neck. Somehow, you've reversed roles; he's got you pinned down now, your body sinking into the mattress beneath his weight. "So very... stunning. I've never seen anyone who's even come close to being as lovely as you are..."

You don't say anything, burrowing your face into his neck. Part of you is embarrassed, flustered by his constant praise, however cheesy it may be. Another part of you wants to cry; he makes you feel so special, truly worth it in the eyes of someone else. There's nothing selfish in the way that his lips dance across your skin, so tender and careful; he loves you. He truly does. 

You wish you could return the favor, but you don't think he'd have that right now; he clearly wants to keep his attention on you, every kiss that he gives you filled with purpose. In between, he offers various loving words, most varying ways of telling you just how beautiful you are. At this point, your eyes are growing too heavy for all of them to register. 

After a long while of listening to his sweet nothings as the storm rages on outside, fingers tangled in his lovely mess of tangled black hair, you speak up, voice cracking from a mix of exhaustion and love. "Trent?"

"Hmm?" he hums in a rather noncommittal manner, face still buried in your neck. 

"Can you maybe stop trying to give me a few hundred hickies and let me cuddle you?" 

Reluctantly, he rolls back onto his side, only for you to curl up to him, gently pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

"I love you," you say quietly, "so damn much."

He chuckles, pretty green eyes drifting shut. "Same to you." 

You smile to yourself, nestling yourself closer to him, taking note of him in the same ratty Skinny Puppy shirt he's had for years and the dreadlocks that shouldn't work for him but do. Your eyes continue to travel over him, taking note of all the little things you notice and love, until you hear his voice again, deep with sleep. "Babe?"

You smile, surprised that he's even still awake. "Yeah?"

He hums sleepily. "Stop staring at me and get your beauty rest," he says. "You said that I needed to take better care of myself, after all."

You roll your eyes, wrapping your arms more securely around him before beginning to drift off.

(New imagine writing style. Whoopee.)