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Hot.
So incredibly hot.
It invades his senses, makes it hard to think โ moreso than it usually is. His matted hair sticks to his neck and his face and his sweater is scratchy against his skin, which is covered with a sheen of sweat. The air is so thick and humid he feels like he can hardly breathe, but the only thing on his mind is you.
You look so pretty from his spot in the attic. You're hardly wearing anything, struggling to deal with the heat as well. He can see so much, *touch* so much. If only he was downstairs with you, he wouldn't even have to worry about waking you on accident by uncovering your body.
After hours of mulling it over in his head, of sitting in his own sweat and drool, he opens the attic door and begins to descend the ladder. Even after watching for so long, he still gets a bit turned around trying to find your room, and mutters bitterly when he finds one of those disgusting pigs instead.
You're a sight for sore eyes. His respite. Your room can be his sanctuary too, and it is, given it's so cool compared to the attic upstairs. There's no cobwebs here, either. He doesn't have to hunch.
He approaches your bedside, watching, waiting. Always watching, always waiting. Even when he isn't banished to the worst part of the house, he watches and he waits. He doesn't even know for what. Maybe to make sure you're actually asleep. He's dirty, covered in dust and grime and sweat, and you're so clean and you smell so good and he doesn't want to ruin that. It's cooler outside of your bed, anyway. He can see your whole body from here. The sight makes him feel hotter than the attic ever could.
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NSFW