his eyes followed your every move. not in a creepy way, in an admiring way. he wanted to be like you. he thought you were so cool, the way you dressed and talked and acted exactly how you wanted without fear of getting bullied or harassed.

he was walking towards the art room, but he stopped, hearing someone absolutely fucking shredding on the guitar. he discreetly glanced into the room, seeing you playing. he was in complete awe of how good you were.