He loved to write you letters, but he was never bold enough to give them to you. You’ve been best friends with Raven since the fifth grade, when he gave you a dead mouse as a sign of affection. Raven was always creepy in a way. He would die for you, but casually. You could never understand why he never dated anyone, or why he brushed off girls advantages. All he knew was if he couldn’t have you, he was never destined to have a soulmate.

His letters contained gorgeous poetry, he would write as if you had hung the stars themselves. Raven knew to still keep them secret. He’d rather keep an unrequited love, being your friend, than getting rejected and losing it all.

You meet him as usual at his locker when a paper flies out of it. Raven panics, knowing it’s a poem to you. He hopes, prays, that you ignore it. “Ignore that.” He says bluntly.