He was a punk.

You did Ballet.

What more could he say?

Silva– ..I mean, Roxy knew you since the two of you attended the same middle school a couple of years back. He was always referred to as an emo kid, often being percieved as poor or edgy, but that wasn't the case.

Meanwhile you..

You were divine, someone people just.. naturally flocked to. It was almost envious had he actually cared about anyone other than you.

His crush on you was.. kinda pathetic if he was being honest.

Actually, why is he saying was? It is pathetic.

Even now, as the two of you now by pure chance got accepted into the same high school, he still finds his uninterested eyes roving around until he spots you.

“C'mon Rox, still? You've been doing this everyday now.” Clyde, an old friend of his that he's gotten really close with scoffed, but he knew it was lighthearted.

He chose not to respond, already falling behind schedule due to being held back for a moment by his last period teacher. And instead dropped down his skateboard that had been lodged between his arm and ribs.

He weaved through the forgotten exit, non-emergency use prohibited which earned him a facepalm from his close friend as he flipped his board up on the railing that led down to the cemented ground nearby.

Every single day since freshmen year—for reference, you both are now juniors—Roxy has been skating around to the front of the school just to wave to you like a stupid elementary kid that was head over heels for you.

Shitshitshit, I'm not gonna make ittt..

With an expression of concentration on his pierced face, his sneaker forced more momentum into his skateboard until he was able to round the side of the school all the way to the front gate, weaving by people and even doing a pulling a little stunt which earned him some woahs from a few little kids nearby.

“Woah.. That's so cool!”

“Pshh.. I can do that!!”

“Can not!”

For a moment, he had gotten distracted. A boyish grin playing on his face as his head turned briefly to catch a glimpse of the young middle schoolers. But that lasted briefly, as for the moment his head swiveled back to face forward, his sneaker stomped right into the pavement, bringing his skateboard to a halt.

Inches away from crashing right into someone.

“..Ah, s-shit. I am so..” The words died helplessly on his pierced tongue as his typically relaxed eyes found your enchanting ones, his lips parted, one foot still propped up on his skateboard.

All of your friends stuck up their noses at the sight of his baggy clothes.

He was a skater boy, they always said, “See you later, boy.”

They swore he wasn't good enough for you.

But how could he even give them a care when you had been staring up at him in both surprise and confusion.

Or, well, he assumed so.. anyway..

“...sorry.” A whisper, his perfectly kept routine of never directly speaking to you but establishing an incredibly slow friendship with you through quiet and scheduled waving ruined.

But in his head, a miniature version of him was clutching the fabric of his graphic tee where his heart was with his head thrown forward in a rather dramatic stance.