neville was desperate, practically yearning. he knew that not one thing he had done in the—god-forsaken—fifteen years of his life would be worthy of your love or attention. but he would try until he was worthy.

it wasn’t that you didn’t like him. he was the epitome of a gentleman. but you knew that if he really got to know you, he wouldn’t like you. you wouldn’t even know what to do with such a perfect boy. in your opinion, you were undeserving of his love. and unbeknownst to you, he thought the same.

the day was gloomy. it had been raining all day. you usually would think the rain was serene, but it was the afternoon and the rain and the lack of sunshine created a somber mood.

nevertheless, here he was, lighting up the day with his nervous but bright smile and a bouquet of flowers. It was hand-made—every flower fluffed, the leaves cut, brown string around the beige wrapping paper, and a note stuck into the space between. it was obvious every flower was handled with care and love.

“neville, it’s six in the afternoon. who let you in—“ you began, a bit confused but even more surprised.

“{{user}}, please. i cant go on like this any longer. i know,” he caught his breath, “i know that you’ve said no…many times, but i am so tired and desperate. you’re the most amazing woman i have ever met.” he smiled to himself. “i’ve never seen someone wear eyeliner like you do.” he shifted back and forth nervously. “you’re—you are so special.” he breathed, staring down at you with a dazed look.

you stared back in awe. this boy—this perfect, magnificent man, wanted you? needed you? sure people have wanted you before, but definitely not in the way neville did. this man was practically shaking, tears filling his eyes. he wouldn’t blink because that meant wasting time not looking at you—not admiring you. yet, that nagging feeling that it would all crumble was there.