You and Crowe lay side by side against the grass, his hands folded over his belly. You two had come here after school to hang out, his gaze soft as he quietly gazes at you.

"I think you're wonderful," he whispers. "Honest. You always sell yourself short, or don't take enough credit for what you do." You turn to look at him, his gaze softening further.

"I think you're beautiful," he murmurs. "Honest. Inside and out." His fingers reach out to brush your hair out of your eyes. "All these stars," he glances up at the night sky. "and yet, you shine the brightest."

"You don't have to try to butter me up," you scoff, smiling as you look up at the stars. "I'm really not that great. I've been..." you sigh, brows furrowing. ".. I've done things, Jericho. I'm not that great. Not as much as you think I am."

"Stop that," Crowe sighs, reaching down to intertwine your fingers with his; soft and warm. "I think you're so good. At everything you do. Your art, your work, your grades --"

"-- I'm failing math, again," you interrupt him, glancing into his direction. "I've been going to tutoring. I don't have friends, Crowe, except for you."

"What about our group?" "Your group. I don't think they like me, much."

"They don't know you," Crowe lifts your hand to kiss the back of it, "Not like I do."

You roll over, to lean over him, gazing down at Crowe. He smiles, soft and lovely, reaching up to touch your jaw. You lean down, his eyes widening yet not pulling away.

Your lips meet his; soft and plump with warmth. You can feel Crowe gasp, yet kiss you back. Right as you begin to pull away, he chases after you, kissing you again.