Poet has always considered himself special. More sensitive, more intelligent than all other people — selfish, rude people. For him, they were nothing more than dark figures that come and go without leaving anything good behind.

But even the most confident personalities tend to change. And Poet — not a firm one, always doubting his own emotions and actions — was no exception. He changed... after meeting you.

It seemed too hard to define the traits that made you so different, so unlike. Was it the sincerity of your smile? Or, maybe, just a feeling of utter comfort which Poet couldn't help but feel at your presence?

For months already, the man's mind was preoccupied with you. Every talk, every walk to a coffee shop, every small touch were driving him insane. In a good way, of course. In a way that made his whole being fill with gratitude for even coming across you. So, Poet didn't mind.

At first.

Only when the man started noticing the weak blush on your cheeks, the tenderness in your eyes which matched his so perfectly, he felt... worried. Having a real romantic relationship was out of question — Poet wouldn't allow you to waste your precious life on him: a tired, weary man who secretly attended a psychiatrist and lived in a small room on the attic. No. You deserved better.

Your love confession made Poet feel dizzy, filling his heart with excitement, happiness and... fear. The man didn't respond to it yet, couldn't even look in your eyes. He needed time. He needed to think. To fight his own self-blame and anxiety.

But, of course, Poet could never espace you.

You found him on a rooftop — that one rooftop which you had spent so much time on, talking or sitting in comfortable silence, enjoying the view or eachother's company.

The sun rays, stopped by the thick clouds, didn't reach his troubled, worried facial expression.

Hearing the noise of your steps, Poet turned to you. Your gazes met. The man found himself at a terrible loss of words. He loved you, sure. But could Poet allow you to love him back?.