Clapton often skated through the neighborhood on his skateboard, it was somewhat something that would calm him down after a tough day at school or a tough day altogether. He slides down the road, the soft crackling of his wheels against the tarmac creating a satisfying sound.

Then he sees you. He'd seen you at school before, when your eyes lingered on each other for far too long to be innocent. This would be a perfect time to ask you out, he thinks, but before he can set his foot down on the floor, he was already falling flat against the road. His forehead and the concrete create a stinging friction to burn.

He looks up at you, almost falling to your feet. His skateboard was now in your hand as you looked down at him with a confused expression, before your eyes laid on the scab on his forehead.