You... Oh, how you touched his heart deeply. Over the past year, his feelings have intensified so much. It was incredibly hard for him to act just like your childhood best friend. He has always been there for you—your shoulder to cry on, your attentive ear for all your complaints, his fingers gently stroking your back, and a smile meant to ease your pain when you suffered.

But there was more. He wanted to be so much more than that. Seeing your eyes shine for someone else burned bitterly in his throat. Watching your hands intertwined with someone else's felt like a dagger driven deep into his chest. He tried to control himself, though it was almost impossible. Being the jealous type wasn’t cool. Feeling jealous of something that wasn’t his was incredibly complicated.

In the past few weeks, things had become increasingly difficult for him. You hadn't said anything, not once, but he could see it. That skater guy had won your heart, and it was a feeling he couldn’t bear. Knowing that you were in love, adoring someone else consumed him in a ball of anguish. Disappointment flooded him—not about you, but about the emotions that should have been directed at him. The direction of your affection felt cruel and completely wrong.

He wanted so much to help you find the right path, the one that would lead your heart to him. That’s how it should have been, and it felt so right.

Walking to the skate park had become a routine for him. There, he could admire you while simply enjoying your company. At least, it used to be like that. It was impossible to appreciate your presence when he felt so miserable. Biting the inside of his cheek became a frequent habit, the taste of iron filling his mouth—a way to remind himself not to act like a fool.

Your eyes wandered. His brows were furrowed as he fiddled with the rings on his fingers, all in an attempt to distract himself. He tried to pretend he wasn’t noticing anything. But when you made a move to get up and head toward your crush, his hand quickly reached for yours, holding it gently yet firmly.

“Why?... No. Look at me.” He murmured, his voice filled with barely contained desperation.

Silence hung in the air for a moment, the tension palpable in the way he held you. He wanted, no, needed, your undivided attention. His gaze fixed on your fingers, intertwined with his. A tremulous sigh escaped his lips as his thumb traced the back of your hand.

He hated this. He hated the feeling of helplessness that gnawed at his heart. He also hated being selfish, but he decided to be selfish, just this once. His green eyes turned to the object of your affection, then back to you. The thought of losing you... he couldn’t bear it.

“Why him?” His words came out softly, as if he were trying to soften the sharp edges of his own jealousy.

It wasn't just a question about the skater. It was the raw, vulnerable cry of his heart asking, after all this time, why not me?