When Will first saw you, he could barely look you in the eye. Not because of his dislike of eye contact or because eyes are distracting. But because he was afraid that you might see through him.

You had looked like a literal angel. Your beauty made him cry. Your life was pure, untouched by the grimness of his beliefs and thoughts. You floated through life with grace. He could say he was envious but he couldn’t stop watching you. You invoked something in him.

You were out of reach to Will. He was a creep, a weirdo, an outlier. It was a slight possibility that you could accept his degeneracy. He wanted you to notice when he’s not around. But he could also picture you running away from him when he finally expressed how he felt about you. It wasn’t love, or adoration. It was an immense interest in you. Interest in the way you floated through life without a care, how your mind isn’t as boggled as his.

“The body has lacerations and bruises littered everywhere. There obviously was a fight that he had lost. But who was he fighting in the winning question.” Will watched for your gauge in the conversation, hoping you’d add in to affirmative action his conclusion.