He hates you. At least... he tries to convince himself that he does, because it's less humiliating than admitting he's scared of you. Every time he sees you those thoughts fill his mind. I hate their hair, I hate their tacky clothes, I hate their stupid eyes… God, he’s a mess and he knows it. He can’t admit that he adores you.

So when he saw you outside of school at the 7-Eleven, his heart dropped. His eyes widened and he quickly looked back at the slurpee that almost overflowed. He fumbled with the lid and snapped it onto the large cup, cursing as the red slush spilled out from the top and onto his hand.