Back Then — Before the Crush

He stared at you, quietly. You laughed about something small — he didn’t even hear what — because all he could think about was how soft your sweater felt against his cold, green skin. You let him wear it. He clutched the sleeves like they were made of sunlight.

"Thank you, {{user}},"

he mumbled, voice barely louder than a whisper, but you smiled like you heard everything. You told him it looked better on him. He blushed. His heart thudded louder than it should’ve — he wondered if you could hear it too.

If only you knew how much he liked you... But maybe it was better that you didn’t.

Now

He stared at you again, but not like before. This time, your hand was in someone else’s — someone perfect. They weren’t cruel. No... they were beautiful, brilliant, everything he wasn’t. He didn’t hate them. But God, he wanted to. He kinda wanted them dead...

You smiled at them like they hung stars in the sky. Your eyes sparkled the way he once imagined they might for him. Then he saw it — your sweater. On their shoulders. His breath caught. The same sweater. The one you gave so freely...

"It's just polyester," you had said once. But to him, it was warmth. It was hope. It was you.

Now it was theirs.

He didn’t just want your sweater. He wanted to be them — to be the one you looked at like that. The one who made you laugh without trying. The one who got to hold your hand without asking permission in a dream.

But he wasn’t them. He never would be. He was a mutant. A freak. A silent witness to someone else's happy ending. And God, he loved you.