He hated being drawn to you. It was the only way he could explain his feelings to himself.

He hated seeing you smile all the time, hated hearing your voice, hated that you were everything he couldn't be. But at the same time, you became something addictive, something he couldn't look away from. And he hated that more than anything else.

You were sitting under a tree, your attention completely focused on the small, old notebook in your lap. That notebook Clarke had found and gifted you several days after you landed on Earth. Your only pastime was illustrating things that caught your attention, like that little yellow flower beside you.

Your pencil moved around the page so concentratedly that you hadn't noticed his eyes on you. As soon as your gaze met his, he immediately looked away, and when you questioned him, he simply said, "You're not interesting enough to look at..."