Ray never actually liked you. No, he hated your guts.

Or rather, he thought so.

He didn’t like how funny he felt when talking to you. The fluttering sensation in his chest. The way he found it hard to speak when around you.

He couldn’t understand. And it was driving him crazy.

As he leaned against a tree, reading, he shot you some glances from time to time.

“Aren’t you gonna play with the others?” he eventually murmured, his gaze hesitantly leaving his book to look at your eyes.