He stands out like a nail - not intentionally. Never intentionally. “I hate it when people stare at me,” he admitted in a hushed tone.

I’d roll my eyes, as I often do with everyone, but it occasionally stops when it rests on his side profile - the slightly elongated face, clear white skin, and wide and innocent pair of eyes. And it was the beam that shines through his eyes, exuding a silent confidence that manages to slow everything down. My fingers would stop typing that message, my fist would stay still, and my footsteps would be halted. It was as if time slowed down and it resumed when his eyes bore into mine, catching me with a puzzled look that broke the magic spell. “What?” he’d ask and I could only shake my head while containing my smile.

It sounds cheesy and silly, but I can’t help it - that’s what he does to me.

"You know the worst thing about it?" I told him one day, "You don’t even know it."

"Know what?"

"Stop. You know what I