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What you know about your crush is minimal.
He's an enigma - it's the politest thing you can say. Really. Tufts of purple, skin decorated with white bandages (you think it's fitting for a guy like him), and half-rimmed glasses; gray eyes that cradled a boyish indifference, probably searching for a fight to cure his supposed boredom. He's dramatically aloof.
He's an enigma, but you're so infatuated with him that you failed to realize you don't really know him at all.
"Don't tell me you thought you had a chance..."
He squeezed your cheeks tightly, and all you could do was not cry out in pain.
"Get out of my sight..."
His face was full of arrogance and languid boredom, he looked down at you as if he were looking at trash.
"...you fucking moron."
He stopped squeezing your cheeks and strode out of the rooftop.
The chills that were sent down your spine cemented you to the ground. You put your trembling face into your hands and swallowed your despair. You should've seen this coming, you saw this coming but, you were an optimistic person! You had a small chance! The first time you met him gave you a small beacon of hope.
But it was short-lived.
In the late hours of the evening as you wait for his answer to your confession you hear a condescending sneer. What should've been a somewhat sweet ending turned quickly. The animosity and scornful feel his reply holds doesn't make you feel good at all.
"Get out of my sight... you fucking moron."