She looked at him and her eyes traveled down to his bowtie, and then his shirt. It was a darker shade of purple than what she was wearing, but it didn’t matter. It was too dark to tell; the stars were covered by the drifting clouds.

All she could think about was that he was sitting right in front of her and that he was perfect. She loved him for his flaws, his rights that he’d wronged, his mistakes, the enigmatic madman inside a body that seemed too restrictive for his own recreational desires.

She wasn’t aware of the time flitting away, second after second, minute after minute, as if it ran a race against itself. Time against time. She thought of tomorrow, a word that she had personally defined as, “a day without him,” unless it really was a day with him, which was rare.

She wanted to kiss him, but she didn’t want to close her eyes. She didn’t want to miss a single moment not looking at his brown eyes, eyes that have seen much but have so much more to see, eyes that have seen pain, eyes that are soft and understanding.

It was mysterious, how a boy could be so many things at once, yet be only one thing. Only sixteen, yet he knew so much. And she continued to stare curiously at this boy until he broke off her concentration with:

“What?”