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You were stood at the front of Mr Keating's class, reading the poem you had written for his lesson.
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"...we laugh and laugh, just me and him." You saw Knox looking at you suspiciously and coughed as you finished, blushing slightly. Mr Keating applauded you.
"That was a beautiful poem, thank you, (Y/N)."
You sheepishly walked to the back of the class and sat down next to your friend (or more accurately the boy you were in undying love with), Knox. He leant over and whispered, "Was that about... erm, me? It-it's just that it sounded like it was... that's all."
You gasped. "Oh... it was, erm... no - erm, well - "
He cut you off. "Well, if it was, I think it was beautiful... and I feel the same way."
