"I like almost everyone I meet." And there he goes, talking on and on as if he didn't even hear her. But he turns his hand to grab hers, daring to give a brief smile. If he acted confident, maybe he will believe he knows what he's doing.

"... that's right, that's right. But, I think, when it comes to you... I don't like you."

His heart's racing by now. He can feel that he's standing on the edge of something that, if he took a step forward, he wouldn't be able to step back and out of it. He's tried to keep her away and apart all this time because it was for her own good-- ah, no. That wasn't it at all, was it? It was because he was selfish, and he didn't want anything outside of that unconditional, unchanging infatuation.

"I don't like you at all."