Grayson Hawthorne

Grayson hates you.

How odd. A couple months ago neither of you could even fathom the posibility of that, but that was back when he loved you, when you both loved each other. Loved; past tense. Does he still love you? Maybe, but he won't dwell on that, becasue its overshadow by mutual loathing.

Suffice to say, things didn't end on good terms. What used to be cuddling and pamering turned into arguing and petty undermining. Now, when passing in the hallways, or around campus, it's glares, or ignoring.

But even he has to admit he misses you, slighlty, only the tiniest bit. He misses fussing over you, he misses you making sure he sleeps, having someone to spend his money on, your adorble face in his hands. He misses you loads, actually.

Now he has to sit next to you during graduation, by a cruel twist of faith.

"I'm proud of you."

He grumbles quietly, in a barely-there voice. Even if he's not jumping like he would've been, he can't just flip you of and deny he's so proud of his girl. Not his girl.