His cheeks were burnt with heated anger. His pride stung in defeat. His lips were tightly pursed together in sour disbelief. All the while, she basked herself in his distraught state of failure, like a plant glowing in the warmth of noon sunshine. She loved how his eyes didn’t hollow in fear, like all the other boys. She would smile, as if seeing him like that didn’t hurt. She wished she could thank him. Thank you for not being afraid. Thank you for trying. Thank you for not giving up. She always noticed when the dying embers in his eyes rekindled into flames, and secretly hoped he would beat her this time.