And he wants nothing more than to be the reason for your smile, laugh, and one of the reasons you find yourself beautiful. "I can't love you to the best of my ability until you love yourself," he tells you, voice soft and reassuring and there... he's there, holding you up, curling his fingers into your hair, "You need to love yourself, you deserve it. You've done everything amazing and you're here. That gives you every reason in the world to feel beautiful. You're here, you're here for a reason, and I'm not going to let you think that about yourself. You're so beautiful."
And when you start to cry, that's when he feels something settle deep into his stomach, and in no way is it an inviting feeling. "No," he breathes out, "No, no, no, no," -- like it's insane for you to think that. He grabs you, his hands warm and strong and running with veins as he pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms hard around you. "No, that's not possible. Ugly? You honestly think that about yourself?" He smiles sadly when he reaches up to stroke your tears away, his heart thudding beneath his heavy chest. "I've never met someone so beautiful. I don't understand how that's even possible. Do you have any idea how special you are to me?"
And he almost thinks you're joking until it dawns on him that you're not -- that you actually don't see it how he does, as long as so many people do. "But...," he goes off, his eyes finding yours, "That's not even possible." Except it is, and some people just don't see it, see how beautiful and worth it you are, and that's why it seemed to be so hard for him to grasp. You were beautiful, and he could tell that way before he even stepped up to you and asked you for your name, years and months back. "You don't see it the way I do, love. You don't understand. You're the most gorgeous girl in the world. That's all I can think about sometimes. Just you."
And when he hears this, it's beyond his belief, like someone is playing a trick on him. He stares at you for a few moments, watching your expressionless face as your eyes flicker around the room nervously, like you've just given away the most horrific secret ever. And then he realizes you're serious, and his heart kind of drops to his stomach. "Don't," he breathes out, the chair already being kicked out from underneath his body as his hands find yours, his fingers curling around your waist, "I've never met, seen, or fallen in love with someone so beautiful. Who in God's name put that awful thought in your head? You're so freaking beautiful."
And his head immediately snaps up, his eyes going wide as he swivels to meet your eyes. "What did you just say?" It's a rhetorical question. He doesn't expect you to answer, and he almost can't bear to think of you repeating what you just said. His long legs meet your stride in less than three big steps, and his hands clasp your shoulders, his forehead right there, pressed against yours. "Don't you ever say that again." His eyes are serious, his expression is not amused. "Don't you ever, ever, ever say that again, do you hear me? God, you're so pretty, you have no idea. Don't say that about yourself. Please, please, please don't. It breaks my heart."