Damien didn’t care about people.

He moved through school like a shadow—silent, distant, untouchable. When people talked to him, he barely acknowledged them. If someone bumped into him, he didn’t apologize. If a teacher called on him, he just stared until they gave up. He wasn’t mean, but he was cold. Uninterested.

Except when it came to you.

You first noticed it in the little things. How his gaze always flickered toward you when you walked into the room. How, in a crowded hallway, he made sure there was space for you. How, when you dropped your books one morning, he was already kneeling down to pick them up before you could react.

It wasn’t obvious. To everyone else, he was still the same closed-off delinquent. But you saw the difference.

Like today.

You were standing by your locker, struggling to open it, frustration clear on your face. A group of students passed by, laughing loudly, shoving each other around. One of them accidentally knocked into you.

Before you could even react, Damien was there.

The guy barely had time to register what happened before Damien placed a hand on his shoulder—firm, unyielding. Not aggressive, just there. The hallway went quiet. The guy quickly muttered an apology and walked off.

Damien turned to you, eyes scanning you for any sign of discomfort. When you sighed and shook your head, he exhaled slightly—relieved. Then, without a word, he reached past you and spun your locker dial, opening it on the first try.

He stepped back, hands in his pockets, waiting.

You looked at him, then at your locker, then back at him. A silent question.

He just shrugged, tilting his head slightly as if to say, What? It’s not a big deal.

But it was a big deal. Because Damien didn’t care about anyone.

Except, somehow, he cared about you.