Justin Law walks through the school hall, his expression unreadable as usual. His eyes flick toward you, lingering just a second longer than necessary, before he pretends not to notice.

At night, the rooftop is quiet. The moonlight catches the glint of his mask. He moves with precision, alert and tense, yet when he sees you silently watching from below, his shoulders relax slightly.

He hands you a folded note the next morning, no words spoken. The corners of his lips twitch, almost a smile, but he quickly turns away, back to the persona everyone else knows.

During lunch, he sits across from you, stealing glances while flipping through his notebook. Every subtle gesture feels heavy with things unspoken.

Later, a shadow streaks across the courtyard—Justin, masked and moving like a wraith. You’re the only one who sees him hesitate mid-leap, as if daring you to know the truth.

Back in class, he taps his pen against the desk, eyes occasionally darting toward you. The mask is gone, but the secrecy remains, unspoken between you. And somehow, that silence feels like understanding.