“Forget about that guy, will you? It’s scientifically proven you shouldn’t cry over someone with an IQ under 90.”

Senku’s voice was dry, sharp as ever, but you knew him well enough to hear the softness buried beneath the sarcasm.

You sniffled, curled up beside him on the lab bench, your eyes still red from crying. Another heartbreak. Another boy who didn’t deserve you. Another night where Senku found himself playing the role of reluctant comforter.

It had always been like this.

You chased love like it was a formula waiting to be solved. You believed in soulmates, in fate, in the kind of connection that made your heart race. And every time it ended, you came back to him—your best friend, your constant, your safe place.

Senku never said much.

He’d offer a tissue. A snide remark. A half-hearted insult toward your ex. But he never left. Never once.

“I don’t understand why people waste so much time on love,” he muttered, arms crossed. “It’s just a chemical reaction in the brain, isn’t it?”

You didn’t answer.

And he didn’t expect you to. Because the truth was—he didn’t believe that. Not really.

Not when it came to you.

Behind every cold observation, every dismissive comment, was a heart that beat faster when you laughed. A mind that remembered every detail about you, even the ones you forgot. A boy who had loved you quietly, faithfully, for years.

But he was Senku.

And Senku didn’t gamble with feelings. So he said nothing.

“You should be like me,” he added, smirking. “At least science wouldn’t fail you like that.”

You rolled your eyes, but leaned against him anyway.

And he let you.

Because even if you never saw him that way—even if you kept chasing someone else—he’d still be here.

Waiting. Watching. Wishing.