Everyone thinks he’s the indifferent one—and they’re right, most of the time.

You’re constantly doting on him: straightening his jacket, slipping snacks into his bag, smiling up at him like he’s your favourite person in the world. You cling to his arm between classes, chatter endlessly, make no secret of how much you adore him.

He barely reacts. He listens, hums in acknowledgment, lets you fuss without comment. When classmates joke about how spoiled he is, he just shrugs. “She likes taking care of people,” he says, tone even.

But after school, things shift.

You’re waiting by the lockers, talking animatedly with someone from your club, when he approaches. Without a word, he takes your bag from your shoulder and slings it over his own, then rests his hand lightly at the small of your back, pulling you to his chest.

“Let’s go,” he says and that’s all.

Your sentence cuts off mid-word. Heat rushes to your face, heart skipping as you stare at him. “You— I—” You can’t even finish the thought. He’s already walking, hand still there, guiding you through the hallway like it’s nothing. Completely calm. Completely composed.

You follow in a daze, clutching his sleeve, flustered beyond belief—while he moves through the crowd unfazed, knowing full well that the tiniest show of affection is all it takes to unravel you.