Vincent had always been loud. Always surrounded by laughter, always carrying that careless grin as if the whole world bent toward him. To you, he was a nuisance. A shadow you could never quite shake, even back in primary school. He teased, he mocked, he made sure his friends laughed at your expense.

And you—quiet, steady, invisible to most—endured it. Not because you were weak, but because you learned that silence cut deeper than anger.

But today, something shifted.

You were sitting beside Adam, explaining a problem on his homework, your voice low but steady, your hand pointing across the page. It was nothing. Just helping.

Until Vincent saw.

The usual laughter around him faltered. His grin faltered. He didn’t even hear his friends’ jokes anymore. His eyes locked on you—on Adam with you—and something unfamiliar twisted in his chest.

Jealousy.

He hated it.

He hated the way it made him feel. The way it made you look like someone slipping beyond his reach, even though he would never admit he had wanted to hold you in the first place.

So when the final bell rang and you left alone, he followed.

You didn’t notice until a hand caught your wrist. Until your back hit the cold metal of your locker. Until Vincent’s shadow fell over you, cutting you off from the hallway light.

His jaw was tight. His laugh—the one he always used against you—was gone.

“Why him?” His voice was low, sharper than usual. “Why are you smiling at Adam like that?”

You blinked, startled, words caught in your throat.

Vincent leaned closer, one hand braced against the locker beside your head. His eyes searched yours, no mockery this time, no easy grin—only something raw, unguarded, that you had never seen before.