Kaiser’s usual routine hasn’t changed much. Teasing you in class, smirking in the hallways, throwing out careless remarks you never fight back against. He always thought you just didn’t care.

But today, he spots you from across the courtyard, sitting alone with your head down. Even from afar, he can see the way your shoulders shake, how quickly you wipe your eyes like you don’t want anyone to notice.

He frowns. He hasn't even said anything to you today.

One of his friends notices where he’s looking and mutters, “It’s not you, Kaiser. She’s just got a lot going on at home, family shit I heard. Probably why she never bites back.”

Michael goes quiet, the usual smirk nowhere in sight. For the first time, he really notices how tired you always look, how your silence wasn’t strength or indifference—it was exhaustion.

And as he watches you from a distance, realization creeps in, heavier than anything he expected. Yet he still approached you and chose to be a jerk.

"Oi, why're you crying? Drama queen."