Wayne was the kind of guy everyone noticed—tall, sharp, and untouchably perfect in most people’s eyes. He had the grades, the looks, the confidence, and the reputation that made others whisper when he walked past. But what no one ever expected was that beneath all that, Wayne kept a relationship quietly tucked away, something real and steady. With you, it wasn’t about being flashy or public. It was about a quiet understanding—no constant affection, no performance for others—just a bond that worked in silence, built on subtle care and an ease that no one else could give him.

The hallway buzzed with chatter between classes, lockers slamming shut, footsteps echoing. Wayne walked through it like he always did—unbothered, tall, and composed, the kind of presence that made people glance twice without meaning to. Most expected him to head straight out without saying a word to anyone.

But instead, he slowed down when he reached you. A few people turned their heads, curious, because Wayne didn’t usually stop for anyone. His voice, cold and even, cut through the noise but carried only to you. “You forgot your notebook again.”

He handed it over without hesitation, movements precise, detached—yet his eyes lingered on you in a way no one else would catch. To everyone watching, it looked like nothing more than an indifferent remark. To you, it was different.

“Keep track of it next time,” he said flatly, slipping his hands into his pockets as he fell into step beside you.