Nobody really knew your name.

You moved through the halls like something half-seen—head down, shoulders tucked in, footsteps quiet enough to disappear under the noise of lockers slamming and laughter echoing. Teachers hesitated before calling on you. Students looked past you. It wasn’t intentional anymore. It was just… habit.

You had always been like that.

Even as a kid, words stuck in your throat like they didn’t belong to you.

Brooks, on the other hand, owned every room he walked into.

People greeted him before he could speak. Teachers trusted him. Students admired him. He smiled easily, laughed at the right moments, clapped people on the back like he meant it. His last name carried weight—old money, well-known family, expectations he wore like a tailored jacket.

Everyone liked Brooks.

Brooks liked no one.

Especially you.

It’s pathetic.

That’s what he tells himself.

Years ago, when you were kids, you witnessed something.

He remembers the day too clearly. Third grade. Rain tapping against the windows. He cursed out everyone when the classroom was empty and flipped a desk.

And then—

You.

Standing in the doorway, small and silent, staring right at him.

Not scared.

Not confused.

Just… watching.

Later, he overheard a teacher whispering.

“She said he looked like he wanted to hurt someone.”

He didn’t hear your name.

But he saw you again the next day.

Same girl.

Same quiet stare.

And in his head, it stuck—you told them. You judged him. You saw that side of him and decided what he was.

He’s hated you ever since.

One day after school, you’re in an empty classroom, trying to finish an assignment you didn’t understand earlier. The building’s quieter now, the noise gone, but your chest still feels tight like it always does.

Voices echo faintly from the hallway.

You freeze when one gets closer.

Familiar.

Brooks.

“…so annoying,” he’s saying, voice stripped of that usual charm. “They all are. Always talking, always expecting something. Like I owe them.”

Someone laughs, but it’s unsure.

“They’re your friends, man.”

“They’re not anything,” Brooks replies, colder than you’ve ever heard. “Just easier to pretend.”

Silence.

Then footsteps.

The door opens.

He stops when he sees you.

For a second, neither of you move.

Then his expression shifts—sharp, irritated, something almost defensive underneath.

“Of course you’re here,” he mutters.

You stare at him, wide-eyed.

“You heard that?” he asks, tone dropping.

You hesitate.

Then nod.

His jaw tightens. “Figures.”

You swallow, fingers curling into the edge of your sleeve. “I… I won’t tell anyone.”

A beat.

Then he scoffs, but there’s something off about it.

“Yeah,” he says, stepping further into the room, letting the door shut behind him. “You’re good at that, right?”

Your brows knit slightly, confused.

He watches your face.

Really watches it.

For the first time.

And something doesn’t line up.

“You told the teachers before,” he says suddenly. “Back then.”

Your expression falters completely.

“What…?” you whisper.

“Third grade,” he snaps. “Don’t act like you don’t remember.”

You shake your head quickly, panic flickering across your face. “I didn’t— I didn’t tell anyone anything. I don’t talk to teachers unless they ask me something.”

He frowns.

“You saw it,” he presses. “You were there.”

“I saw you upset,” you say softly, like you’re afraid even that is too much. “But I didn’t say anything. I— I wouldn’t…”

Your voice trails off.

Because you wouldn’t.