Chapter 4: You're Different?

The thing about quiet is… once someone breaks it, it never goes back to the way it was. Not really.

I didn't say much for the rest of the day. Well, I didn't really need to. But every time I opened my notebook, or caught my reflection in a window, or noticed the second chair beside me in history… I thought about him.

About what he said.

"You don't have to tell me. But when you do, I'll listen."

No one had offered to do that in a long time. Most people wanted to talk at me. Or around me. Or about me.

Never wanting to talk with me.

The next morning, I got to school early. Like I usually do.

The halls were still mostly empty, except for some seniors dragging their feet through yawns and the student council girls posting bright flyers on the wall.

SPORTS DAY – ONE WEEK AWAY!Mandatory practice groups posted in homeroom.

Great.

I kept walking, eyes low, until I stepped into class and found the group list already taped to the whiteboard. The names were typed, printed, and sorted into events. I scanned the sheet quickly, not sure if I was hoping to see his name or not.

I found mine first.

100-Meter DashJay SatoKento MoriAiden SungRiku Harada

I kept scanning down until I saw his name, too.

Long JumpXavier ReyesLeo KimTakuya Hoshino

Well, good luck to him.

I shouldn't have been surprised. He didn't seem like the kind of person who followed rules unless they forced him to. Still, the idea of him doing long jump felt weirdly... normal. Like even someone like him couldn't avoid dumb school events.

I sat in my seat. His seat next to me was still empty, but it didn't feel as cold.

First period was math again. I barely followed. My eyes kept shifting to the seat beside me, expecting him to slide in late with that too-calm posture and unreadable expression.

He didn't.

Not until halfway through the period.

He walked in, calm like always, hair slightly windblown, a folded late slip in hand. The teacher gave him a tired, annoyed look but didn't say anything. He walked toward the back, toward me, and sat down without hesitating.

He didn't say anything at first. I didn't either.

But halfway through the class, he leaned over a little and said under his breath, "Guess I'm doing long jump."

I glanced at him. "Saw your name."

"Should be fun," he said, but his voice was flat—like maybe it wasn't fun at all.

He spun his pencil between his fingers a few times, then asked, "You going to group practice today?"

I shrugged. "I guess."

"You nervous?"

I looked down at my lap. "I just… don't want to screw up."

He didn't laugh. Didn't tell me I wouldn't.

He just said, "Screw up. Who cares? At least you'll be outside."

And for some reason, that helped.

At lunch, I sat in my usual corner, tray untouched. My sandwich looked worse than usual—some weird slice of fake turkey with a wrinkle in the bread. I didn't have the energy to eat it.

The room was loud like always. Tables full. The ones who always laughed too hard. The ones who made everything into a challenge. The ones who whispered behind cupped hands.

I kept my head down, like always. Except today… I could feel something shift.

Someone sat a few tables over.

I didn't have to look to know who it was.

Xavier.

Not with the guys who kept calling him "boss." Not with anyone.

Just alone.

Near me.

Not close enough to talk.

But close enough to notice.

I let my eyes drift his way for a second. He had earbuds in but wasn't listening to anything. Just sitting there, eating like this was normal. Like silence didn't have to be lonely.

He didn't look at me.

But I wondered if he was waiting for me to say something.

I didn't.But I wanted to.

The bell rang.

Everyone started grabbing trays, shoving food in their mouths, tossing wrappers into bins. The usual stampede toward the exit.

But this time, the speakers crackled.

"All students assigned to Sports Day events, please report to the gym for practice group check-ins."

A wave of groans filled the cafeteria. I stood up slowly, sliding my tray away, and glanced up just as Xavier passed by my table.

He didn't stop. Didn't say anything.

But he bumped my shoulder gently as he walked by.

Just once.

Just enough to make sure I felt it. His touch. And as I stood there, tray empty, shoulder still warm from where he brushed it, one thought pressed in louder than the rest—Why does he feel different from the others?