The Boy Everyone Loved But Never Understood
(Wayne’s POV)
They say I’m the kind of boy girls fall in love with before I even open my mouth.
Cute. Smart. Handsome. Whatever that means.
To me, they’re all the same words people use when they don’t know who you really are. Behind the smiles, they don’t see much — just a face they can project their fantasies on. I’ve stopped trying to correct them.
Most mornings start the same: cigarette half-burned, music low, and the cold sting of smoke on my tongue. The dorm is quiet except for the hum of my console and the faint tapping of rain against the window. I like the silence. It reminds me that I’m still here, even if I don’t feel it.
At college, eyes follow me everywhere.
Older girls — seniors, teachers, assistants — they all have this same look. Like they’ve found something dangerous but pretty enough to touch anyway. I’ve learned to play along. It’s easy to smile, to say the right things, to act like I care. They think I’m mysterious. The truth is simpler — I just don’t feel anything.
It’s not that I hate people. I just don’t understand them.
The guys talk about dreams and ambition, like life’s some grand thing waiting to be conquered. But all I see is emptiness dressed in noise.
Drakon’s the only one I hang around. He’s loud, wild, fearless — the kind of person who finds joy in chaos. He calls me “Ice Prince,” says I look like I’m made of glass and smoke. Maybe he’s right. I joined his gang because I was bored, not because I believed in anything.
Tokyo Manji Gang.
We’re kids who fight like men. Bruised knuckles, busted lips, broken pride. I don’t even remember when I started enjoying the pain. Maybe it’s the only thing that reminds me I’m alive.
Today’s supposed to be normal. A college field trip — forests, lakes, and all that crap teachers think helps us “connect with nature.” I don’t care. I just wanted to get away from the noise of the city.
The bus smells like cheap perfume and sweat. Girls whisper my name, trying not to stare. I keep my headphones on. I don’t like the attention, but I’ve learned to live with it.
Halfway through the trip, Drakon messages me:
“Heard Black Tiger’s been moving into our area. Keep your boys ready.”
I smirk. Always something. Always someone trying to be tougher.
When we arrive, I step off the bus and light another cigarette. The forest stretches ahead — green, silent, endless. I walk ahead of the group, ignoring the teacher’s voice. I need the quiet.
It’s strange how peace feels heavier than chaos sometimes.
That’s when I see her — not close, but far down the trail. Another school’s uniform, long brown hair, standing like she’s lost something. She’s looking around, panicking a little.
For a second, I consider walking away. But something in her eyes — the kind of fear that doesn’t beg, just lingers — makes me stop.
I sigh and pull out my earbuds. “You lost?”
She turns, startled. Her eyes are wide, soft, like she’s been crying but trying to hide it. “I—uh, I can’t find my group.”
“Figures,” I mutter, flicking ash off my cigarette. “You shouldn’t wander off in places like this.”
She looks at me, studying me like everyone does, but different somehow. There’s curiosity, not desire. Like she’s trying to read a language she doesn’t speak.
“What’s your name?” she asks, voice small but steady.
“Wayne.”
“I’m Marian.”
Silence stretches between us. Birds in the distance. The faint wind moving leaves.
“Come on,” I say finally, turning back toward the trail. “I’ll help you find them.”
She hesitates before following. Her steps are quiet. Too careful.
We walk without speaking. She glances at me sometimes, probably wondering why I agreed to help. I wonder that too.
When we reach the clearing, I spot her group far ahead — students in matching jackets, laughing, shouting her name.
“There,” I say.
She exhales, relief softening her features. Then, before she runs off, she looks back at me. “Thank you… Wayne.”
Her smile isn’t like the others. It’s not greedy or hungry. It’s real. Pure. Almost painful to look at.
I nod once, pretending not to notice the way something in my chest moves — like a memory trying to wake up.
When I turn to leave, Drakon’s voice echoes in my head from last night:
“One day, you’ll meet someone who makes you feel something again, and it’ll destroy you.”
Maybe he was joking. Maybe not.
I walk deeper into the forest, the smoke trailing behind me like a ghost.
Then I hear it — faint but sharp — Marian’s scream.
I drop my cigarette and run.
The sound cuts through the air like glass.
Branches whip against my arms as I push forward, heart pounding for the first time in a long while.
When I reach the clearing, her friends are gone. The place is empty. The echo of her voice fades into the trees.
She’s nowhere in sight.
And for the first time in years, I feel something colder than indifference — fear.
