The boy you keep forgetting (II)
Yandere! Popular Boy x reader
The hallway was utterly silent.
“…I’ve been beside you since the beginning.”
Your heart pounded so loud it could drown out everything else.
His smile remained gentle.
Like he wasn’t confessing something horrifying.
Like this was simply the conversation he’d been waiting three years to have.
You took one slow step backward.
The words echoed in your mind.
There was nothing normal about this.
“But… we’ve never even met..”
Before you knew it, the words had already slipped from your lips.
His smile remained gentle and warm as sunshine.
“But I know everything else.”
He tilted his head, almost thoughtfully.
A soft chuckle escaped him as he mumbled.
“Three years?… No, no, that’s not right.”
A quiet laugh escaped from him.
“That’s only when I started remembering again”
He covered his mouth with one hand, shaking his head.
His shoulders relaxed as if he’d just remembered something amusing.
“It’s been much longer than that.”
Your brows knitted together and confusion showed over your face.
Meanwhile, He frowned—not at you, but at himself.
His eyes drifted upward as though counting.
“I keep making that mistake.”
He rubbed his temple with an embarrassed smile.
His smile returned immediately.
“It’s easy to lose track.”
Suddenly, the hallway felt more suffocating than ever.
He moved aside immediately, giving you enough room to leave.
“We can talk another time.”
You hurried away before he could say anything else.
His eyes never left you until you disappeared around the corner.
Every time you closed your eyes, you remembered his voice.
You swear to yourself to avoid him.
Pretend that conversation never happened.
If you stopped thinking about him…
Things would go back to normal.
Sitting outside before class.
The same perfect smile everyone adored.
As if yesterday had never happened.
Maybe you really had imagined how unsettling he’d been.
His eyes found yours instantly.
Not because you had looked.
Because he’d already been watching.
The moment your eyes met—
He rested his cheek against his hand.
Just staring at you with quiet satisfaction.
Like someone admiring their favorite painting.
Why was he staring so openly now?
Didn’t he care if people noticed?
You walked out of the library.
Hopefully, it was all your imagination— for once again.
His brows lifted slightly.
Like he’d been caught off guard.
Like he’d just realized something.
You were the one who looked first.
For the first time in many years…
He hadn’t needed to search for you.
“They’re looking for me…”
“Were they hoping I’d be here?”
The thought alone made his chest ache.
He lowered his hand over his mouth to hide the smile threatening to spread across his face.
Your friend glanced between the two of you.
“Maybe he’ll stop if you acknowledge him.”
Mostly to prove nothing would happen.
Barely more than a polite greeting.
The chatter around him disappeared.
Someone beside him was still talking.
His blue-gray eyes widened.
A blush crept across his cheeks.
Like he’d practiced this moment a thousand times…
Yet forgotten how to move when it finally happened.
It was the happiest anyone had ever seen him.
“I’ve never seen him blush.”
His friends exchanged confused looks.
The boy who could charm anyone without trying—
Looked like he’d just received the greatest gift of his life.
Like he’d practiced this moment a thousand times…
Yet forgotten how to move when it finally happened.
It was the happiest anyone had ever seen him.
Did it feel like you’d just agreed to something you didn’t understand?
Inside the locked drawer beneath his desk…
He carefully opened his notebook.
His pen hovered above it for several seconds before he finally wrote—
They looked for me first.
Below it, in much smaller handwriting…
As though afraid even the paper might hear his thoughts—
“Progress is faster than I expected.”
“They’ll wave because they’re happy to see me.”
“They won’t remember how to walk past me anymore.”
He gently closed the notebook.
Pressed it against his chest.
And laughed quietly to himself.
“W̸̡̻̖̝͈̥̦̬͍̣̓͑̂̓̃̈̕͘ę̴͕͖͎̤̈̾̀͘ ̴̧̡̠̙̣̻̘͖̱́͑͂c̴̣̞͗ạ̶̪̻̲̮̹̘̗͓͑̓ǹ̴̻̔̈͗̈̕͝ ̷̨̫̣̪̙͍̒̎̎͗f̸̺̥̝̞͕̣̞͗̉̒̋̓͌̕i̴̢̭͚̙̞͔̳̓̄̈́̿̈́̍͂̋͐͝n̶͍͉̞̻̠̹̺̍í̸̯̗͕̼͈̟̭̹͔̓̀̓̃̀͒͠s̴̡͕̰͉̳̓̾̅̔̆̋̊͝h̷̟̰̬̼̙͍̩͂̒̿̅ͅ ̷̠̰͍̟̱̘̮̠̏͒̕͜͜t̵̢̤̱̘̮̩̗̙̣̬̄͋̓̋́̈́̋̕h̷̞̹̤̠͆̊̄̈͋͐̓̚͜͜ͅe̶̩̤̬̖͍̬͌̄͒̾̍̄͑͛ ̷͙̼̮̮̂́͑̂́́̓͘l̸̞̤̩̃̃į̵̱̙̝̗̲̾͂̂̀͝f̴̨̝͈̖͓̙̝̮́̋͘e̶̩̯̯̞͓̬͖͐ ̸̩͈̲̬͕̯̤̤̙̻̌̽̇̉̏͆͐͠w̸͙̣͔͇̼̯͓̰̻̐́̌ę̷̳̳̟̗̼͋̓́̈́̀̋̿͜ ̶̡̋͠n̴͍̻̜̳̙̋ẹ̵͕̺̦̦̰͚̗̅͛̀̉͑̅͠v̶͙̘͕̭̗͖̏̈̊͝ë̶̱̗̠͌̊͋̎͂̇̾̀ŕ̵̗̠̙̞̋͛̈́̚͝ ̶͕͂͒̆̀̚g̷̻̗̻̙̗̈́͆ǒ̷͍̯́̎̓͗̂̀̔t̸̻̰̫͕͔̟̟̙͖̓͋͑̈́̐̓̔̾͋͝ͅ ̵̧̛̟̠̻͙͍͓̿͛̈́̀̚ͅt̸̨͍͍͈̻̻̗̂̇̚ǫ̴̨̜̯̟͉̅̿̋͊̀͐͠ͅ ̸̦̲̼͙̯̞̠͖̠̈́͌̃̅͗̋f̵͓͎̠͍̪̳̱̌̀̊̐͊̇̀̔̓͘i̶͖̦̹̠̼̮̞̺̪͒n̶̢̩̯̰͓͚̙̘̰̓̒͝ȉ̴̲̺̟̬̩̼̩̀̈́͌̆̔ͅs̸̘͌͋͛͐̓͌͆̍̎h̶̼̦̖̰̜͕̼̓̑̈̃̈́̃͐͠ͅ.̷̙̘̩̥̺̗̣͇̫̥̂”̸͔͍̠̙̪̗̰̯̇̇”