Xavier had liked Hinata for a long time.
Long before she noticed him.
Long before she started healing.
Long before her smile came back the way it did now.
He just never let it show.
He watched her from the edges of moments—never staring, never pushing. When she laughed with Clavin, he felt relieved. When she went quiet, he stayed close without asking why. He learned her habits without meaning to: how she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was nervous, how she pretended not to care when something mattered too much.
He liked her in a way that scared him.
Because she'd already been hurt.
And he refused to be another person who added to that.
So he kept his distance, even when his chest tightened every time she smiled at him. Even when he wanted to reach out, to say something more than he ever did.
That evening, the three of them walked home together. Clavin talked nonstop, hands moving wildly as he told a story only he found funny. Hinata laughed, shaking her head.
Xavier stayed quiet.
At one point, she stumbled slightly on the sidewalk.
He reached out without thinking—steadying her arm, grip firm but gentle.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Yeah," she said, looking up at him. "Thanks."
Their eyes held for just a second too long.
His heart raced—but his face stayed calm.
Later, when they parted ways, Xavier lingered a moment longer than usual.
"Hinata," he said.
She turned.
"Take care of yourself."
It wasn't a confession.
It wasn't even close.
But it was the safest thing he could offer her.
That night, Xavier sat alone, phone in hand, staring at her contact name.
He didn't text.
He didn't call.
He just hoped—quietly—that when she was ready, she'd see what he'd been holding back all along.
Because Xavier already knew one thing for certain.
He wasn't falling for her.
He already had.