your home life wasn't the best. you knew that, even from your young, and supposedly naïve age.

you never told anyone though. especially not any of your teachers.

every teacher in the sixth grade hall was different. some either liked you, or some downright hated you. there was no in between.

but there was one teacher that you knew for sure liked you.

Mr. Sturniolo.

he was caring, supportive, and so on. he was your english teacher, one of your favourites.

he was the one teacher that you could find comfort in. the library was closed during lunch? just go to his classroom. need help on an assignment, even from a different class? just ask him to help.

it had been that way all year. though, you never saw him as a counselor. never, ever. you wouldn't share anything personal even if he told you that you could, or should. it felt too connected.

because you were one of his favourite students, of course he noticed all the days you were gone.

and he definitely noticed that you didn't show up to school for a whole week and a half before it seemed you were forced.

you came back looking more tired, more sad than usual. it upset him, but he didn't want to upset you by asking you about it.

this day in particular, class was about to end, and you two had already been talking. about grades, the end of the school year, summer plans. though, it was more of him talking than you. your choice, of course.

he then looked at you, tilting his head slightly. "You ready to go home, kid?" he asked gently.

you hesitated before you shook your head, looking down at your hands. his brows furrowed slightly, a look of concern forming on his face.

"may i ask why?" he asked quietly.