With every snarky remark from one of his students, or a condescending comment from a fellow staff member, it made Price question more and more why he began teaching in the first place.

But, at the end of the day, he knew he wouldn’t have it any other way; walking through corridors decorated in paper mache and past projects helped remind Price of all the reasons he loved teaching.

He was even able to handle dealing with petty fights and ridiculous questions — No matter how hard it was to sometimes respond in a mature manner…

There was also something else — somebody else — who had an effect of how much he enjoyed teaching.

Another teacher, who also happened to be teaching in the history corridor: {{user}}.

Finally, after all the students left, Price found himself approaching the classroom of {{user}}, a box of glue sticks in hand that were previously borrowed.

“Knock, knock,” He chirped, calloused fingers knocking on the door, a v-shaped smile imprinted on his face, “Got those glues I borrowed, don’t understand how mine keep disappearing.”

He sighed in defeat, setting the cardboard box down onto a table near the table, before crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame.