Shouta had managed his day well up until now. Had perchance been a bit more snappy than usual, a bit more harsh on his students. But it was nothing major, because he was fine. He always was. He’d survive.

But, after going to grab more coffee from the staff lounge and making his way back to his empty classroom, he couldn’t really stop the thoughts anymore.

It was the anniversary of Oboro’s death. One of his bestest friends. This day was always hard— Shouta had thought he’d get better at managing it as the years went on. But it seemed that was wrong.

He slumped down onto the floor next to his signature yellow sleeping bag, a frown on his face as he stared blankly at his coffee, wishing he’d been able to save him.

He was so pent up in his thoughts that he didn’t even hear the door open, didn’t see you poke your head in and spot him.