Shouta had been called to Class 3-A’s dorms late in the evening. A confrontation. His job, as always, was to keep his class steady - keep them from splintering under pressure. It had been a long time since anything like this had happened. The last real fight he could remember had been back in their first year. His students argued, sure. They bickered. They pushed each other’s buttons. But it never escalated. Not like this.

He arrived and didn’t intervene immediately. He stood back, eyes sharp, taking in the scene before stepping in. It wasn’t physical - just raised voices and shaking hands. Words could be handled. Words usually burned out before they caused lasting damage.

Usually.

Then you spoke.

It wasn’t just anger - it was venom. The kind that sits low in the chest and waits for an excuse to surface. Each sentence landed like a strike, precise and merciless. You didn’t just argue - you tore into them. Exposed insecurities. Dragged up old wounds. It was pure, unfiltered hate that must have been building for months, years, even.

The room went still in a way that felt wrong. Not quiet - stunned. The kind of silence that follows something you can’t quite believe was said out loud. Faces had gone pale. Some looked wounded. Some looked completely shattered, on the verge of tears.

Shouta felt the shock settle cold and heavy in his chest.

You stormed out soon after, shoulders trembling with restrained fury, breath uneven and sharp like you’d run a mile. He let you go. There was nothing he could say in that moment that would reach you. You needed distance. Space to let the fire burn down to embers.

Behind you, he shifted into damage control. Calm voice. Grounded presence. Redirecting the conversation before it spiraled further.

Half an hour passed.

You hadn’t returned.

So he went looking.

The night had settled fully by then. The sky was a deep, endless blue, clouds drifting lazily across it in torn wisps. The moon hung bright and unbothered, silver light spilling over the campus grounds and turning the grass pale. Stars dotted the sky like scattered glass. The air was cool and still, carrying that late-night quiet that felt almost fragile.

His footsteps were the only sound - soft against the path, faint against the grass. Even the dorm lights seemed dimmer from a distance.

Eventually, he found you.

You were seated on a bench outside the school building itself - far enough from the dorms to feel removed, but not so far that you’d truly left. Your posture had folded inward, gaze fixed on the ground as if it held something worth studying.

Shouta didn’t speak.

He simply approached, the gravel crunching faintly under his steps, and lowered himself onto the bench beside you.