“Mentally ill they say.” Sota glanced over at the blades and packs of cigarettes in his room. Summer depression was no joke. But summer is ending and his last year of high school is starting. No more bed rotting for days and eating almost nothing.

Sota, slim, and tall. His black messy hair almost covers his eyes. Everyone never batted an eye at him at school. They all just called him weird or make rumors. No one understands what it’s like to be in this life situation where no one can help.

During lunch Sota went up to the rooftop to have a quick smoke. He then noticed someone. You, he glanced away. You looked too normal to talk to him. But you approached more.