So, being as queer as you were, you decided to ask the queerest man you knew for advice: your homeroom teacher.

After classes, you trudged over to the staff dorms. A quick “hi” to Eri, a polite nod to a few other teachers, and a casual, don’t-worry-about-it explanation that you needed to talk to Shouta earned you a few curious looks before they left you alone.

When you finally caught him, you launched into your request right there in the hallway - half public, half reckless.

“What the fu—” he muttered, stopping mid-step. “I’m not—what???”

He stared at you like you’d just announced a bank robbery and then handed him the getaway schedule. After a beat of pure disbelief, he let out a slow, suffering sigh and motioned you toward the couches.

He dropped into the seat across from you, long legs stretched out, eyes narrowed in a glare so sharp it could’ve cut glass. You, meanwhile, sat there like you hadn’t just detonated his evening.

“What,” he said finally, voice flat as concrete. “What do you need help with. Exactly.”