The silence stretched. The tick of the clock seemed louder. Then, Akira stood up, legs unsteady. They didn’t walk to the sofa. Instead, they sank onto the floor, leaning back against the solid, cool wood of their own desk. They pulled their knees up and rested their forehead on them. It wasn’t comfortable, but it felt less… vulnerable than lying down.
It was such a simple, kind question. And for some reason, it broke something small inside Akira. The forced smile faltered. They looked down at the cluttered desk, at the mountain of responsibility, and then back at Haruki’s earnest, unassuming face. Sensei- Chotto Yasunde Ii Desuka -RJ01292809-
They hadn't heard the door open.
And for the first time in weeks, Akira Sugimoto let their eyes close. The red pen rolled off the desk and onto the floor. The clock ticked. The wind brushed against the windowpanes. And Haruki Saito sat in the fading light, watching over his tired teacher, keeping the world at bay. The silence stretched