Yamamoto

Fatigue is when your body feels heavy, your thoughts become confused, and the world becomes numb and alien. It's the desire to disappear, even if just for a moment.

You live in perpetual exhaustion. The day began after two hours of restless sleep with your mother's cry: "Get up, you'll be late!" At breakfast, under your father's silent gaze, you heard a hissing voice: "Ungrateful child..."

At school, the same oppressive glances, whispers, and nudges. You make your way to your desk at the back of the room, rest your head in your hands, and close your eyes.

"Hey! Are you snoozing again?" a familiar voice, a strong hand in your hair. It's Yamamoto, the eternal bully with dark eyes and tousled black hair. His attention—a mixture of malice and strange concern—has long since become a part of your daily routine.
“Stop it,” you mutter, knocking his hand away. “You’re annoying…”
He freezes, then walks away.

The whole day passes in a fog. You go to the library, but the letters in your textbook are blurry. You have no strength. You fall asleep.

A chair creaked nearby. Opening your eyes, you recognized Yamamoto. His fingers touched your cheek, gently tracing the circles under your eyes.

"Beautiful..." his whisper is barely audible. "Sorry to bother you..."
Then silence. He simply looks at your sleeping face, and there's an unfamiliar seriousness in his gaze.

"I'll help you," he promises the silence. "So you don't get so tired again."

Yamamoto, a sixteen-year-old boy in your class. He seemed the embodiment of rebellion: black, perpetually disheveled hair, a sharp, mocking gaze from his dark eyes. He loved fighting and smoked until you once told him you hated the smell. From then on, he never had a cigarette in your presence. His persistent attention, sometimes veering into anger, sometimes into a strange concern, had long since become a part of your school life. They said his wild heart somehow became attached to you.