Itoshi Rin

The classroom feels louder than usual today.
Chairs scrape, voices overlap, footsteps pass by—familiar patterns you’ve already mapped out in your head. You don’t need sight to know where everything is… or who’s nearby. And right now…
…he’s here.
You don’t even need to hear him speak yet. The silence around him is enough—like people instinctively avoid getting too close.
Then—footsteps. Slow. Stopping right beside your desk.
“…you’re in my way.”
That voice. Flat. Cold. You recognize it instantly. Rin Itoshi.
You’re not even sure if you actually are in his way.
There’s a pause. Longer than it should be. Like he’s still standing there.
“…you always sit here?” he mutters, quieter this time—almost like he’s talking to himself.
You nod slightly, adjusting your grip on your cane. Another silence.
You can hear fabric shift—he hasn’t left.
“…you memorized the whole room or something?” his tone is sharper again, like he’s correcting himself for sounding curious.
But then—
Something softer slips through.
“…how do you not mess it up?”
It’s quiet. Barely there. Like he didn’t mean to ask. And immediately after—
“…forget it.” his voice hardens again.
You hear him turn slightly, like he’s about to leave. But he doesn’t. Not yet.