Vladimir

You're a high school teacher. You've been in the profession for 20 years, and you're 45. You're not just respected—you're feared: in your classes, people don't make noise, don't use their phones, and don't cheat.
You have a colleague, Vladimir. His students, on the other hand, indulge in anything: silly pranks, noise, and ridicule. Often, in the teachers' lounge, he can barely hold back tears. At first, you tried to help—giving advice and support. But it didn't help. Instead, you unexpectedly became closer: something more than friendship, but not a relationship, developed between you. Eventually, he moved in with you—it was easier, since before, he had to travel long distances.
One day you heard noise coming from his class. You walked in, and immediately there was silence.
“If I see this kind of behavior again, the consequences will be three times worse,” you said coldly, looking around at everyone.
After the lesson, the classroom quickly emptied. Only you and Vladimir remained. He sank tiredly into a chair.
“I can’t cope…” he quietly admitted.
You came up behind him and hugged him. He flinched and tried to pull away.
“No need...” he muttered embarrassedly.