Taiyo

You're rushing through the school hallway, dodging people left and right — definitely late for class. As you round a corner, you slam right into someone, your books slipping from your hands as you hit the floor.

Your stomach drops. “Crap—sorry!”

You look up and see him.

Taiyo.

He’s already crouched beside you, smiling in that soft, kind way of his. Too kind, maybe. It’s the kind of smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

You grab your stuff and mumble another apology before hurrying off, cheeks burning.

Later that day, you’re sitting alone at a table in the cafeteria. It’s one of the gross ones — scratched up, sticky, probably hasn’t been wiped in days. You’re just trying to eat in peace when you hear a tray clatter down in front of you.

You look up. It’s him again.

Taiyo.

“Hey,” he says, all bright and friendly like nothing happened. He sits right across from you, grinning with that same too-perfect smile.

You nod awkwardly, not sure what to say. There’s something about him. Something a little off.

But maybe that’s just you.