Sensei- Chotto Yasunde Ii Desuka -rj01292809- (2026)

Akira nodded slowly, the knot in their shoulders loosened to a dull ache. They pulled the cardigan tighter, not yet ready to return it. “Thank you, Saito-kun.”

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.

“Sensei?”

Akira let out a shaky breath. The offer was absurd. Unprofessional. A student shouldn’t be taking care of their teacher like this. But the exhaustion was a physical weight. “I’d fall asleep,” Akira whispered, the admission feeling like a surrender. Sensei- Chotto Yasunde Ii Desuka -RJ01292809-

They hadn't heard the door open.

The words hung in the air. Is it okay to rest a little?

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. Akira nodded slowly, the knot in their shoulders

The voice was soft, almost a whisper, yet it made Akira flinch. They looked up to see Haruki Saito, a student from Class 3-B, holding a stack of returned library books. He was a quiet boy, the kind who vanished into the background, but his eyes… his eyes had always seen too much.

Akira managed a tired smile. “Finals are next week. These essays won’t grade themselves.”

Haruki didn’t comment. He simply moved his chair, positioning himself between Akira and the library door. A silent guardian. He took off his own cardigan – a soft, grey thing that smelled of laundry soap and old paper – and gently draped it over Akira’s shoulders. The red pen rolled off the desk and onto the floor

“Sensei,” he said again, quieter this time. He reached out, his long fingers hovering just above Akira’s wrist but not touching. A question. A pause. “Chotto yasunde ii desu ka?”

When Akira woke up, disoriented and warm, twenty-three minutes had passed. Haruki was still there, quiet as a shadow, reading a book by the light of his phone. He looked up and their eyes met.

“Ah, Saito-kun. You’re still here?” Akira’s voice came out rougher than intended. They cleared their throat. “The library closed ten minutes ago.”

“I know.” Haruki didn’t leave. He placed the books on the return cart with careful, deliberate movements. Then he walked closer, stopping on the other side of the teacher’s cluttered desk. “You’re still here, too.”