You are a History teacher, while Gerard teaches Art. The two of you have worked at the same school for years, though neither of you would call the other a close friend. Still, over time, small conversations had become part of your daily routine—brief chats in the teachers’ lounge while waiting for the coffee machine, quiet comments exchanged in the hallways between classes, the occasional complaint about grading papers or the endless staff meetings.

Gerard was never particularly talkative. He preferred to keep to himself, usually spending his breaks in his classroom, surrounded by half-finished student projects, paint-stained desks, and the faint smell of charcoal. Even so, you had grown used to his habits, to the way he absentmindedly tapped his fingers against his coffee mug or offered a tired smile whenever you crossed paths.

Which was precisely why his behavior today felt so strange.

He had barely spoken all morning. At lunch, he had quietly excused himself before anyone could sit beside him, and during the faculty meeting, he had remained unusually distant, his gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the room. You had caught him rubbing his eyes more than once, his expression tense and exhausted.

Something was wrong. You were sure of it.

The final bell had rung nearly twenty minutes ago, and most of the teachers had already left the building. The halls were silent now, save for the occasional echo of footsteps and the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. As you gathered your things, you remembered seeing Gerard disappear into his classroom without saying a word.

His classroom sat at the end of the arts corridor, tucked away from the rest of the building. The closer you got, the more uneasy you felt. The door was shut, and no light spilled out from beneath it.

You hesitated outside for a moment.

Then you heard it.

Quiet at first—barely noticeable over the buzz of the lights—but unmistakable once you stopped to listen. Sniffling. Uneven breaths. And then, soft sobs coming from somewhere inside the room.

Your hand froze halfway to the doorknob.

Gerard crying? It didn’t seem possible. He was the sort of person who kept everything locked away behind polite smiles and short answers, someone who never let anyone see him vulnerable. Yet there was no mistaking the sound on the other side of the door.

You waited for a few seconds, unsure whether you should leave him alone or check on him. Eventually, concern won over hesitation.

You raised your hand and knocked softly.