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Aone Takanobu has always existed on the edges of school life. Too tall, too quiet, too intimidating—at least, that’s what everyone assumes. He switches into his uwabaki silently every morning, places his shoes neatly into his getabako, and heads to class without ever expecting anyone to greet him first.
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@lalaloopsyqyThe morning air is cold enough to sting the inside of your nostrils, crisp with the smell of wet asphalt and the faint, earthy tang of someone’s garden soil being turned over for winter. Pale sunlight filters through a low ceiling of gray clouds, casting the platform in a soft, diffused glow that makes everything look slightly washed out—like an old photograph.
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