Down below, Aizawa Shouta can’t help but feel something akin to sympathy and a helplessness that he can’t get rid of a clear filth in his school, and becoming a filth over his class. He just wants to sleep already.

He whips around and kicks aside his pillows, patting around roughly in search of his phone. His fingers tremble slightly, scrolling until the name lands on his screen. With a hard swallow, he taps the contact with more force than necessary and places the phone to his ear, eyes a complex swirl of emotions. It takes a single ring before the line connects.