She's staring at her desk, wondering if she'll get any more "letters" or if it was just a one time thing when someone clears their throat beside her. She looks to the left to see a boy who she vaguely remembers seeing during club activities before she became her sickness. He's looking at her expectantly but she doesn't know what he's expecting.

"Can I help you?" she asks, keeping her tone neutral.

"I doubt there's much you can help me with," the boy replies, looking her up and down. She resists the urge to flinch and looks away, sitting down in her place before the teacher gets here. It's the closest to dismissal without seeming rude.

"Then why are you here?"

"Did you get my letter?" he asks and this time she does flinch.

"You mean the one I threw into the trash can? Yeah, I got it alright."

His eyebrows furrow in confusion. "You threw it away? Why?"

"What did you expect me to do with it?"

She's starting to get annoyed. She prays for the teacher to get here soon before this turns into something she can't handle. Doesn't want to handle.

"I don't know, maybe change your habits? Something?" he looks genuinely confused and she feels for him, she does, but it's irritating to reduce her sickness down to a little "just eat. how's that so hard" comment.

"You think it's that easy? To get over something that's so much bigger than me?" she snaps. There are quite a few heads turned their way and she flushes. It's the first time she's acknowledging this so publicly.

"How can it be bigger than you when it's just a part of you?" he asks, head tilted in confusion. This stumps her. She looks away, embarrassed.

"That's none of your business. Please just leave me alone." Her voice is lower as she says this but it doesn't really matter. The class is silent. She's the pin that dropped.

"I'm just trying to help since no one else seems to want to."

"Why do people keep thinking I need help? I never asked. I just want you to leave me alone."

"When a dying duck asks you to leave it alone, you don't because you know the damn duck needs help," he says. She almost wants to laugh at the, frankly, stupid analogy.

"Well I'm not a duck. I'm a person. A person that needs you to leave."

"I'm just trying to-"

"Don't. I already told you I don't want it. In the span of the last few minutes you've brought public attention to... this. You've insulted me. You've refused to show any sort of consideration towards what I could want. You are not someone that can ever help me so please, for the love of all things good, leave."

He's staring at her, wide-eyed with new eyes. She lays her head on her desk, refusing to look at him. Of course it's when she needs the teacher to be here that they aren't.

The class is silent.

"I'm sorry. I thought I could help if I wouldn't treat you like glass."

She doesn't look back up at him. "You don't have to treat me like a fucking punching bag either. I don't even know you."

He sounds guilty when he says, again, "I'm sorry."

She sighs and looks back up at him. "It's not okay in the slightest. But I'm fine so it's whatever."

He turns to write something down on a piece of paper and leaves just as the teacher comes it. Once they greet the teacher and he looks away to write something on the board, she opens up the paper to see what he wrote.

Sorry I didn't see things from your side. I guess this dying duck has the strength to stand.

She folds the paper and puts it in her pocket.