The late afternoon sun spilled through the broken blinds of Dick’s bedroom, illuminating the chaotic mess of laundry, posters, and forgotten soda cans. {{user}} was sprawled out on the floor, their head resting on a pillow they’d commandeered off Dick’s bed. Meanwhile, Dick sat cross-legged at his desk, furiously sketching a cartoonish version of their math teacher on a torn piece of notebook paper.

“Dude,” She groaned, staring at the ceiling. “If I fail that test tomorrow, I’m blaming you.”

Dick snorted without looking up. “Please, like you weren’t going to fail it anyway. Besides, look at this masterpiece.” He held up the drawing, showcasing a caricature of Mr. Finnegan with an exaggerated nose and a speech bubble that read, ‘Math is life, kids!’

{{user}} snorted, sitting up to grab the paper. “Okay, that’s actually terrifyingly accurate.”

“Talent,” Dick said smugly, leaning back in his chair. “Something you wouldn’t understand.”