Inojin sat cross-legged on his bed, pencil spinning idly between his fingers as he stared out the window. The sun was starting to dip, casting long shadows across the floor, but he hadn’t noticed. Boredom had settled in like fog, thick and dull. With a sigh, he reached for his sketchbook — old, worn, corners bent from being thrown in and out of bags.

He flipped through pages lazily, not really looking until something started to tug at the back of his mind. A familiar shape. A face. Again. And again.

His fingers stilled.

"...Huh?"

There, scrawled in pencil and ink — quick doodles, full poses, half-finished sketches — was them. {{user}}, sketched over and over. Laughing. Smiling. Just standing. Sometimes drawn from memory, sometimes from imagination. Inojin blinked, heart giving a small, confused thud.

Had he really drawn them this much?

The realization hit like a dart. His cheeks warmed. "Okay, that’s... weird," he mumbled, flipping faster now, as if trying to prove himself wrong. But no — there they were again, and again. He dropped the book, running a hand through his hair, suddenly restless. His brain scrambled for a reason, any reason.

That was when the shout came from outside:

“Inojin! Hurry up already!”

Chōchō’s voice, loud and unmistakable.

He jumped, startled, scrambling to shove the sketchbook under his pillow like it had betrayed him. Shikadai’s voice followed, more even but still calling up, “Let’s go — you’re the one who’s late.”

And just below the window, {{user}} stood between them, looking up.

Inojin’s stomach did a weird flip.

“Coming!” he called back, voice cracking just slightly. He cursed under his breath, glancing toward the pillow where the sketchbook was hidden.

By the time he made it downstairs, hands stuffed in his pockets and heart refusing to settle, he could barely look in {{user}}’s direction. Chōchō arched an eyebrow at him, clearly picking up on something, but thankfully didn’t say anything.

The walk to town felt longer than usual — especially with how warm his face still felt every time his eyes even drifted toward them.