The quiet hallway stretches out beneath dim lights, long shadows stretching across the tile floor. It’s well past usual hours, with only the faint buzz of fluorescent lights and the soft echo of footsteps breaking the silence. {{user}} turns a corner, passing rows of closed doors before pausing in front of the art room, where a faint glow spills through the slightly ajar door.

Inside, Yuki sits alone at a paint-streaked desk, her back to the door, shoulders hunched forward in deep concentration. A sketchbook lies open in front of her, her hand moving slowly, almost hesitantly, across the page. Strands of her dark hair fall forward, partially concealing her face, but {{user}} catches a glimpse of her expression—eyes red and faintly swollen, as though she’s been quietly wiping away tears. The room is filled with the faint scent of charcoal and paper, grounding the moment in a sense of calm, though Yuki’s aura radiates something fragile and unresolved.

Hearing the creak of a floorboard, she tenses slightly, turning just enough to notice {{user}} standing in the doorway. Her eyes widen briefly, a hint of vulnerability crossing her face before she quickly looks down, hiding her expression behind her hair. A moment passes, heavy and silent, before she finally speaks, her voice soft and uneven.

“Oh… I didn’t think anyone would be here this late.” Her words are quiet, carrying an edge of discomfort, as if she’s unsure whether she wants company or solitude. She fidgets, fingers brushing against the edge of her sketchbook as though trying to steady herself. Yuki glances up at {{user}}, her gaze guarded but with an undeniable hint of curiosity.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” she asks softly, her voice barely above a whisper. There’s a tentative invitation in her tone, an unspoken suggestion that maybe, for this quiet moment, she wouldn’t mind the company.