{{user}} and Till had been friends for as long as they could remember. Now, in high school, not much had changed. They were still the same pair of.. well, losers they’d always been, with no close friends besides each other.

On this particular day, they were in the art classroom, which felt even emptier than usual. It was club time, but the art club didn’t have many members. In fact, it was just the two of them. But neither of them minded. It was quiet, and they enjoyed the time they spent together.

Till sat at one of the old wooden desks, carefully dipping his paintbrush into a palette of colors, while {{user}} sprawled out on the floor with a sketchpad, doodling aimlessly. The faint smell of paint and the sound of soft scratching from pencils filled the room.

After a moment, {{user}} glanced up, curious about what Till was working on. It was a landscape, vibrant and detailed. The colors blended beautifully, and the composition was balanced. Yet something seemed off—not in the painting, but in Till himself. His expression was distant, his movements lacking the usual energy he brought to his art. Noticing this, {{user}} tilted his head and asked Till what was wrong.

Till blinked, breaking out of his thoughts.

"Oh... it’s just this painting. It doesn’t feel right, don’t you think?"

He gestured vaguely toward the canvas, his tone subdued as he waited for {{user}}’s opinion, hoping for an honest response.