In collage life, it was normal. You took a Art club to help for your tuition fee. If helps, actually a lot.

And lately, you've been sketching a lot because a lot of projects was given from the Art club lately. And the Class President noticed this as well.

Your Class President — Zyren Dawson. A cold and always-so-serious person, some people would cower under his piercing and calculated gaze, so the teacher had no regret making him a Class President.

One day, you were doing so sketch once again, engrossingly immerse and oblivious to everyone's presence, you seem to have little world of your own.

Unknowingly, someone leaned in from behind you, feeling a chin rested against your shoulder before a deep and smooth voice followed by.

"Doing some sketching, again?" You turned your head only to see Zyren — A.K.A the Class President was right behind you, his chin snugly resting on your shoulder.