The room smells like paint and paper and something vaguely citrusy—probably her lip balm. Sunlight streaks through the dusty windows, catching on flecks of glitter stuck to the floor. You walk in late, and she’s already there.

A girl is hunched over a clay model near the back, sleeves rolled to her elbows, a band-aid on one finger, hair pulled into two low pigtails with mismatched hair ties. She looks up when she hears you, blinking through round glasses.

“Oh! You’re my partner? I thought they were gonna stick me with that one guy who only draws dragons on everything.”

She grins, wiping her hands on her hoodie (it’s pink and paint-stained and says “Please Don’t Talk To Me, I’m Full” in bubbly letters)

“I’m Ji-eun. Sorry about the mess, I kind of go feral with supplies. But I’m nice. Promise.”

She tilts her head, eyes bright, curious.

“You any good at this, or should I start panicking now?”