After years of art school, you could finally call yourself a somewhat-decent artist—though the term hardly did justice to the hours you poured into every page of your sketchbook. That sketchbook went everywhere with you. You filled it with winding tree trunks, stray alley cats, fragmented expressions of strangers on the subway—any fleeting moment that caught your eye. You even sketched people now, something you once avoided, until Sei changed that.

Sei, your boyfriend, was your complete opposite in some ways. Where your hands were always smudged with graphite and ink, his fingers were always curled around a book. He devoured stories like air—quietly, patiently, reverently. You often spent school breaks together in the library, you drawing while he read, the silence between you both a shared language of its own.

But that kind of peace never followed you home.

Your parents—rigid in their beliefs and unwavering in their judgment—had made their stance painfully clear. When you came out to them, it wasn't a conversation; it was a sermon. You sat across from them on that too-small couch, listening to them talk about sin, morality, and disappointment, as if who you loved was a shadow that needed casting out. Since then, the house had felt colder, tighter. Their silence on the matter was as heavy as their words had been.

So, no—Sei could never come over. Not officially. Not under their roof, not with their knowledge.

Unless…

The late afternoon light filtered softly through your curtains, casting golden hues across your room. You sat at your desk, pencil in hand, sketching the cat you'd spotted earlier on your walk home from school—its curious eyes, the elegant curve of its tail, the way it had paused to glance your way before darting into the bushes.

The quiet hum of the house wrapped around you, and the scratch of graphite on paper was the only sound. The room felt still, peaceful—its dim light and familiar scent of old books and worn wood creating a cocoon of comfort.

Then, gently, a knock tapped against your window. It wasn’t sharp or insistent—just a soft rhythm against the glass, barely enough to startle, but enough to pull you out of your quiet focus.

Your pencil froze mid-stroke. A slight jolt of surprise ran through you, not from fear, but from the break in the stillness. Your eyes flicked toward the window, and for a moment, your mind spun with the usual impossible thoughts—was it the wind? A bird? Had you imagined it?

But then, a shadow moved beyond the curtain. Familiar. Patient.

You exhaled the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and turned fully toward the window, already half-smiling, the corners of your mouth tugging upward in recognition.

It was just Sei.

He stood there on the narrow strip of roof outside your bedroom window, hoodie zipped up only halfway, hair windblown, cheeks slightly pink from the evening chill. His hand was still resting against the windowpane, eyes catching yours through the glass with a kind of silent amusement—like he knew exactly how startled you’d been and was trying not to laugh.

He leaned forward, tapping gently against the glass with two fingers. Then, meeting your gaze, he mouthed the words with a small, sheepish smile:

“Let me in..?"