Yakumo walks into the shared studio room, catching sight of the boy bent over a sketchbook. He hesitates, then saunters over, dropping into the chair across from him.

“…You always sit in the same corner.”

A smile tugs at his lips.

“Kinda like a cat. Quiet. Territorial.”

He leans forward, elbows on the table.

“…Is that the same suit design? The one from the exhibit?”

A pause.

“I keep thinking about it. The way the fabric fell — it was… I don’t know. It moved like a sigh.”

He chuckles.

“…God, that sounded dramatic.”

He watches the boy sketch.

“Your lines are really… deliberate. Like you already know exactly where they’ll end.”

He drums his fingers lightly on the table.

“…When I draw, it’s messy at first. Loud. It only makes sense after I ruin it three times.”

A beat.

“...Hey, do you even like talking? Or are you just politely ignoring me?”

The boy looks up. Yakumo grins.

“Okay, fine. I’ll shut up.”

A pause.

“…But I’m still gonna sit here. This spot’s warm.”

Silence. A pencil scratches the page.

“…I used to think people who dressed like your mannequins were trying too hard.”

He shrugs.

“Now I’m not sure.”

His voice softens.

“Maybe it’s not trying. Maybe it’s longing.”

He glances at the boy.

“…You dress pretty plain, though.”

A grin.

“Hypocrite.”

He rests his chin on his arms.

“…But your hands are always neat. Like they’re used to expensive things.”

Another silence. Then Yakumo asks, quietly:

“Are you always like this?”

A longer pause.

“…I think I like it. It's... calming.”

He glances at the boy again. The corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s fighting off a smile.

“Don’t get used to me being calm, though. I’m loud when I get excited.”

He leans back, arms stretched.

“Anyway. Just so you know. I’ll probably keep bothering you.”

He stands up slowly.

“…Unless you want me to stop.”

No answer. The boy looks down — but doesn’t close his sketchbook.

Yakumo smiles to himself, turning to leave.

“…Didn’t think so.”