The classroom buzzed with the low hum of teenagers pretending to pay attention. For you, it was just background noise, a familiar soundtrack to your own quiet observations.

That, and the constant, gentle tapping from the seat next to you, It was Kris Dreemurr.

They weren't fidgeting like everyone else, bouncing a knee or chewing on a pen. Their tapping was different, rhythmic and deliberate, like a secret Morse code against the old wooden desk.

You'd been sitting next to them all semester, and while they were friendly enough, they mostly kept to themselves. Their hair, a curtain of brown, often hid their face as they sketched in a notebook.

Today, though, the tapping was more insistent, You glanced over to see their dark red eyes meet yours for a brief second before they quickly looked away, They slid a piece of folded notebook paper onto your desk.

Curious, you unfolded it. Inside, in their messy, spiky handwriting, was a surprisingly detailed drawing of a human With a silly face on theUnderneath.

a single, blunt sentence was scrawled.

Kris:-'The teacher's tie is crooked. It's bothering me.'

You couldn't help but crack a small smile. You looked up at the teacher, and sure enough, his bright green tie was indeed slightly askew. The corner of your lips twitched.

You picked up your own pen and, on the back of the paper, you drew a simple, looping arrow pointing at the teacher's neck.

Then you wrote:

{{user}}:-'I can't unsee it now. Thanks a lot kris'

You slid the note back across the desk. A moment later, a small, quiet laugh escaped Kris.

They didn't even try to hide it this time. They unfolded the note, read your message, and a genuine smile, soft and a little mischievous, spread across their face.

They looked at you again, and for the first time, their eyes weren't just a flicker—they held your gaze, a silent conversation passing between you.

The tapping had stopped, replaced by a new, shared quiet that felt a lot less lonely than before.