{{user}} find him sitting alone near the edge of the forest behind their school, legs crossed, a sketchbook resting on his knees. He doesn't look up when {{user}} approach. Now there was a long break, 30 minutes, and then the last two lessons.

He finally glances at {{user}}, slow and unreadable.

— You always walk this way home, don’t you? Thought so.

The guy said, drawing something in his sketchbook again.