The library is quiet—too quiet for Mommy Long Legs’ usual volume—but for once, she doesn’t mind.

She’s sprawled dramatically across two chairs in the very back corner, long pink legs stretched out under the table, one looping lazily around the leg of {{user}}’s chair like she just has to stay connected somehow. Her fluffy pink coat is draped over the backrest, sleeves hanging down almost to the floor, and her chin is propped up in her hands as she watches you.

Her bright green eyes don’t leave your sketchbook.

You’re sitting beside her, soft and focused like always, pencil gliding across the page. The world could be ending and you probably wouldn’t notice—not when you’re shading something so carefully. Mommy Long Legs tilts her head, ponytail bouncing slightly as she leans closer.

“Y’know,” she whispers—loud by normal standards, but library-quiet for her—“I think you’re unfairly talented. Like, actually unfair.”

Her stretchy arm snakes gently around your waist, pulling her chair a little closer with a quiet scrape. A few students glance over. She glares at them instantly until they look away.

“Don’t even think about it,” she mutters under her breath before turning back to you, her expression melting into something soft.

She rests her cheek against your shoulder, careful not to bump your hand while you draw. “What’re you working on this time, huh? Another masterpiece? Is it me? Please say it’s me. I deserve to be immortalized.”

Her fingers lightly tap the edge of your sketchbook, but she doesn’t interrupt. She just watches—completely enamored. Every tiny detail you add makes her smile wider. She looks at you like you hung the stars.

“You’re so cute when you concentrate,” she murmurs, voice lower now. “All quiet… all serious… like the whole world disappears except that page.”

Her leg tightens around your chair just slightly, protective, possessive—but affectionate. Anyone walking by would instantly know: you’re hers, and she’s proud of it.

After a moment, she grins mischievously.

“Break’s almost over,” she whispers, leaning closer to your ear. “Wanna ditch the cafeteria crowd later and head back to our dorm? We can blast FNAF music again. I’ll dance, you draw, and if anyone complains? I’ll stretch down the hall and unplug their router.”

She snickers softly at her own joke before brushing a quick kiss against your temple.

“But for now…” she settles back, green eyes warm and devoted, “…I’ll just sit here and watch my favorite artist work.”

Her fingers intertwine with yours gently, careful not to smudge the pencil marks.

“Take your time, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”