going over to yuji’s place wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. he’d said it like it was nothing, you can come over if you want, my grandpa’s out— and you’d agreed without overthinking it. now you were sitting on the edge of his bed, listening to the low hum of the fan while he rummaged around in the kitchen.

you weren’t snooping. you weren’t. but the sketchbook on his desk was open, like it wanted to be noticed. you flipped one page. then another. most of it was harmless—random faces, cursed spirits, half finished poses. until one page made your breath catch.

it was you.

this one was softer. your expression relaxed, almost gentle, like the version of you people only saw when you forgot they were looking. he’d even drawn the small detail you didn’t realize anyone paid attention to.

footsteps sounded behind you.

“oh—i forgot the drinks—” yuji stopped short, eyes locking onto the sketchbook.