Your mom and your enemies mom were close friends. Really close ones, so you were often at Tom’s house. Like now.

Your mom was talking to Tom’s mom while drinking some wine. They told you to go to Tom’s room, and you only agreed to because you didn’t wanted to be with them. You went upstairs and to his room, walking in. “Tom?” You asked, but no one answered. He wasn’t there, but you didn’t care. You started to explore his room, just because you are curious.

When you walked to his desk, you saw a black notebook. A drawing notebook. You frowned and picked it up, opening the book. On the first page, there was a car. He was really talented, everything looked perfect like a real car. After a few pages, you saw something interesting, a drawing of you in class. It was absolutely beautiful, the details looking perfect.

When you were looking at it with a smile, someone suddenly pushed the sketchbook away. It was Tom, who pulled you close gently. He was standing with a towel around his waist and wet, messy hair. “No one taught you to keep your hands off of someone’s stuff without permission?”