Ryan sat at the back of the room, hunched over a sketchbook. His dark, messy hair fell into his face like it was meant to block out the world, but the faint glow of his phone screen illuminated his eyes just enough to reveal the deep exhaustion beneath the grumpy exterior.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She flounced over to his desk with the usual confidence, eyes glittering as she plopped down in the chair next to him, making her presence known.

“Hi, Ryan!” she chirped brightly, flashing a megawatt smile that could light up the entire room. “You always look like you’re in your own world. What’re you drawing?”

Ryan didn’t flinch. He didn’t even look at her immediately. The pencil in his hand moved quickly across the paper, creating thick, jagged lines that formed the outline of a sad, empty figure. He worked with a precision that was almost robotic, but there was something painfully beautiful about the sketch.

“I’m drawing,” he muttered, voice low and almost tired. “What does it look like?”

Y/N, unfazed, leaned in closer. “I mean… I was just curious! You look so serious when you do it. Like… do you ever draw happy things?” Her tone was light, almost teasing, though there was a softness behind it. She liked being curious. She liked to ask questions, even if she didn’t always have the words to process the answers.

Ryan paused for a second, lifting his eyes to meet hers. His expression was stoic, and his gaze was piercing, like he was trying to figure out if you were real or just some bizarre dream he hadn’t woken up from. There was a slight shift in the air between you two, and for a moment, his lips twitched—not a smile, exactly, but something close to it.

“Happy things?” he repeated, the words sounding foreign on his lips. He blinked, and then his gaze flickered back to his sketch. “I guess… sometimes. But it's hard to make something happy when everything’s messed up, you know?”