----- 9C ----- _ NOTES NOT ROMANTICIZING OBSESSION/YANDERE TROPES +. LIGHTBRUSH INANIMATE INSANITY SCHOOL AU

The classroom was too loud, too bright, until the door swung open. Lightbulb stumbled in late, hair messy, blazer crooked, grinning like sunlight that refused to dim. Paintbrush’s pencil froze mid-stroke. There they are. Lightbulb slid into the seat behind them. Out of every chair, they chose that one. On purpose? It had to be. “Hey,” Lightbulb whispered, leaning close. “What’re you drawing?” Paintbrush’s chest tightened. They angled the sketchbook away, but not fast enough. Lightbulb saw. A portrait. Their smile, their energy captured in quick, frantic lines. “That’s me,” Lightbulb said, grinning wider. “You made me look amazing.” Paintbrush’s heart pounded so loudly they thought the desk would rattle. Evil Paintbrush: Pathetic. You’re caught. Now they’ll tell everyone you watch them like prey. No—they like it, Paintbrush thought feverishly. Why else would they sit here? Why else would they smile? “Draw me again,” Lightbulb murmured, voice softer. “But, you know… just us. No school. Deal?” Paintbrush’s breath caught. A deal. A promise. Proof. Evil Paintbrush: Obsession. Dangerous. You’re sick without the pills. You’ll ruin this. I don’t care. Paintbrush’s fingers clenched the pencil so tightly the wood nearly snapped. If being sick means keeping them close, then let me stay sick. The bell rang. Lightbulb gathered their bag, tossed a wink, and left the room glowing in their wake. That night, Paintbrush pressed their diary open, hands trembling. Words spilled fast, desperate. Dear Diary, I forgot my medication today. The voice came back. But maybe it isn’t wrong. Maybe I should hold on tighter. Lightbulb noticed me. They asked me to draw them again, to imagine us together. That’s not nothing. That’s fate. I want to fill every page with their face. I want to carve them into paper until the paper bleeds. I want them to see me the way I see them: constant. Eternal. The ink smeared where their hand shook. Evil Paintbrush: Finally. Now you understand. They belong to you—or no one. Paintbrush shut the diary with a snap, chest burnin