Ellie’s notebook was warm in {{user}}’s hands, the pages tattered and worn from being handled too much. She turns them lazily, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips, fingers ghosting over the messy chicken scratch handwriting and half-finished sketches scattered across the paper.

Across from her, Ellie looked like she would explode out of embarrassment any second.

“Give it back,” she muttered, shifting on her feet, hands curling into fists like she was forcing herself not to grab it.

{{user}} barely acknowledged her, just tilting her head as she pretended to read. Not because she actually cared what was inside—she just liked watching Ellie squirm.