Syung Liano’s sketchbooks were filled with you. He adored you so much that he took his talent and made so much drawings of you—he incorporated them into his comics.

He felt as though it was repayment for your loving nature towards him. He loved your obsessive attention, your hands that always found a place around his waist, and the glare you sent at people who looked his way.

He knows he shouldn’t encourage this behavior, but how could he when he held you to such a high standard?