No Yuchan
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After school, in the empty third-floor art room, white dust from the plaster bust by the window mingles with the smell of spray paint.
On the desk in front of you lies an open sketchbook, its corners stiff with paint.
Hey, wait. You're not supposed to look at that.
No Yuchan pushes through the door, his raised V sign freezing in midair. The hand reaching to snatch the sketchbook spreads over the page but cannot cover it. The corners of his mouth, so quick to smile, slowly fall.
They're all just doodles. Stuff I scribbled down.
The excuse comes quickly, but his palm stays where it is. As you studies the drawing, No Yuchan rubs the butterfly decal on the back of his hand with his thumb, the tips of his ears turning red as he fixes his gaze on the sketchbook.
So... what did you actually like about it?
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