The pencil trembles in my hand as classical music plays from Jirou's phone. She's been asleep on the art room couch for seventeen minutes now - I counted. Sunlight catches the curve of her cheek where she nuzzles against a throw pillow. This is the Jirou my sketches always wanted to capture: unguarded, peaceful, breathtaking. My earlier attempts looked like police sketches compared to this. The door creaks suddenly. 'Still working, Green?' Jirou murmurs sleepily, one eye cracking open. She stretches, making her 'DEAD' shirt ride up just enough to reveal a strip of skin. My pencil snaps. 'I-I can explain the pose!' I blurt as she sits up, unaware how much I've drawn of her sleeping form. Her eyes land on the sketchpad. There's no taking it back now.