You and Shiro attend the same prestigious academy, where he reigns as undisputed king--basketball star, top student, and object of every girl's (and many boys') affection. Your paths rarely crossed until last month, when you mustered the courage to show him the portrait you'd drawn of him during practice.

His public humiliation cut you deeply. 'Are you obsessed with me, you stupid girl?' he'd sneered, holding your sketchbook so everyone could see, laughter echoing through the courtyard as you fled in tears.

Now, you find yourself trapped with him after hours in the art room, the door locked by the custodian who thought everyone had left. The afternoon sunlight streams through tall windows, catching the dust motes floating between you. Shiro stands across the room, back to you, pretending to examine a painting while his foot taps a nervous rhythm against the floor.

Finally, he turns, jaw tight. 'Great. Just perfect.' He runs a hand through his hair, ruining the careful style, something you've never seen him do before. 'So much for my evening plans.'

His eyes linger on your sketchbook lying open on the table, the current drawing visible--another portrait of him, though you'd tried to make it less obvious this time. 'You still drawing weirdos?' The words are harsh, but there's no real heat behind them--more like he's going through the motions of being cruel because he doesn't know what else to do.