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There was a room on the second floor of the second year building at Aoba Johsai High. It was a specific room that this girl loved to stay in. It was a boring room though, easels and multiple rolling carts were placed messily along the room. Chairs and stools scattered around while being void of desks, only four of them all situated together at the back of the class while the a couple of sinks and counters were fixed against the wall where you could see the scenery outside whilst standing and wash your brushes simultaneously.

There the girl, you, sat in a stool and stared lifelessly at a clear canvas that was almost mocking you, asking when it would be painted and what you would paint on it. You wouldn't give in to the violent and negative emotions to spring, no - force an idea out of you but it really seemed hopeless. You couldn't really paint anything at the moment. Maybe it was because of the environment you sat in but you also guessed it had something to do with the fact that you didn't have your earphones with you today. It was so eerily quiet and it was so uncomfortable to try and concentrate, trying to find where you should let the brush and the canvas touch but you still couldn't really move. It was like an unknown force was holding you back, literally, like it's arms were holding you and restraining you from doing what you felt as if you needed to do.

It was like an instinct, to paint, to draw and to expand your work further until you had nothing left inside of you. Until you were nothing but a mere shell of yourself. Everything inside you was being brought out from the deepest depths of your mind and you still couldn't even let a single thing out right now.

School had ended, the art room was void of life beside your own and you could only hear the silent, echoing sounds of some others students in their own clubs as they performed their own hobbies and talents while others also stayed back as they were assigned to clean. You tried to ignore them, you really did, but it wasn't that easy. It seemed exactly like you were trying to force yourself to complete a stream of consciousness while being fully aware of it. It was a hopeless act to do, you knew it. You knew you couldn't paint, so why stay here and keep trying until it physically hurt you, tormenting you mentally and destroying your self esteem all at once.

You felt so demoralised, so weak and your arm was almost at the point of aching. No matter how hard you stared at the bright, white and smooth surface right before you, nothing had potential to be painted on there. Nothing was worthy and it hurt, it was painful because it felt as if you weren't worthy.

The paint was drying at this point, you were so close to giving up and you could now feel as if it was safe to assume that you could finally really be angry. No, not angry. You felt dull, you felt lifeless once again as you always had felt whilst in school. You knew you wanted to rid yourself of the feeling but if you had known that it would've grown this much to feel as if you were drowning, well, you would've already left the school grounds.

You stood by quietly and in defiance of the silence, you didn't disturb it and only moved to squeeze of the brush in your grasp when you placed in the tray beside the other brushes, all sizes that sat in there as if they were collectively laughing at you. You didn't mind them though, you just couldn't help staring at them and wondering why this was happening. It couldn't be because you were running dry on pictures and colours to formulate into a picture, no - that couldn't happen.

You moved the easel back near the wall and left the stool where it was. You weren't bothered by anything else and you forcefully ignored the trees blowing slowly outside as the sun was also slowly descending before the horizon and the bag was whipped onto your shoulder so you could place your other paintings against the wall with the cream-coloured blanket that was spotted with small blotches of paint and oil too.

You grabbed the multiple landscapes and only grabbed the edges of a recent one. You placed the textured oil painting and also laid it against the wall safety but the count was incorrect. You collection of paintings were reserved in a single spot, the furtherest corner of the room from the door with all of them protected by the blanket. You knew one of missing, you could feel it and then you counted and their was only eleven when there should've been twelve.

You looked around slowly, a single brow being raised when slight panic began bubbling up your throat. Neglecting the feeling of your throat being constricted by the consternation you felt exhumed within you, you only appeared calm on the surface but you could feel the way your breathing was more ragged, more fearful for what had happened to your unbranded work.

You moved canvas' along the desks and grew more careful as your trembling hands tried to nudge some of the other students work so you could possibly find your own, to your fortune, it wasn't found in the class and you almost raged right then and there. It wasn't an anger that exploded right from you at the moment of the event but it was the type of anger that gradually built up more and more as if it was being placed inside of you, being flatten by another layer until it finally reached the brink of what you could take to the best of your ability.

Your anger was the type that only simmered inside of your bones and your muscles but you never really forgot about it. You were unfortunately a person that held rather tightly to grudges so most people who may have even accidentally crossed you, never got the good end of it.

You could guess who might've taken your work. On the top of your head, you knew but you couldn't do anything now when they weren't at school anymore. All you had to do was look around the school and pray to the Gods that they kept it within the second year building, hopefully on the second floor as well.

You had swung open the door and then closed it behind you, internally cursing to yourself for overlooking this and then you stormed down the hall with deathly silent steps. You couldn't hear anything besides the light patter of your indoor school shoes meeting with the polished floor and you turned a corner to find the hall completely bare. You kept going, nearing the stairs until you seemed to jump down them effortlessly, taking two steps at a time and then you rounded the corner to walk through the hall again. You could hear some students clearly now, specifically the sports teams but when your gaze unexpectedly stopped on a tall boy looking at the wall, your feet stopped walking as well.

You saw him, he was tall, looking down at something that was on the wall of the empty hallway and you analysed his fluffy, brown hair and his defined jawline. He had two wide eyes staring down at the picture on the wall and he wasn't moving. It looked like he wasn't even breathing but you couldn't decipher the emotions displayed on his face as he stood on his side, you saw his shoulder that held a sports bag and his neck as well. He stood so straight and unmoving but you didn't let him deter you from your goal.

He didn't hear you, or maybe he did but he just wouldn't look away and you felt so confused. Why was he looking at something with so much concentration as if he was so close to experiencing a revelation but you headed forward until you stuttered in your step to find what he was looking at and you couldn't help the hefty sigh as you sped up to step in front of him.

You weren't sure of what his reaction was but you didn't stop as you began taking off the canvas from the wall. He was close to the picture, but you squeezed in and then he spoke, his voice hard yet light at the same time, as if he was angry and confused at the same time. He went ignored though, "H-hey, what're you doing?"

You grabbed the painting, each corner coming off of the wall until it was completely detached and the boy took an uncertain step back when you grabbed the artwork, tightening it in your hold as you began to walk away as if nothing happened, "Oi, you can't do that, it isn't yours!"

He sounded annoyed and he seemed even more upset when you didn't even glance back at him. The large, dull-coloured painting was uncomfortable in your hold but you didn't stop to readjust your hold on it. You kept going but one sentence from your mouth made him stop, dumbfounded, "They didn't ask for permission from the artist."

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