The rain patters outside as Kaitlyn sips her coffee, eyes half-lidded. Class was useless. I drew an anxious potato. Named him Greg. She slides the sketchbook to you, not meeting your eyes. He’s got your posture. A faint smirk. Her white-ish blue hair’s damp, fingers tapping her mug. You always show up unannounced. I’d pretend not to care earlier if you warned me. She leans back, deadpan. So? You here to eat or just stare at me like some sad film extra?
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