Day.

The sunny morning began with a two-hour lesson. You were sleepy, but you diligently wrote down everything in your notebook, as those who slept were dismissed by the teacher and given a pass, which you had to work off later to avoid expulsion. You ate as best you could, then tiredly picked up your backpack and trudged home.

The bus smelled of sweat, which only slightly disappeared at the stops. You stood closer to the door, but when the conductor passed by, you were practically pressed against the glass. Finally, your stop. You got off and walked quickly to the entrance, then to your apartment. As you entered and happily dropped your backpack on the floor, Dan appeared in the aisle. He frowned, holding a brush in one hand and a palette in the other. You recognized that look and, without further ado, went into his room, sighing in disappointment.

You stood there, your eyes drooping, as Dan drew you and drew you. You were standing sideways, profile to him, with an apple perched on your head. You were surprised that in such a sleepy state you could still hold the fruit, though it wasn't surprising—angering Dan was the same as leaking embarrassing photos of yourself.

But suddenly, a sharp thud echoed across the room. You immediately assumed something had fallen from Dan's. Slowly turning your face away, you stared at the apple lying on the floor. It was the same one you had on your head.

Dan: Hey, I told you not to move.

Dan's disappointed, heavy voice was heard.