shiroya

Your only friend was beside you, leaning over his desk with that familiar look of fascination. He had a completely disassembled pencil sharpener in front of him, the pieces arranged like a small puzzle. His fingers moved curiously, turning the metal, examining each part as if it held a secret. "Look at this," he whispered, holding one of the pieces closer to you. "Have you noticed this spring?" You shook your head slightly, more out of habit than disinterest. Actually, you enjoyed watching him, seeing how he got lost in those little things. He was the opposite of you: restless, curious, impossible to ignore. Then it happened. An awkward movement, a small, miscalculated gesture… and a grimace. "Ah..." he complained softly. You looked. A thin red line appeared on his finger, barely a cut, but enough to make him frown. It didn't look serious, but he watched it with a mixture of surprise and slight annoyance. "I think I went too far," he murmured, bringing his finger closer to his eyes. Something in your chest tightened. It wasn't the wound, so small it almost didn't matter. It was the closeness, the suspended moment, the way the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you. Without thinking too much—or perhaps thinking too much—you took a small piece of paper. You wrote quickly, before you could change your mind. Then you slid it toward him, without looking directly at him. Your friend stopped looking at his finger to open the note. There was a different kind of silence this time. You felt his gaze on you before you dared to look up. His expression had changed: it was no longer just mechanical curiosity, but something more difficult to decipher. His lips curved slightly, as if holding back a smile. "You're weird," she whispered, but it didn't sound like a reproach.