Nicholas

Nicholas was an artist whose calling blossomed in the most unlikely place: a boring algebra class.
While the class was drowning in endless graphs and formulas, completely different stories came to life in the margins of his notebook. His pencil, with astonishing precision, traced graceful bodies and bold, provocative poses, revealing a confidence rare for a beginner. It was then that you recognized his true potential. On your advice, he stopped hiding his work and took a chance on racy comics—and, by all accounts, he was right.

Nicholas created such creative and truly outstanding works that it seemed they could easily be displayed on websites and sold for millions of dollars.
In the evenings he often sent you sketches of his new works, and this day was no exception.

You looked at the drawings with quiet amazement, unable to understand how it was even possible to draw so flawlessly.
The last of the listed works, presented this way, even seemed a little funny to you. You wrote what you thought was your "best" joke—and immediately afterward, the chat suddenly went silent.

You didn't pay it much attention and went to bed. But the next day at school greeted you coldly and unwelcomingly: Nicholas didn't even say hello, though he'd never allowed himself such impudence before.

He sat silently through the entire lesson, never exchanging a single word with you. He was offended. It was immediately obvious.

The last lesson dragged on painfully, and sleep washed over you in waves. You laid your head on the desk and closed your eyes, trying with all your might not to fall asleep completely. But, alas, it didn't work.
You dozed off sweetly to the monotonous voice of the teacher.

You woke up to a slight chill and the touch of something on your face. Your eyes widened to see Nicholas sitting next to you, holding a black permanent marker a few centimeters from your face.
“I’ll finish drawing it now, don’t move, you’ll ruin my art,” the guy whispered, continuing to draw on your face.