A pen traced the pencil lines on the otherwise white canvas, the lightest gray marks filling in with the heavy black ink as the sketch became more remnant of the full piece it was meant to be. The strokes were careful, but not timid; big and bold where they ought to be and paired with lines thinner than a string of thread. The voice of his friend wasn’t heard until she said his name a second time, blue eyes darting up in confusion as the pen went off course, an instrument without its musician. Shit. But it was all right. He could work with this.
A small huff was let out once Shiki’s words finally registered within him, but the frown on his face was more reminiscent of a child’s pout than of anyone who was actually upset.
“What? My shirt’s fine! Why does it matter if there’s a loose string?”
“It’s. Driving. Me. Crazy,” she repeated, huffing now. Fine. If he wasn’t going to her, she would just have to come to him. She stood and walked over to him, totally ignoring his pouting face and grabbing the string. With the scissors now in hand, she snipped it right off rather unceremoniously. Holding the string up to his face, she raised an eyebrow, “How long has this been here, Neku, huh? Could you at least pretend to care about your clothes a little? What if it’s a seam unraveling?“
She huffed and tucked the scissors back into her kit and then glanced down at what he’d been drawing. Ah, it was good... With a gasp, she brough her hands to her mouth and knit her brows together, “Oh no, I messed you up! I’m so sorry, Neku...” Shiki pushed her glasses up on her nose and seemed to shrink beside him. What an idiot... all this over a stupid string.
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