Back in October, I saw someone open a Whiteboard. Though it was for anything, it seemed mainly Project Moon OC related. So, I drew a bunch of abnormalities a day (with some exceptions. And also a random clerk is there) from the Inverse Lobotomy Corp AU, where abnormalities were inversed in concept. I'm glad some of these FINALLY have updated designs or even a design in the first place.

well. i said I'd do it, so here I am. I've shown a snippet of a sasaki pov for something there before, so you might recognize a bit of this. for those who need context: something there is an alternate take on ch 51 of sasaki to miyano, where shirahama ends up visiting sasaki & miyano in the nurse's office. this is sasaki's pov. the title, like the fic, is a work in progress.

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When he first catches sight of Shirahama, Sasaki’s mind pings with instinctual disappointment before any real thought coalesces: It’s Miyano’s friend. With that in mind, he says, “Close it quietly. He’s sleeping.”

“I just… came to check in on him,” Shirahama explains.

“Thanks for looking out.”

Sasaki isn’t sure how to handle him. He’s tall—almost Sasaki’s height—but gangly, with limbs graceless enough to remind Sasaki of middle school growing pains and botched dye jobs. He wavers at the entrance like a legless deer, his presence weighty enough to tell Sasaki he should be doing something, but too frightened to communicate what.

Kuresawa or Tashiro would be much easier—they wouldn’t be here. Kuresawa would have been tactful enough to leave them alone, and Tashiro would’ve been too busy flitting around everywhere to pop into the nurse’s office. But Miyano attracts good people—people like him, with open, careful hearts—and so Shirahama is standing here.

He thinks of Miyano, his face scrunched up but peaceful in sleep, and the flitting nervousness threaded through Shirahama’s body like a live wire, and suddenly remembers the way he’d flinched when Sasaki had caught that basketball.

“Ah,” he says, mostly involuntarily. “You're on the basketball team.”

Shirahama jolts in recognition. “You remembered that?” he asks, skin reddening, and then adds, nonsensically, “Sorry!”

He shrugs. “Just happened to.”

Basketball was a curse that came hand-in-hand with growing pains. Whenever you reached a certain height, it was like an obligatory question: you’re so tall, so why don’t you play basketball?

Hirano was different. Hirano believed that playing basketball meant you needed focus, and drive, and spirit, which Sasaki sorely lacked, he'd said.

“Harsh,” Sasaki had said, and only after Hirano was appropriately sheepish did he add, “True, though.”