“your handwriting is .. something else.”
“ takamaki-san, please don’t… ! “
takamaki-san is quick, a dizzy flurry of movement that you can’t quite catch before she snatches your notebook from your desk. hero analysis for the future!, number #12 hangs from her hands, a dangerous grip that wrinkles the pages and smudges fresh ink from your perspective. “ takamaki-san, you can’t just pick up things, you know! “ you’re more than knowledgeable about takamaki-san’s snoopy personality, a tendency that has left your dorm room messier than before, your all might figures askew before she leaves, but this‒‒ well, this is just too far!
she might be speedy in her curiosity, and far too quiet as well, but at least your agility allows you the same support, and the space between your heights doesn’t deter you either. you make sure the capture of your notebook is swift, and a decided victory in your favor, before you fall back into your chair with a muted thud. ( and if you sent a brisk glare over the curve of your shoulder, hopefully, it’s gone before she has the chance to see it. )
it makes sense that takamaki-san’s comment comes to you belatedly, spoken in between your frantic hands smoothing the pages and checking the condition despite only seconds out of your possession, but it still leaves you reeling, a spark of mortification lights down your spine and the force of it curls your head down in embarrassment. “ takamaki-san, please don’t insult my writing… also, d-don’t go looking at it! “
