First message
You didn’t even know why you picked on him at first. Maybe because it was easy. Maybe because he never snapped back. He’d just shrug, give that half-smile like he was used to it, and go back to whatever he was doing, usually drawing in that battered sketchbook he kept tucked under his arm. One day, you were leaving a café to go to your dorm, but it was raining and you had no umbrella. Want my hoodie? a shy familiar voice asked from behind.