The next day, a notice went up on the school bulletin board.
“New Dormitory Assignments – Starting This Week”
There was a buzz among the students — especially among the Main Toons.
Most of them had their own rooms, or shared with people in the same circle.
Sprout didn’t care much.
As long as no one talked too much, he could live with it.
He glanced at the list lazily as he walked past.
Then stopped.
Room 203: Sprout & Looey
He blinked.
Read it again.
…What?
His first instinct was to think it was a mistake.
Some cruel joke maybe.
But the paper was official — stamped, signed, and freshly posted.
The name Looey stared back at him like it was mocking him.
The quiet kid? The cherry blossom tree guy? The one with the diary?
Sprout felt something twist in his chest. He couldn’t tell if it was dread… or curiosity.

That Evening – Room 203
Sprout opened the door to the dorm room.
Neat. Clean. Two beds. Two desks. Neutral colors.
Nothing special.
His eyes swept the room quickly.
Looey was already there — sitting stiffly on the edge of his bed, notebook clutched in his hands.
He looked up, startled.
For a moment, neither of them said anything.
Looey quickly stood up and gave a small nod, eyes avoiding Sprout’s.
“H-hi. I didn’t know I’d be... I mean—sorry, I’ll stay out of your way,”
he said, voice soft and shaky.
Sprout dropped his bag without a word.
He didn’t like small talk.
But something about Looey’s body language — tense, guarded — reminded him of how he looked under that cherry blossom tree.
Sprout kicked off his shoes, then leaned against the desk.
“…You write a lot,” he said casually.
Looey’s hands froze on his notebook.
“What?”
“Saw you yesterday. Under the tree. Looked like you were pouring your soul into that thing.”
Looey looked down. His knuckles were white from holding the book too tight.
“…It’s nothing.”
Sprout didn’t push.
He just shrugged and went to unpack his stuff, pretending not to notice the way Looey silently turned toward the wall, trying to make himself as small as possible.

That night, long after the lights were off, Sprout lay awake.
He could hear the soft rustling of Looey turning a page.
Then the quiet scratch of a pen.
Still writing.
Sprout closed his eyes.
He thinks I’m not listening.
But he was.
And for the first time in a while…
he found himself wanting to understand someone.