????? ?????~~ -- sokeefe oneshots

AAA GUYS IM SO SORRY I DIDNT UPDATE YESTERDAY (am i the person with the most consistent updates or what??) BC I WAS REAL BUSY WITH SCHOOL AND I HAD A WHOLE MENTAL BREAKDOWN IN CLASS TODAY AND I WAS CRYING IN THE BATHROOM AND SHIT BUT IM FINE NOW (PROBABLY JUST MOODSWINGS LOL)

ALSO THIS AINT PRE WRITTEN (I RAN OUT LIAOO) SUO YI I HAD TO ACTUALLY THINK OF SMTH AND WRITE- 

ALSO I ABSOLUTELY HATE MY ENGLISH TEACHER, LIKE THE GIRL BESIDE ME WAS CRYINGG BC SHE GOT SCOLDED LIKE REALLY REALLY BAD AND SHE CRIED FOR AN HOUR STRAIGHT AND THE CHER GAVE HER ANOTHER SCOLDING AND HELD HER BACK FOR THE WHOLE OF LUNCH (SHE COULDNT EAT AT ALL) AND THE SCOLDING WAS BC SHE WAS TALKING TO SUM GIRL WHILE WALKING FROM LIKE ANOTHER CLASS OR SUM  ( I THINK IT WAS MATH OR SUM??) AND LIKE SHE MAD ME AND HER SEPERATE OUR TABLES BC SHE THOUGHT I WAS GIVING HER TOO MUCH ATTENTION- 

KEEP IN MIND THAT THIS GIRL WAS HAVING A FULL ON PANIC ATTACK AND WAS CHOKING ON WATER AND CRYING AND BREATHING SO FRIKIN LOUDLY-

ANYWAY SINCE I DONT WANNA BOMBAR U WITH MY PROBLEMOS IMMA JUST LIKE GET ONW ITH IT: also sophie is good at art in this one!! THIS IS INSPIRED BY TIKTOK BOOK FANPAGES (THEY DIDNT GIVE THE NAME OF THE BOOK ARRGGRGRGRGRG)

Sophie Foster sat in the back corner of the art classroom, her sketchpad in front of her, the pencil in her hand hovering just above the paper. Her eyes traced the shape of Keefe Sencen, who was sitting in front of her at his desk, working on his own drawing. He was effortlessly skilled—his hand moving like a dance, and Sophie couldn't help but admire how naturally his talent flowed, the way his lines were always confident, bold, perfect.

But she wasn't ready to admit it, not even to herself. It was easier to pretend that she didn't care, that she wasn't watching him more than she should. She didn't think he'd ever notice her, especially not in the same way that she had noticed him. He was always surrounded by people, always the center of attention, while she blended into the background.

But here, in this moment, in the classroom where they both found themselves every week, Sophie could let her thoughts wander freely.

The pencil sketched out his features with precision: the sharp angles of his jaw, the slightly messy hair that fell into his eyes, the playful smirk that seemed to be permanently on his face. She couldn't help herself. She drew him like she had so many times before. The golden boy. The one everyone admired.

But then—almost instinctively—she grabbed the paper, crumpled it in a ball, and threw it into the trashcan beside her desk. It wasn't perfect. It never was. It was nothing like the art Keefe created.

She sighed, trying to focus on the next drawing assignment. But a small part of her longed to capture something about him, even if it wasn't on the page, even if she knew it would never be good enough.

Keefe, unbeknownst to Sophie, had been keeping every single one of her discarded drawings. Every crumpled sketch he found—no matter how imperfect—he saved. He had his own collection of them, neatly tucked away in a journal, hidden under his bed at home. He couldn't tell anyone about it, of course. He couldn't admit to anyone how often he found himself looking at her art. Her drawings always seemed to capture something about him, something that his own couldn't.

Keefe had never said a word to Sophie. In fact, they barely spoke. It wasn't like they didn't know each other; they had shared classes for years. They'd even exchanged glances now and then, their eyes meeting in brief moments of unspoken connection. But the words never came. Neither of them ever had the courage to break the silence.

That was the problem, wasn't it? They were both too afraid.

One day, Sophie caught him looking at her drawing from across the room. She froze, her cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and anxiety. Was he judging her? Did he think it was terrible, just like she thought?

But instead of turning away or mocking her like she feared, Keefe smiled, that soft, warm smile he reserved for moments when no one else was around. Sophie blinked in surprise. Did that mean something?

Before she could even analyze the moment, Keefe turned back to his own work, and Sophie quickly shoved her drawing back into her bag.

That night, as Sophie sat in her room, staring at the ceiling, she couldn't shake the thought of the smile he had given her. It wasn't just a friendly gesture. There was something behind it. Maybe it was something more than she had ever allowed herself to consider.

But what if she was wrong? What if he didn't feel the same way?

Meanwhile, Keefe sat on his bed, flipping through his journal. There, in the pages, were the drawings that Sophie had made of him. He hadn't told her, but he had seen every single one. He'd treasured them, knowing how much of her heart she poured into those imperfect sketches.

Keefe's fingers traced the edges of a sketch—a crumpled one he had found that day in class. It wasn't the best, far from it, but it was her. It was Sophie. The girl who unknowingly held his heart in her hands, even if they had never said a word to each other.

The golden boy and the girl who was just behind him in art class—both silently in love, both too afraid to speak. The connection between them was already there, woven into the quiet moments, the secret smiles, the stolen glances. They were like two puzzle pieces, so close to fitting together but never daring to complete the picture.

And maybe that was enough for now. For Sophie, for Keefe. Maybe the silence spoke louder than words ever could.