The first sketch was nothing more than practice, Riko told herself. She was good at drawing landscapes and basic human figures, but she'd never worked on anatomy too much, so she decided that a little exercise wouldn't hurt. However, anatomy couldn't really be seen through clothing, right? So the drawing had to be a nude figure; it's just common sense.

Her pencil seemed to run across the paper like never before, outlining a shape that seemed all-too familiar to her. Riko became enamored with it, and the next thing she knew, pages and pages of her sketchbook were filled with pictures of that nude figure, in various compromising positions. At first, she had only drawn the torso, focusing on the size of the waist and the bust. Neither were overly exaggerated, creating a lithe, petite figure. However, soon enough, she began to draw the legs, and the arms, and before she knew it, Riko was creating an entire person. One of her favorite drawings was the one where the figure was on its (rather, "her") knees, one hand on its breasts and another between its legs. The drawing stopped right at the neck. As Riko finished putting the last details on the figure, she realized that it was going a lot farther than studying anatomy.

That didn't matter to her, though. She wasn't hurting anybody, and drawing them made her feel nice. Usually, Riko had to think, imagine, fantasize and picture before she could draw something, but it was as if the figure had been there all along, waiting to leak out from her brain (or from her heart, maybe) to her paper. Riko was a woman obsessed; every page from the first sketch on was of that figure.

Sketching became a bigger part of Riko's daily routine, and it didn't go unnoticed. Every now and then, Chika would ask to see something that Riko had drawn, and Riko was running out of old drawings to flash at Chika for a couple of seconds. Eventually, Chika would realize that Riko's input was not equaling her output.

But, that wasn't her biggest problem.

The biggest problem was definitely the fact that she was actually losing sleep over those sketches. At first, she thought it was guilt that plagued her, but that wasn't the case. No, she couldn't rest because she didn't even know who that figure was. She knew that it wasn't some figment of her imagination; no imaginary image was ever that vivid, that clear. The need to find out her mystery girl intensified when, one night, Riko realized that the intense pleasure she got from drawing was shockingly similar to arousal.

Riko began surveying the halls every day, trying to look at people who she regularly passed, wondering if anybody had subconsciously caught her eye. Nobody seemed to stick out to her, and she was just about ready to give up when she saw Yoshiko in the locker room after gym class.

Perhaps it was fate that Riko had just happened to leave her phone in her gym locker, or maybe it was sheer luck; however, when she saw Yoshiko standing beneath the shower jet, Riko automatically caught onto the fact that, for some reason, Yoshiko seemed to be the only one there. Even though there were other first years, washing off the sweat from gym, Riko only noticed Yoshiko, and her petite, gorgeous figure. Riko would know it anywhere.

That was her mystery girl.

Riko had always had a bit of a crush on Yoshiko, a passing fancy that was utterly undeniable. And she was good friends with Yoshiko, too; they had even given each other cute little nicknames. But, God, the sketches...it was safe to say that Riko was a little obsessed.

Okay, a lot obsessed.

Things got one hundred percent worse after that.

As soon as Riko got home from practice, she flipped open her sketchbook, going back to the very first page of her mystery girl drawings. She looked at the plain torso on the page, still with no arms or legs, then decided to go to her favorite sketch; the one where she was on her knees. Riko stared at the page, then erased it all, sweeping the eraser crumbs off hastily. Hunched over and scribbling like a madman, Riko redrew the picture, except from a different angle. The new drawing was from an angle that was slightly tilted, so that it looked like the mystery girl was kneeling in front of the person who was viewing the drawing. In addition to that, Riko also added a face. And not just any face.

Yoshiko's face.

Yoshiko's face, looking up with an innocent, pleading expression. Riko decided to change the drawing once more, so that instead of the other hand being on her breast, it was up to her face, and she was sucking on two of her fingers. Riko had been working on it for hours, double-checking every detail to make sure it met her standards. Finally, she dropped her pencil, and looked down at the fruits of her labor. A shaky hand raised to the paper, and a single finger ran down the slim surface of Yoshiko's stomach, traced the swell of her breast, brushed against her thigh. The feelings that she had felt before were no match for what she was feeling. Riko wasn't even sure what it was; lust? Love? A narcissistic appreciation of her own handiwork? Well, it didn't matter in the end.

Riko hiked up her skirt and rubbed herself to a swift orgasm, one hand on herself and another on her paper.

Things got two hundred percent worse after that.

It probably was a bad idea to get so invested in the drawings. Riko took her sketchbook almost everywhere, so it felt like the Devil was calling her every second of every day, begging her to look at the drawings and touch herself again. Of course, in school, she managed to keep some scrap of decency, and kept the sketchbook firmly tucked away.

However, when she got home, she just couldn't help herself. Sometimes, in the middle of composing a song or doing homework or just about anything, Riko would scramble to flip open her sketchbook, looking at pages and pages of Yoshiko. Somehow, in between spitfire masturbation sessions, Riko finished all of the drawings...even the ones with no arms or legs. They all became full works, each one with Yoshiko looking Riko directly in the eye. So, Riko had a full arsenal of material, and she didn't hesitate to use it.

That was a bad idea.

At first, everything was fine. Throughout the day, Riko's mind would wander to the drawings, but she would tear her thoughts away and focus on her schoolwork. Even during practice at Aquors, she got along just fine, even though she wasn't able to look Yohane in the eye. Eventually, it got worse than that, though; it was more than just not being able to look Yohane in the eye. Every time Yoshiko even said her name, she felt herself getting worked up. She realized that the situation was going far beyond the drawings and far beyond Yohane's sexy form. It was the wrong way to fall in love, no doubt, but she didn't know how else to describe it. Her deep-seated lust had evolved into something more, or maybe it was the other way around and she never noticed it. But something about Yohane drew her closer...and not just the idea of Yoshiko posing how she did in Riko's sketchbooks. Everything about Yoshiko became all-too apparent. Riko felt a bit disgusting, knowing that she didn't realize that she had feelings for Yoshiko until she had already fallen deep into her lust. But she didn't even care. Yoshiko was on her mind almost constantly; she was surprised she could even function.

Riko was really obsessed, and she was sure that the hunger she had could only be sated by having Yoshiko as hers. But how could she confess her love when she was still so...invested? There was no way she could pursue a relationship with Yoshiko while knowing that she had those drawings that she adored so much.

Riko just tried not to think about it. Besides, what were the chances that Yoshiko liked her back anyway?

"Lily-chan, let me see your sketchbook!"

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Riko wanted to jump off of the roof. Yohane was being oh-so casual, not knowing that she was attempting to open a door into the Underworld. The drawings had gotten a lot worse in terms of content; in an attempt to get rid of her frustrations, Riko had put even more energy into the drawings. She broadened her horizons. Ropes, cuffs, gags, little costumes that she saw in manga that she thought to be sexy on Yoshiko; if there was some filthy fantasy in her mind, she drew it. She wanted so badly to shove her lust to the side so that she could have a normal relationship with Yoshiko, but she promised herself that she wouldn't ask Yoshiko out without being rid of her hormonal plague...

They just had to be the only two there. No Dia to command Yoshiko to leave Riko alone. No Chika to pop in with some non-sequitur. No Hanamaru to ask Yoshiko to go get ice cream with her. Alone.

Riko had frozen up, and while she was zoning out, Yoshiko was digging in her bookbag. Riko wanted to dive for her, snatch the sketchbook away and hug it to her chest and growl at anybody who tried to take it from her, but it was already too late. Yoshiko was opening it. Yoshiko was flipping through it. Yoshiko was looking at the pages with something that Riko thought to be disgust but could have been confusion or maybe anger or-

Astonishment.

"Th-these are really good...they look just like me," Yoshiko murmured. "These are supposed to be me, right, Lily-chan? Right? Right?"

Riko stumbled over to Yoshiko and sat next to her, her eyes fixed on the tops of her knees. There was no doubt she was blushing at that point. "Yes. They're you, Yocchan."

"I-I've never had a mortal paint a mural in my image!" Yohane said. It was quite obvious that she was trying to use her whole fallen angel schtick as some kind of coping method or distraction, but it was pointless.

"Yocchan."

Riko looked up. Yoshiko seemed to be spacing out, staring at a particularly lewd drawing of herself in one of those stupid sexy nurse costumes that Riko had researched online, just for the purposes of that drawing. "U-uh...Lily-chan...why?"

The golden question. Riko had no fucking idea why, but she guessed she had to make something up. She couldn't just tell her friend that she was obsessed with her for no reason. "I like you." Well, that wasn't made up, really. It was a bit vague, but true.

"A lot?"

"A lot...I think."

"...These are really good..."

"Thanks. I-I work on them a lot."

"U-um...this is kind of weird, but...if you ever need a model...y'know, someone to help you..."

Yoshiko then dropped the sketchbook in her lap and buried her face in her hands. Riko could see the blush on the tips of her ears. Her heart was racing. She started thinking of all of her fantasies, all of the dreams, all of the drawings...all of it coming true? And we're all alone on this rooftop...

Wait. Wait, wait, wait. I can't mess this up.

"I wouldn't mind," Riko said, carefully, cautiously. Her heart was racing. The sketchbook had fallen open to a blank page. Thank goodness; she wouldn't be able to take her own words seriously if she had to look at some embarrassing, lust-driven drawing of hers.

Yohane looked up, biting her lip. "Because, um...I like you too! This is really weird, but-"

"Jeez, Yocchan, don't rub it in," Riko said, averting her eyes.

However, she looked right back when she felt Yohane's hand on top of hers. Oh gosh, she was going to pass out. She was pretty sure. "Can I...can I tell you a secret?"

"Sure." Nothing could be worse than Riko's "I can't stop drawing you naked".

"Um...well...I think I'm kind of obsessed with you. I mean-I-this crush I've had...it's gone a little far, I think. I hope you don't think I'm creepy, but sometimes I have these...really weird fantasies about you, and...well, they're not exactly...pure." Yoshiko stammered her way through her sentence nervously.

Riko took one look at her sketchbook and laughed her ass off.