6. notebook; diary

He called for her, searched for her, asked around for her, but she could not seem to be found. The others assumed she had gone elsewhere, to the store or such, so he wandered around for a while, waiting for her to come home.

In his wandering, he seemed to find himself opening the door to her room and walking into the empty calmness of it, quiet except for the various things she always left on. Her electric fan, her pink Hello Kitty radio (playing some soothing instrumental song, he noticed), and a little water fountain.

He didn't know why he found himself here out of all places, and knew he would be scolded if she found him, but he still stayed, walking around and examining the things that made her personality. Things from all of them, things in pink, things sweet and warm and just so her. He smiled, just a little bit, when he came across her collection of pictures on the dresser. She had so many.

Goodness, where was she? It made him nervous to not know where she was. She was so small and looked so fragile… ahh, no. He sighed, running his hand through his hair. He sounded like her, worrying about nothing. She knew, and could skillfully use, the art of self-defense as well as any of them.

He sighed again and flopped down on her bed, inhaling the smell of it. It smelled exactly like she did, of course. Of flowers and pink and warmth and other happy things that she was. He laid there for a bit, inhaling, exhaling, taking in the scent. After some time, he turned over, and stared at her ceiling.

What was… that?

She had a poster up there (which wasn't abnormal, most of them had such on their ceilings as well, save for China) but the thing was, it was… kind of worn. That was certainly not her. She liked her posters nice, clean, and well-maintained. The edges looked like they had been torn at places and handled often, and the someplace towards the middle looked just plain out of place. He stood up, balancing on her bed, and reached up to touch it. What met his fingers was… well, he wasn't sure.

He found why after he released the edges of the poster slowly, raising an eyebrow when a small book slid out. It had no label or title on the front, only a white leather cover. This book must be taken out and returned quite often for the poster to be in this condition.

However, he could only flip through the first couple pages before she walked in.

She saw him, saw what he was holding, and whimpered before she ran back out. He only got a glance of her face, but he was sure it wasn't happy.

And so he dropped the small book right then and there, and ran out after her, forgetting all about it.