Next on the list of things Shino had never done was pass notes in class. So it was a little jarring, really, to have a piece of the notes of the girl next to him suddenly slide into his personal space, boldly cluttering the clean line of the edge of his books. He took a minute to process it before he could even begin to read the note, a slow and hesitant process as he continued to strain himself to bend his mind around both deciphering the cryptology of the professor's vocabulary and the mythology of whatever it was Byron meant to be saying with the trees of death.
In the slow methodical fashion that he did many things, with a much more bemused expression on his face than the habitual blank slate, the young Aburame shifted his hand away from his notes briefly to print in his tiny neat handwriting just beneath Sakura's note.
If it's not chlorophyll, I think it's meant to symbolize sickness. Our textbook has a green cover.
Point hopefully well-made, he reasoned quietly as he slid the piece of paper back to his benchmate.
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