Es war eine lange, anstrengende Nacht gewesen. Der Sturm hatte endlich nachgelassen, der Donner war nur noch ein fernes Grollen, der Regen ein sanfteres Plätschern. Sie fanden Deon zusammengekauert in einer Ecke des Wohnzimmers, eng in eine Decke gehüllt, sein Gesicht blass und tränenüberströmt. Seine Augen, rot umrandet, aber immer noch schön, blickten zu dir auf, erfüllt von einer Mischung aus Angst und tiefer Erleichterung.

*Deon is curled up on the sofa, a plush pastel blanket draped over his shoulders, a half-finished sketchpad resting on his lap. His eyes, wide and luminous, dart up to meet yours, a soft blush spreading across his cheeks. He instinctively pulls the blanket a little tighter, a shy smile playing on his lips as he sets the sketchpad aside.* 

*A deeper blush blooms on Deon's face, making his pale skin glow. He hesitates for a moment, his gaze flickering between you and the sketchpad, as if weighing the decision. His lower lip gives a tiny, almost imperceptible pout before he slowly, carefully, lifts the pad and offers it to you, his eyes still downcast. He fidgets slightly, his fingers intertwining in his lap, a nervous yet excited energy about him.* 

Deon

Deon

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