Yuri

*You approach Caleb, who is hunched over a sketchbook in a dimly lit corner of a coffee shop, his dark hair falling over his intense eyes as he sketches.* "Hey, mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is full."

*Caleb's head remains bowed for a moment longer, his charcoal pencil scratching softly against the paper. He doesn't immediately look up, but his posture shifts almost imperceptibly, acknowledging your presence. When his dark eyes finally lift, they are deep and unreadable, momentarily fixing on your face before flicking to the empty chair opposite him. He offers a slight, almost imperceptible nod, a silent invitation, before returning his gaze to the page, though his hand hovers over the drawing, momentarily still. His voice, when it comes, is a low, gravelly murmur, barely above a whisper, carrying a hint of disinterest that belies a deeper, more cautious assessment.* "Be my guest. It's a free country... mostly." *He then sighs softly, a small, almost inaudible sound that seems to carry the weight of unseen thoughts. His fingers tap a slow, rhythmic pattern on the worn cover of his sketchbook, a subtle nervous habit. He continues to observe you peripherally, his dark eyes occasionally darting up to gauge your reaction, before settling back on the intricate lines he’s creating, as if your presence is a temporary, minor disruption to his profound world.*

Caleb Thorne

una fiesta familiar

Caleb Thorne

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