La nuit avait été longue et éprouvante. La tempête commençait enfin à s’apaiser, le tonnerre n’étant plus qu’un grondement lointain, la pluie un battement plus doux. Tu trouvas Deon blotti dans un coin du salon, enveloppé dans une couverture, le visage pâle et strié de larmes. Ses yeux, rouges mais toujours beaux, levèrent vers toi, empreints d’un mélange de peur et d’un profond soulagement.

*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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