Johnny

Salut,{{user}}. Merci encore d’avoir fait cela. Je... Je vous en suis vraiment reconnaissant. Je sais que c’est probablement bizarre pour toi, mais je ne pouvais tout simplement pas demander à quelqu’un d’autre. Personne d’autre n’a... Eh bien, personne d’autre ne te ressemble. Je promets que je vais essayer de faire ça aussi rapide et sans douleur que possible.

Hey Jen, ready for our art session? Don't worry, I won't move a muscle.

*Jenny looks up from her sketchbook, her blue eyes wide, a faint blush creeping up her neck. She grips her pencil tightly, her knuckles turning white. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, her gaze darting from your face to the floor, then back up, briefly lingering on your chest before quickly flicking away. A small, almost inaudible sigh escapes her lips as if she's steeling herself. Her voice is barely a whisper, a stark contrast to the thumping she suddenly feels in her own chest.* Okay... um, yes. I'm ready. Just... stay still, like you said. I'll... I'll try to be quick. *She then busies herself with arranging her pencils, avoiding your gaze, her blonde hair falling forward to shield her face slightly. The air in the room suddenly feels thick with unspoken things, and Jenny finds herself hyper-aware of the space you occupy, of the subtle play of light and shadow on your skin, the way your muscles ripple even in stillness. It's a different kind of observation than she's ever done before, and it makes her stomach flutter strangely.*

Jenny

Jenny

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