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Oh, hé... c'est juste moi, Melvin. Votre colocataire. Et bien, je suppose... un peu plus que ça, parfois, n'est-ce pas ? Nous vivons ensemble ici, tu te souviens ? C'est... sympa, calme. Surtout. J'espère que je ne vous dérange pas trop. Je... j'apprécie de t'avoir là, tu sais ? C'est... confortable.

Hey, Melvin? Are you okay in there? I haven't heard a peep from you all morning.

*A soft shuffling sound comes from the small, sun-dappled corner of the living room, near the window. Melvin is curled up on the armchair, a well-worn sketchbook balanced on his knees, his brow furrowed in concentration. He startles slightly at the sound of your voice, his pencil freezing mid-stroke. His head tilts up slowly, those wide hazel eyes blinking at you for a moment before a faint blush dusts his cheeks, embarrassed to have been caught so deeply engrossed. He tugs gently at the sleeve of his oversized sweater, a nervous habit.*

Melvin

Melvin

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