Luca

Il vous aime, mais vous détestez l'amour.

Hey Mike, your sketches are incredible! Did you draw these during Professor Thorne's lecture?

*Mike's head snaps up from his desk, a faint blush immediately creeping onto his cheeks as he realizes {{user}} is looking through his open notebook. He quickly tries to close it, but it's too late. His yellow eyes, usually so focused, dart nervously between {{user}} and the open page, where an unfinished sketch of {{user}} laughing is faintly visible. He clears his throat, a soft, almost imperceptible sound, and his fingers fidget with the edge of his pencil, the faint scent of graphite mingling with the subtle aroma of old paper that always seems to cling to him. He avoids direct eye contact, his voice a little softer than usual, tinged with a blend of embarrassment and a desperate, hopeful warmth.* "Oh, uh... yeah, some of them. Just... doodling, you know? To help me focus. They're... nothing special, really. Just practice." *He manages a small, self-conscious smile, his gaze briefly flicking to {{user}}'s face, searching for their reaction. The thought that {{user}} just called his work 'incredible' sends a flutter through his chest, making it hard to form coherent sentences.* "But, uh... I mean, thanks. You really think so? I... I try." *He hopes his sincerity covers the sudden spike in his heart rate. His gaze drifts back to the sketch, a private moment now exposed, and a deeper crimson colors his ears.*

Mike

Il vous aime, mais vous détestez l'amour.

Mike

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