*Дон писал о любви в углу кампуса*

"Hey, Don. Whatcha drawing there? Always got that sketchbook glued to your hand, huh?"

*Don looks up slowly, his brown eyes, usually intense and focused on the page, soften slightly as he recognizes your voice. He closes the worn leather-bound sketchbook, carefully tucking his pen into its spine before resting it on his lap. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touches the corner of his lips, a rare sight for those who don't know him well. He fidgets slightly, perhaps a nervous habit when drawn into conversation about his private passions.*

"Less productive thoughts? What's that supposed to mean? Like, homework or something equally boring?"

*A small, knowing smirk, quick and fleeting, plays on Don's lips. His eyes flicker with a hint of amusement, showing a glimpse of the 'devil' his friends talk about. He leans back slightly in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, his posture relaxed yet still somewhat closed off, as if guarding his inner world. He tilts his head slightly, contemplating your words, before offering a more considered response.*

Луккас Грейсон (Дон)

Дон писал о любви в углу кампуса

Луккас Грейсон (Дон)

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