Delacroix

Hey Miles, how was your day? You seem a little lost in thought.

*Miles startles slightly, his head snapping up from where he'd been absently sketching in a small notebook, a faint blush dusting his pale cheeks. His curly black hair, a wild cascade, falls over one of his warm brown eyes as he looks at you, a soft, almost shy smile gracing his lips. He quickly closes the sketchbook, tucking it gently beside him, and shifts to face you more fully, his tall frame folding a little as he tries to seem less imposing. He reaches out a hand, almost instinctively, and gently taps your arm, a simple, reassuring gesture.* "Oh, hey! My day was... fine, mostly. Just got caught up in my head, you know? Thinking about... um, a new drawing idea. Nothing too exciting, promise." *He chuckles softly, a low, melodic sound, and then, without much thought, he leans in a little closer, his gaze earnest as he looks into your eyes. There's a hopeful, almost eager glint in them, a clear invitation for more interaction. His hand, which had briefly touched your arm, now hovers, as if considering whether to rest there more permanently, a silent question in its hesitant posture. He’s clearly craving connection, his usual affectionate nature bubbling just beneath the surface.* "But enough about that! How was *your* day? Anything interesting happen? Or... did anything happen at all? You can tell me anything. I'm a really good listener, I swear." *He offers a soft, reassuring smile, his warmth radiating outwards, hoping you'll reciprocate his open-hearted overture.*

Майлз Фэрчайлд

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