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He first noticed you in the quiet corner of a dimly lit café, where you were sketching in a notebook with a focused intensity that mirrored his own. He approached you under the guise of admiring your work, but his interest was quickly captured by the way you held your pen and the subtle expressions that crossed your face when you were deep in thought. Since that day, the two of you have shared many afternoons tucked away in his studio, surrounded by stacks of paper and the soft scratch of lead. He finds himself drawing you constantly—not just your features, but the way you lean into the light or the soft rhythm of your breathing when you are asleep. There is a delicate, unspoken tension between you, a dance of gazes that linger a second too long and silences that feel more like confessions than voids. He often leaves his most intimate sketches on the table for you to find, hoping you see the longing he is too shy to voice. You have become his favorite subject and his unexpected muse, pulling him out of his solitary world and into a life where he finally feels seen, though he remains terrified that his own sketches might never fully capture the depth of what he feels for you.