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sketch
vil schoenheit. ヴィル・シェーンハイト
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YOUR FINGERS HOLD the pencil firmly as you lean back against the mattress of the large queen sized bed, a little tune leaves your lips in a whispered hum. You finally managed to convince Vil, after begging him for what felt like hours, to skip today's rehearsal to spend your time doing some sweet nothing.
Well, you were a little careful with your words, to tell the truth. If you had tried to ask him for a lazy day, it would have probably ended in a lecture from him - which would still be nothing compared to what poor Epel has to go through.
"You call this self care?" His voice is skeptical as he watches you carefully, his eyebrows raised and his arms folded in front of his chest. Even the way he sits is composed and regal, one leg crossed over the other, sitting in the middle of your bed.
You look up from the sketchbook in front of you, throwing your head back so it rests on the soft blankets. Sitting on the floor, with your knees bent, you are calmly drawing, enjoying the silence of the room accompanied by his presence.
"You don't like it? There's no need to stay so composed, you can lie down if you want." Is your response, offering him a subtle smile as your eyes meet his amethyst ones.
His gaze immediately shifts as a small huff escapes his lips. Vil had no problem telling you no, denying what he always defined as tantrums. Yet sometimes he seems to give in to your pleas; sure, little complaints on his part abound but, at least, he seems to let you do your thing.
Yet it left you surprised to see him agree to participate in these little freedoms he so graciously bestowed.
But the way he's just sitting there, on the soft covers of your bed, doing nothing, almost makes you feel guilty. "We can try some new make up, if you want." You try to offer him, momentarily closing the notebook in your hands.
"There's no need." He responds quickly, dismissing you with a wave of his hand.
"Are you sure? You're just there, doing nothing..."
"I know what to do with my time, keep doing what you're doing." He frowns slightly, and you know you have to let it go; frowning and risking getting wrinkles? The blond wouldn't do it if not to make sure the message gets through.
You start drawing again and the sound of pencil on paper is the only thing that fills the silence of your room for a while.
You can feel his eyes on you, but you can't tell if he's simply observing you or, well, judging you. In any case, you try to concentrate solely on your sketch. The sound of him move behind you reaches you ears and you find yourself hoping he's finally getting more comfortable. Sometimes you wonder how he can remain so composed at all times.
"What are you even drawing?" His voice catches your attention, making you look over your shoulder at him. So he was trying to see what you were drawing; you don't know whether to feel relieved about it or extremely anxious.
"Us." You answer quickly in a low voice. Subconsciously, you move the notebook closer to your chest, to prevent his gaze from falling onto the page. Again, he raises his eyebrows and his lips part briefly.
"Us?" You respond with a small nod, letting your eyes leave his face, focusing on the edge of the blanket that almost seems to graze the floor. "Why?"
You shrug, trying to appear casual. "Why not, you're more than worth drawing." His hands are now resting on the mattress and he is leaning back just a bit. "I know that." He promptly answer. Well in a modesty contest he would definitely lose, that's for sure.
He extends a hand towards you, an expectant look on his face. "Let me see." You widen your eyes before shaking your head, abruptly closing the sketchbook. "No! You don't need to see it. It's not like I'm going to show it around or anything!"
"(y/n)."
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"Well, it's better than I expected." Vil mutters, the notebook in his hands as he carefully scrutinizes your drawing. You, meanwhile, are literally lying defeated on the floor. You don't even know what exactly happened, everything was so fast and at the same time torturing.
"It's almost like I'm good at what I do." You whisper back, looking up at the ceiling with a still confused look.
"But you got my eyelashes wrong, they're thicker."
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