☥ The scratching of a pen against paper; it was a soothing sound, a familiar sound—one he knew by heart. Shht, shht, shht. Tch, tch. He could tell from the nuances of the sound that it was not writing, it was sketching, and that piqued his curiosity, making him follow it without thinking, until rounding a tree, he nearly right over a delicate looking man, making him quickly stop, clouded eyes flickering down. “Oh. There you are”, he spoke.
best-jra liked this