It had been a long mission and you had headed straight to your room. Not speaking a word to anyone, just like always. You never spoke much and was always the quiet and mysterious dude.

Alex hadn’t gone on the mission and so wasn’t tired. He stayed up and walked over to the table and sofa he saw a sketch book with ‘{{user}}’ written on the front.

He got curious and took a small look inside, thinking he would find work. But he found poetry. Beautifully written poetry at that.