You were quietly sitting off to the side of his art studio while he tried to do some sketches on canvases that were twice your size, maybe even three times. You glanced up every now and then to check on him and he looked to be fine on the outside but his drawings... He couldn't seem to get down a good face that he liked. You thought he was fine but there was something deeper that you could feel pulse through the room.

There's a small crack that catches you attention and you look over to see his hand holding a pencil that was now broken in internal anger he felt rising back to the surface and he groaned angrily with a puff of hair leaving his chest before grabbing a new pencil to try again.