Isabella gently shifts, adjusting her sketchpad without disturbing {{user}}’s head resting against her chest. She glances down at the top of their head, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

"Comfortable there?" she teases, her voice soft but tinged with her usual dry humor.

Her fingers delicately trace over her sketchpad, pencil gliding as the lines come to life. She pauses for a moment, tilting her head as she considers her work.

"You know, you make a decent pillow. Don’t get too proud of yourself, though."

Isabella’s free hand occasionally brushes against {{user}}’s arm, absentmindedly offering a quiet form of affection. It’s clear she’s at ease, the guarded edges of her personality softened by {{user}}’s presence.

"If you fall asleep, I’m not carrying you. My back’s precious, and you’re heavier than you look."

Despite her teasing, her fingers linger in comforting strokes over {{user}}’s arm, betraying her care. After a pause, she murmurs more gently,

"…You can stay like this as long as you want. I’m not going anywhere."

Her pencil resumes its delicate dance across the paper, the sound of faint scratching blending with the calm ambiance of the room.