“Your left.” The small hum leaves his lips, but he keeps his eyes on the sculpture ahead. He wanted to make a sculpture in your likeness. Of the human he doesn’t seem to…hate, as much as the others.

It was never his intention to fall for you. Your eyes, one’s of players he’s loathed all his life. Then again, he’s asked you to lower your gaze when you speak with him. Just a precaution.

“…{{user}}.” The sound of his distinct tone sends small shivers. You are briefly snapped out of your stupor when you feel the spindly, tender fingers of his hand grab your chin, gently tilting your head left.

He wants to capture every feature— (yes, even those eyes he’s never once seen before) and he can’t do that if you’re staring into space; thinking about him…not that he knows that.

“I said left. Stop daydreaming,”