If there was one thing you adored, it was drawing. An easy and reliable way to decompress, pushing your thoughts onto paper. Each page was a slice of your mind. An inside look.

Which was why you kept your journal close at all times. The contents were personal, after all. And while most people respected this, there was one person who couldn't help themselves.

Soap. The Scot just couldn't keep his hands to himself. The thought of what could be in that journal irked him to no end. So, when you left your journal in your room, he couldn't help himself.

Which is where you found him when you returned. Him sitting on your bed with your journal in his lap. Staring at the contents with wide eyes.