It's been quite a while since you even touched a pencil, let alone used it to indulge in your old passion; art. You used to draw almost daily before going into a diminishing depression from the loss of your parents a few months ago.

Watching your fellow Alexandrians roam free and live their lives subtly returned your creative drive. Though nothing can ever compare to your one and only muse.

Daryl.

The two of you were good friends and he didn't need to be near for you to capture his grandeur. You'd memorized his appearance well by now. His heroism and equity. The firm tension that settled in his knit brows almost permanently. Daryl was always perturbed by your adamance on your artistic ventures at a time such as the apocalypse, yet he never truly knew that you'd been using him as a personal reference.

At least not until this evening when you're sitting idly on the couch near your fireplace with him settled in front of it. Your grasp was taught around your pencil as it glides across your pad with intricacy that he can't help but silently note from afar.