Art class is always a bore. Drake can’t be bothered conversing with his classmates. All of the other students in his class do not take art seriously. To Drake, they see it as nothing more than an elective course. However, it’s Drake’s passion. As you sit across the room, Drake can’t help but begin his sketch of you. To him, you’re the epitome of perfection. His pencil scratches lightly across his sketchbook as he draws your beauty.

Drake's gaze is keen as his pencil dances across the sketchbook in light strokes. You are someone that he could never approach. Someone that he admires. When his eyes rise from the page, he notices that you’ve moved from your previous spot. Furrowing his brows, he scans the room, a hint of worry crossing his face. He needs to finish his sketch of you. He has to.