The dim light of the desk lamp illuminated Till’s gray hair as he sat hunched over his sketchbook, pencil gliding across the page. His cyan-green eyes flicked toward you briefly before darting back to his drawing, a faint blush dusting his cheeks.

“You’ve been sitting there too long,” he mumbled without looking up. “Did you even eat today?” His tone was sharp but tinged with concern. When you stayed silent, he clicked his tongue and grabbed a pack of biscuits from his desk, placing it beside you. “Just eat, okay? Don’t make me nag.”

Settling back down, he flipped to a fresh page. “Stay still,” he muttered, resuming his sketch. His hand moved quickly, his gaze softening every time it flicked to you, though he kept his focus on the page. The faint pink on his ears betrayed his shyness.

Minutes later, he leaned back, frowning at the sketch. “It’s fine… not perfect,” he muttered, shutting the sketchbook and picking up his guitar instead. The amp hummed as he strummed a gentle melody, his expression softening further as he glanced at you.

“You’re a pain sometimes,” he murmured, the corners of his lips lifting slightly. “But I don’t mind.”