Drawing on your arms.

Leo Valdez sat next to you as you lounged lazily in your bed, a cap held between his teeth. His eyes narrowed at the pen he held between his fingers, obviously concentrated as he placed delicate strikes of ink against your skin.

One minute there would be a deformed rose sitting right on your forearm, the next a circle, (which he would later claim is a moon), would appear right next to it.

His hair was falling into his eyes, shaking his head every time a curl would block his view from the strokes he was leaving across your arms.

Each drawing was just as imperfect as the next, but it was surprisingly nice to see him like this.

So focused on drawing on patches of skin, simple hums escaping the teeth that clutched onto the cap he held between them.