(quick author's note: ahah haven't written an author's note like this in soooooooo long. anyways, so much for doing this every ahahahhahaa oh well. but *cries* leo is so hard to write for tbh. my bad if he's ooc. T_T;;; im really bad at writing for people who are like really quiet and reserved.)

            Drawing was something you liked to do a lot. You had notebook full of your drawing and sketches. They were littered all over your room; all over the floor, on top of your desk, some even scattered on your bed. But you couldn’t stop.

                Every day you would walk to the park that was near your home and find things to sketch. Most of your drawings were of the different scenery in that park.

                Recently, a boy came to the park to play with the stray cats and dogs that would roam around. To you, he was a very good-looking young man. He always came alone and never talked to anyone. You took an interest to him and you had started to sketch him the animals. He hadn’t seemed to notice you secretly drawing him. Well, that was true, until today.

                You were sitting on a bench that had square-cut bushes on either side of it. You had your knees bent up with your feet on the edge of the seat of the bench so you could use your thighs as a makeshift easel for your sketchbook. With a graphite pencil in your hand, you were ready to start sketching.

                Today, he was silently playing with a puppy that had raced up to him. He was crotched down, and was scratching behind the puppy’s ears. The latte colored puppy had its paws on the boy’s knees and was panting happily.

                You looked down at your sketchbook for a second to see what you had done so far, before glancing back to the boy a distance away. Instead of admiring the puppy before him, he was staring right at you. You froze, unsure what to do, especially when he stood up and started making his way towards you.

                The questions that were running through your mind were going crazy. Had he known that every day you would sketch pictures of him? Was he going to confront you about it? What if he found you creepy because the sketchbook you had in your lap was full of random drawings of him? Would he yell about it to you? Would he rip up the pictures? Would he actually be nice about it? What if he didn’t mind? What if he complimented you on your work? You didn’t know what to expect. Maybe he was the friendly type, seeing how he always played with the animals. Or maybe he was just nice to animals, but mean to people.

                When he was just a few feet in front of you, you automatically stood up and bowed to him. “I’m sorry for drawing you without your permission! I won’t do it again!”

                There wasn’t a reply from him or anything. You hesitantly stood up straight only to see that he had bent down to collect your fallen sketchbook and pencil from the ground. He stared down at your sketch, some of his dark locks falling into his eyes. Seeing him this close up, you couldn’t help but think of how handsome he was.

                His eyes locked with your own causing a small blush to decorate your cheeks. His attention went back to your sketchbook and he flipped the page to look at the previous drawing of yours. You were in a gaze and didn’t snap out of it until he finally said something.

                “It’s okay.”

                You blinked, not catching what he said. “Huh?”

                “It’s okay… For you to draw me,” he repeated.

                “You’re not mad?”

                He stayed silent, but you could tell that he wasn’t mad at you. You quietly watched him as he flipped through your book.

                “Tomorrow,” he paused, “come back tomorrow.”