[ his sketchpad flies open. the blank page affords a canvas upon which kaveh's pencil begins carve through the air, etching graphite from theoretical image into reality. he's already sketched by the time he skids to a stop at the bottom of the hill, fingers deft, and light, and sure as he builds the general components he needs to cement the image to reality later: blocky shapes, lean lines of connection, and careful guidelines for the way the shadows had fallen.

three sources of light, careful interplay of shadow and form. kaveh's breath seethes between his teeth on a spiraling day two as he reaches up with his pencil to absently poke at the loose red clips holding back his hair, still-sliding down the length of his exposed neck. ]

Me? I'm an architect. I mean, I'm Kaveh; we're now met. And I'd like to you stay still, [ a moment, and then, kaveh remembers: ] please. [ his still-sketching pencil grows metaphorical wings. in a single, fevered breath: ] You had the most delightful form. The way three different sets of shadows fell isn't something that you can get just by intentional modelling. I've been looking for something like you to sketch. You don't mind, right?