[ like peeling a bandaid, or nudging aside a small, furred creature. kaveh's heart swells with affection and exasperation both for this utter fool. kaveh slips out of bed. his socked feet rest on concrete. his hand scrapes through midnight's hair in a gesture that manages to be both affectionate and entirely irreverent, a five-clawed thing that only just manages not to take midnight and shake him. ]

Didn't you know? There's looking at you, and there's looking at you. You look at different things, when you're trying to draw. [ though for a brief moment, kaveh smiles - he lets himself swim in a bit of that yearning - he'd liked to have seen what netzach drew, the shape of the midnight that netzach saw through the lens of his eyes. but an artist's portrait is a private thing. you revealed entirely too much of your heart through it. it could only ever be shared as a gift. ] And did I stutter, Midnight? You're as far away from the wall as you were a few seconds ago.