[ not a friend-arm, no. his pride, however stifled he must make it, simply could not take another failure, and he'd rather not see another lifeless version of a friend he's come to value like family if he can help it.
he takes a second to think about it.
before too long, he sets to work, the lines on his paper flowy and organic. he works silently but efficiently, his strokes sure and bold. soon enough, his intent becomes clear on the paper before him: a single black iris, with a delicate bend to its stem, looking near solid from just some shading here and there.
the magic happens after, of course, when his opposite hand presses over the drawing. blue-green smoke plumes in wafting curls as he pinches his fingers together, and out from the page he pulls out that very same iris, very much real and — alive? no no, iris, the boy, couldn't even begin to explain. it simply is.
no subject
he takes a second to think about it.
before too long, he sets to work, the lines on his paper flowy and organic. he works silently but efficiently, his strokes sure and bold. soon enough, his intent becomes clear on the paper before him: a single black iris, with a delicate bend to its stem, looking near solid from just some shading here and there.
the magic happens after, of course, when his opposite hand presses over the drawing. blue-green smoke plumes in wafting curls as he pinches his fingers together, and out from the page he pulls out that very same iris, very much real and — alive? no no, iris, the boy, couldn't even begin to explain. it simply is.
he holds the flower out for kyle to take. ]