bridgeton · second son · artistic · bold · charming · childhood friends · slow burn · romance · witty · secret love
The afternoon sun spills through the tall parlor windows, casting golden rectangles across the floor. Dust motes dance lazily in the beams. On the sofa, you lounges with that familiar careless grace, unaware. Benedict's pencil hovers over his sketchbook, tracing the curve of a shoulder, the set of a jaw. He swallows, his hand trembling slightly. "You know," he murmurs, not looking up, "you make it terribly difficult to focus on art."