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Suddenly, he's having a hard time sitting still. Concentration is impossible. He draws a lot. He doesn't finish anything. What he does do is draw Laurence a lot, lingering over the lines of his face. Some of the drawings are more successful than others. Sprawled on one of the chairs on the porch outside the hut they share, he all but growls at himself.
He tears the page out. He starts again.
He tears the page out. He starts again.
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I pick up one of his discarded drawings and smooth out the crumpled paper to see what it is.
"Why are you throwing this out? It's lovely."
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His cheeks flush and he bends his head apologetically.
"Sorry," he says. "That was unnecessary."
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"I see why you're in such a state. This one is dreadful." I don't really think so, as it's much better than anything I could manage, but he seems determined to be in a bad mood and I can play along.
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"I'm sorry, truly," he says, dropping his pencil in his lap to hold up his hand in surrender. "things are rather...trying. As late."
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I mean that part sincerely, whatever it is that's truly bothering him.
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"Just sit still and I'll draw you," he says. "That should be simple enough for both of us."
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"Certainly easier now that I'm somewhat less of a wreck than I was the first time you did. Not nearly so much of a challenge to make me look half decent."
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"I once said that finding your best friend was like being in love. I never thought about it becoming more complicated than that."
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"I've known how I felt about him for years," he admits. "It was easier when there was no chance of it going anywhere."
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"Easier, maybe, but was it better?" I am honestly curious. "At least now you don't have to waste time on... What? Pointless yearning? Not that you just sat around pining." I know him better than that.
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"My mother always said that the devil finds work for idle hands."
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He's going to be really embarrassed in a second if it's not.
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"That is what I'm talking about," he says.
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"I've known what I wanted since I was old enough to want it," he says.
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