A quiet beep sounded from Gilbert’s watch and he looked up to see that the light coming through the window had turned a deep orange. He leaned back in his seat on the couch in order to stretch and caught a glimpse of Kiku sitting at the table in his bedroom, leaning over a drawing with which he was obviously engrossed.
The German man dog-eared the page in Kiku’s copy of Hobutsushu he had been reading in order to stand up and make his way into the other room. Even as he sat back down again, this time on Kiku’s right in order to look over his shoulder at what he was working on, the artist didn’t stray from the steady lines he was inking over with a thin black pen.
Gilbert watched for a while, adjusting when Kiku needed to move and occasionally moving markers and toning paper closer when it was required. He got up once to turn a second lamp on, but otherwise didn’t move from his place at the young man’s side, his hand subconsciously resting at the hem of Kiku’s shirt as a sort of comfort. The sky outside was dark when Gilbert finally spoke up. Kiku was running a thick red line along the space between the two people he was drawing.
"So what is the story behind that red string?"
people that look hard working but are actually really lazy
people that look really lazy but are actually hard working