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you and miles were in his dorm room to study, like you’ve been doing for the past couple of weeks. he was reading out some notecards, quizzing you on AP physics.
“what’s the formula for linear momentum?” he mumbled
you thought for a bit, the answer slipping your mind. miles was zoned out, like he was either thinking about a lot of things or nothing at all. you finally remembered the answer to the question, but when you said it, he didn’t reply, he just blinked slowly and let out a massive yawn. needing to read your notes, you turned around and reached for your tote bag. when you grabbed your notebook and turned to face miles, his head was down on the desk, sleeping. his sketchbook was open below him, and you didn’t want the pages to get crumpled, so you slid it out from under his head, careful to not wake him up.
as you lifted the cover to close the sketchbook, your eyes caught the page behind the empty one it was left on. you froze. it was a drawing of you. the sketch was gorgeous, and every detail was drawn on perfectly, from your hair to the outfit you wore to class just yesterday.
a soft shift in weight beside you made you look up. miles stirred, rubbing his eyes with a paint-stained thumb as he blinked up at you, completely bleary-eyed. he looked at you, then down at the open book in your hands, and the residual sleep instantly vanished from his face.
"hey," miles croaked, his voice cracking slightly from sleep as he scrambled to sit up straight. he yanked his hand back, knocking over a stray pencil that rolled across the desk. "uh, sorry. i didn't mean to pass out on you like that.”
you didn't move, your thumbs still resting on the edges of the open sketchbook.
miles followed your gaze down to the page. his eyes went wide, and he completely froze, his jaw dropping open a little bit. he made a desperate, clumsy grab for the book, his fingers slipping on the smooth paper.
"wait, no, that's just, um," he stammered, pulling the book closer to his chest and shutting it tight. he rubbed the back of his neck and looked everywhere in the room except at you, his chest heaving like he just finished a sprint. "i was just messing around with some shading techniques. it's not. i mean, you just look really nice when you're focused, you know? please don't think i'm a creep."
“it’s really good,” you said as you looked up from the sketch to his flustered face.
he looked surprised at your reaction, the wince leaving his face. “wait, really? you're not mad?” he asked, his voice dropping into a quieter, softer tone. he let out a long breath, his shoulders dropping as the panic left his body. “i was so stressed you'd think it was weird. i just, i don't know. every time i try to practice drawing portraits, my mind just goes straight to you.”
he looked down at the cover of the sketchbook, his thumb tracing the edge of the cardboard before he looked back up at you through his eyelashes. a small, shy smile finally cracked on his face.
“i can show you the other ones i did of you if you want,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
“there’s more?” you ask.
miles bit his inside lip, his eyes darting toward the floor for a second before he looked back up at you. he slowly opened the sketchbook again, his fingers carefully turning back a few pages.
"yeah, kind of a lot," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.
he turned the book toward you, revealing a page filled with smaller, messy graphite sketches. there was one of you laughing during lunch, another of you sleeping on the subway with your head against the window, and a detailed close-up of your hands holding a coffee cup. they were all drawn with so much care, capturing little moments you didn't even realize he was watching.
"i just start drawing, and my hands sort of do it on their own," miles said softly, his voice full of nerves as he watched your face for a reaction. "is it too much?"