𝙱𝙰𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙱𝙴𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙲𝙷𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃

•𝚃𝚆𝙾•

As the day drifted by, August felt a restless energy coursing through him. Seeking a creative outlet, he gravitated towards the kitchen counter, where his trusty sketchbook awaited. With a sense of familiarity, he flipped open the worn pages, the scent of graphite and paper filling his senses.

Slipping his AirPods into place, he immersed himself in a world of melodic rhythms, allowing the music to wash over him like a soothing wave. As the first notes echoed in his ears, August's hand seemed to move of its own accord, the pencil gliding effortlessly across the blank canvas before him.

Without conscious thought, his strokes began to take shape, forming lines and curves that danced across the page. It was as if his mind had surrendered control, allowing his subconscious to guide the pencil's path. Each stroke was an impulsive expression, a wordless manifestation of the emotions that swirled within him.

Time seemed to blur as August became lost in the meditative act of creation. The world around him faded into the background, leaving only the symphony of music and the rhythmic scratching of graphite against paper. With each passing moment, his sketch evolved, taking on a life of its own, a tangible representation of the artist's inner landscape.

Gradually, a familiar form began to emerge from the swirling lines – the delicate features of Yuna, etched onto the page with a tenderness that caught August by surprise. He hadn't consciously intended to capture her likeness, yet there she was, her essence brought to life through the gentle strokes of his pencil. It was as if some deep, unspoken part of him had taken control, pouring forth the image of the one who occupied his thoughts, unbidden yet undeniable.

Emory and Tracy enter the living room, their faces flushed with excitement and their eyes glued to the television screen. They had been engrossed in a game on the new PS5 they had just acquired. The room was filled with the sound of gunfire and explosions from the game, but August remained oblivious to their presence. He sat on the couch, his headphones on, completely immersed in his own world.

Tracy, always observant, glanced over at August and noticed the sketchbook lying open on his lap. His curiosity piqued, he leaned closer, his eyes widening with surprise. Emory, sensing Tracy's sudden interest, turned his head to see what had caught his attention.

Tracy's mouth dropped open as he saw that August had sketched Yuna, a mesmerizing woman they had all met just the night before. Tracy motioned for Emory to take a look, his humor bubbling over. But Emory, nonchalant as ever, shrugged it off, telling Tracy to leave August alone.

"This nigga never sketched any woman before," Tracy exclaimed, unable to contain his amusement.

August, realizing that he had been caught, quickly closed the sketchbook. He could feel his cheeks flush with embarrassment as the implications of his impulsive action sank in. Tracy continued teasing him, pointing out that he hadn't even slept with Yuna yet and he was already drawing her.

August, trying to brush off the teasing, replied, "I didn't think about it deeply. It's like my hand just took control on its own."

As the conversation continued, August let the music playing through his headphones drown out the rest of their words. He stared at his sketch, the pencil lines flowing effortlessly across the page. There was something about Yuna that had captivated him, even in such a short amount of time.

Emory, always the optimist, saw August's sketch as a potential turning point. He believed it could be the start of something great for August, a way for him to channel his emotions and creativity.

However, Tracy saw things differently. He encouraged August to step up his game, reminding him that he couldn't rely solely on his artistic abilities to win someone over. His words carried a slightly sarcastic undertone, hinting at his skepticism towards August's impulsive sketch.