wes-kwon

[wes-kwon]

WANTED CONNECTIONS ⟨  ✽  ⟩

✽                                       (   teachers  ) I know there are a lot of teacher/professor at Whitby characters in game. I think it’d be cool to have a connection where they get together for lunch, and just complain about work, gossip about the staff, etc. etc. the whole works. 

✽                                       (  players  ) Kind of a long shot but a player on his team. It could be just someone that goes to Whitby and got on the team w/e or a parent of someone on his team that’d be cool too. 

✽                                       (   neighbor  ) Could be that they don’t like Wesley and this is a more of an annoyance plot, or maybe they get along swimmingly, if they have a kid Wes can awkwardly baby sit, or they are closer to his age and they get together for some beers and to watch a game, or they are actually good cooks and take pity on Wes and feed him something healthy once in a while. 

✽                                       (   friends  ) Someone who knows him from way back and is still sticking around despite it all. 

✽                                       (   relatives  ) Maybe they are blood relative (of Korean ethnicity) or got married into Wes’ family, it’d be cool to explore some family dynamic - positive and negative encouraged !!!

✽                                       (   high school sweetheart  ) They were together in high school, bonus points if they were a cheerleader in HS bc Wes was that annoying jock and they could’ve been the bane of everyone’s existence back then. 

[wes-kwon]

[wes-kwon]

sculptcr​:

In retrospect, Won likely should’ve allocated himself to Wes’ team, seeing as he was determined to be the harbinger of misery. From Hajoon’s friend’s expression, Wes wasn’t being overly kind to her. Which in of itself was a little odd. Wes usually put the charm on thick when it came to women. And, Hajoon’s friend was pretty in that sort of way that Wes usually favored. 

But, whatever. Won wasn’t in the mood to try and play decipher Wes’ shitty moods. He wasn’t his significant other, after all. They were just friends. It wasn’t his responsibility to monitor his well being. 

So, Won let himself enjoy Hajoon’s attention. They had always been remarkably compatible. At least, physically. They wouldn’t work out in the grand scheme of things, but Won wasn’t really looking for a lifetime partner at the moment. He’d been working hard lately as well, who was to say he didn’t deserve a little fun? 

Even Wes couldn’t fault him the desire for companionship. 

So he let Hajoon slot up behind him, let him guide the cue stick, let him exhale hotly against his ear and it was going swimmingly until Wes’ words snapped, like a whip cracking in air, his displeasure on full display. 

Won’s expression soured, eyes lifting to hold Wes’ for a moment before they returned to the pyramid of balls. He let Hajoon pull his elbow back, guiding him, before pressing forward, sending the cue ball flying, breaking the others out of their shapely form. “Happy?” he snapped back, already feeling his irritation rising. 

.

They are laying it on a bit too thick. Wesley’s scowl is practically a comical tug on his mouth - lips forming a perfect loop with how hard he was pouting (which he wasn’t about to admit to either). 

To think that he could’ve just stayed in Won’s studio. Suddenly, Wesley regrets ever suggesting Conan’s. Couldn’t he get a break here? Won’s cue drives forward suddenly, sending the balls scattering - none of which actually made it in any pockets, Wes notes with a twisted sort of pleasure. The competitive, petty side of him seethes with snide excitement. 

“Yeah,” Wes bites back, tone equally as obnoxious, hefting his cue, looking for a ball he could get easily. “You’re the one that wanted to play pool,” Wes shoots Won a look, hoping his friend gets the message that he’s fucked up here. The whole night is quickly shaping out to be the opposite of what he wanted and Wes is annoyed. More than that actually. He keeps stealing looks at Hajoon, trying to remember details about their supposed hookup. He should’ve paid closer attention when Won talked about him. Seeing the two of them standing too close than what was normal for ‘just friends’ rears up something ugly in him. The exact same feeling that Wes sometimes got when he was on the ice, stick in hand, listening to the other team toss insults trying to bait them into making a mistake, starting a fight. Wes always gave in too easily. He imagines smashing something into Hajoon’s pretty face and is surprised at how tempting the idea is.

A solid red ball goes into one pocket and Wes stands up with a smirk. “Pay more attention next time, yeah?” He says. 

[wes-kwon]

sculptcr​

Won frowned. What the hell had crawled up Wesley’s ass on his trip to the bathroom? He’d been fine earlier – well, as fine as Wes was these days, ever since Riley had ended things. But, really, no matter what it was that had gotten his panties in a twist, it was no excuse to be rude to Hajoon. He’d been nothing but pleasant to Wes. 

“We’d love to,” he answered, shooting Wes a sharp look that clearly said argue and just see what happens. He slipped off his stool then, making it over towards Hajoon’s acquaintance, offering her a hand and harmless smile in greeting. 

He only glanced back once to make sure Wesley had followed them over to the pool tables, but then returned his attention to Hajoon. “You’ll have to remind me how to play,” he said, having forgotten completely how pool worked. It wasn’t his usual gig. 

.

There’s a warning in Won’s eyes when the other glares at him from over his friend’s shoulder and Wes doesn’t really have it in himself to feel shitty about it. He lags behind, swiping his beer from the bar, not making his displeasure hidden.  When he gets at the pool table Won’s already exchanging pleasantries with the asshole and his friend and Wes feels forgotten somehow. Which is a petty thought to have but he can own up to being petty. 

He has enough shit going on - being mature is a tall order these days. All he wanted was a nice night out, watching the game with Won. Instead, he gets a first roll seat to watching his only friend catch up with his past hook-up. Because Wes’ pretty sure that’s what they are. 

He’d roll his eyes at the bad flirting if he weren’t shocked how quick Won had delegated himself to Hajoon’s team. 

“Looks like it’s me and you, buddy.” The girl smiles at him, offering her hand and a name that he’s too busy glaring at the two men to hear. Hajoon has Won bent over the table, adjusting the cue in his hand (right, sure). 

“Are you going to break anytime soon or chit-chat all night?” He snapped, earning a bewildered look from his partner.

[wes-kwon]

“I can’t with these kids anymore.” Wes complained, a worn look on his face as he grumbled. “I swear it must be some sort of divine pay back for all the shit I pulled back when I was in their place.” His nose wrinkled, elbows on the table one hand digging into the messy strands of his hair. “A whistle,” Wes repeated. “A whistle taped to my exhaust pipe. I just...“

@portbriarstarters​

[wes-kwon]

sculptcr​:

Caught up in the attention, Won temporarily forgets why he’s even here at Conan’s. Said reason makes his presence known, however, with a cutting greeting, an imploring look, standing tall, looking entirely displeased that his seat has been taken. Won shoots him a sharp look of his own that clearly conveys for him to calm down. 

He sighs, turning towards Wes, still pressed along Hajoon’s side. “Hyung,” he says, addressing Hajoon first, “This is Wes, my longtime friend.” Then, he dares a glance at Wes, annoyed to find storm clouds hiding in his gaze. “Wes, this is Hajoon. And yes,” he says, a bit miffed. “We know one another.” He offers up no other explanation because, really, has Wes already forgotten his dating roster? He’s a bit insulted, if he’s honest. 

“Oh,” Hajoon says suddenly, giving Wes a cursory up an down. “So this is Wesley Kwon.” He hums, looking over at Won as if they were sharing a secret – which they were, but damn it, why did he have to allude to that now, that dick. “It all makes sense now.” 

“Hyung,” he says, all teeth, hand dipping down to pinch the top of Hajoon’s hand. “Shut up.”

Hajoon merely laughs in response, the hand not wrapped snug around Won’s waist reaching out in greeting towards Wes. “A pleasure.” 

.

Hajoon. The name stirs up memories, maybe a conversation or two where Won’s mentioned that exact same name and he doesn’t need to remember it exactly to put two and two together. Wesley might be dull, but he can tell when two people have fucked before and left it on good terms. It only serves to annoy him though, because - great, now he’s the third wheel to Won’s reunion with a hook-up buddy. Hyung. Won’s not bothered to use the honorific with him most the time, even when his mother bad eyes him over it at dinner when Wes has agreed to stay over and the conversation flows in Korean more than English. But now, now he has no issue with it. 

“Yeah, the one and only,” His mouth goes tight, brows hanging low and confused over whatever the two seem to share only with a look. In on the joke. Only this time Wes is the topic. His shoulders square up, hackles rising. His eys doesn’t soften, he glares something mean, low browed over the possessive arm that goes around Won’s small waist and Wes wants to slap the guy’s hand away. The cocky way in which he’s holding it out in a greeting, as if he didn’t just crash, uninvited their night out, making Wesley feel like he’s the odd one out. 

“Right.” He grips tight, the cords in his hand flexing as he crushes the guy’s knuckles into his palm. “Same here, but - uh, me and Won were about to have a beer together, so,” Wes knocks his head in a direction away from their seats. The kindest ‘get lost‘ he can muster, crossing both hands over his chest.

“Oh,” Hajoon laughs, looking at Won like this is somehow news to him. “Actually, I was playing pool with a friend of mine. I was about to ask if you guys want in. Two against two.” Wes glances at his friend, a sweet brunette - round face and cute chubby cheeks that push into a devastatingly cute dimpled smile when she gives them a little wave. Wes opens his mouth to decline the offer regardless.

[wes-kwon]

sculptcr​:

Won’s lips pressed into a thin line, Wes’ words playful, the sort that, between normal friends, would’ve been harmless. But, the fact of the matter was that Won had followed Wes around like a lost puppy. But, the reasons vastly differed from what Wesley likely thought. He laughed, the sound of it slightly off, though it was lost to the sudden onslaught of cheering. “Guess I’m just a masochist,” he replied drolly, waving Wes away as he bounded off to the restroom to take a leak. Honestly, what did he even like about him again?

Wes wasn’t gone but two minutes before someone took his seat, saddling up next to Won with an alarming amount of familiarity. He turned, glare at the ready, when he recognized the person who’d taken up residence next to him. “Hajoon?” he said, unable to conceal his surprise. It wasn’t a bad surprise – he and Hajoon had a good time the previous summer, one that ended with no drama and only positive feelings – but it was a surprise nonetheless. 

“Fancy meeting you here,” Hajoon drawled, arm automatically sliding around Won’s waist to pull him closer. 

Won rolled his eyes, but didn’t pull away. He wasn’t one to turn down Hajoon’s advances, not after his spent the evening nursing the broken heart of his unrequited loved. If anything, he deserved this sort of distraction. Instead, he merely cocked his head, asking: “When did you get back in town?” 

.

He’s gone for what feels like less than a minute. The bar’s loud noises get muffled and Wesley, for a moment, is left with just his thoughts and the running sink water that his hands are under. Which is never good. He’s all too prone to slipping back into the welcoming embrace of the past, like there’s something ominous that sits just behind his shoulder and it would take just a glance over to have its teeth sink in him. He has to shake himself, move past the cloud in his mind like a physical barrier. Hands wiped over the back of his jeans and he’s shouldering his way past the door and the crowd. 

He doesn’t expect his seat to be filled by the time he’s there, almost slips past the spot, in confusion. But yes - there’s a friendly face now sitting at the freshly vacated spot and the momentary confusion is quickly replaced by a flick of annoyance. That’s how his emotions are these days - ready at the flick of a switch. A phone call. A word spoken by someone in passing. And that’s it. Wes is gone, mood ruined, day flipped on it’s axis. 

“Hey,” He greets, tone too serious if a little cutting. “Uh, I don’t think we’ve met,” Wes gives Won a questioning look, asking for an explanation on how this guy materialized in his seat. “And you’re sitting in my seat, buddy.” More barb, this time in the tight lift of his smile that feels more like an accusation than a friendly gesture and Wesley thinks this guy looks familiar. He’s seen him before, maybe, but he can’t bring himself to remember a name to match the pretty boy looks. “You two know each other?” He asks, noting the way the guy has a hand still clinging onto Won’s back, a little too familiar to be an accident and that’s annoying as well. 

[wes-kwon]

sculptcr​:

Won followed Wes’ gaze to where it lingered on the booth at the far end of Conan’s. If Riley hadn’t ended things with Wes, perhaps they would all three still be sitting there. And while it was bittersweet for Wes, he was sure, all Won could feel was relief. Relief that he no longer at to sit beside them, watch how tenderly Wes treated Riley, how sweetly they interacted, all while his heart ached with a longing he had no right to feel.

He looked away, purposefully avoiding the expression he knew would be fully displayed on Wes’ face. It was one he knew he’d often wore himself. Perhaps if Wes wasn’t so self-involved he might’ve recognized it. He was quietly thankful his friend didn’t seem to. 

He sighed at Wes’ friendly jab. He preferred being elbow deep in clay. It allowed him to feel things he couldn’t otherwise verbalize. “Yeah, yeah,” he replied, helpless to Wes, as usual, the rigidness bleeding right out of him as Wes clapped him on the shoulder, squeezing. “You weren’t aware that your mere existence is the cause of all my suffering?” he teased, though Wes would never know how true that statement was. 

.

Won goes a little boneless, easy whenever Wesley gets his hands on him. He thinks that’s normal with all the hours, sometimes days, he spends hunched over working with his hands and even then he’s almost always refusing when Wes offers to give him a massage, he does it for the boys on the team. Even before his coaching position, back at Whitby too. Wesley never listened though, one way or another usually with some force, Won was under his hands in no time going lax whenever he found a particularly sore spot and pressed. Like holding a kitten by the scruff, all the tension bleeding right out of him. 

Wesley chuckled. “Right,” He rolled his eyes. On the TV screen, the goalie missed a puck that went straight into his net and the whole place exploded with some cheers and yells of frustration. Evidently, some people would end up losing money tonight. “How could I forget, is that why you kept following me around like a puppy in high school? Because I was such a pain in the ass?” Wes chuckled, sliding off his chair as he pointed at the screen. “Gotta go take a leak, keep an eye on the game for me, alright? I’ve got a fifty on the ones in red.”

[wes-kwon]

sculptcr​:

Won should protest as Wes pushes him by the shoulder towards the only gap in the bar, the seats too-close, their bodies pressed alongside each other. It’s warm, smells of cheap food, and it’s the exact sort of place Won would never come on his own. Still, the side that Wes is pressed against feels too-hot, over warm in the worst of ways. Won ignores it, as he’s gotten used to doing. It’s like second nature now, forcing down the part of him that is attracted to Wes. He’d long ago lost that battle – he has a place beside Wes, just not the one he’s always longed for. 

“How dreadful,” he says faux morosely, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He flags down the bartender, ordering them round. If he’s going to be here, he might as well get a good buzz going. 

As their drinks arrive, Won silently slides Wes’ towards him, having already accepted that he’s lost his friend to the game. Typical. 

. 

He dips his lips into the cold brew, eyes cast around the bar and it’s bittersweet - coming here. Some days it feels like the whole of Port Briar is littered with memories Wes wishes he could erase. He spots the booth that used to be their regular, snug in the corner, enough seats for him and Riley and Won and whoever else that had tagged along for the night. Wes could all but see the ghost memory of him, arm thrown over Riley’s shoulders as she cuddled up to him or yelled something with zealous fervor at the TV whenever her favorite team lost. He’d laugh and just order another round of beers and potatoes skins for the whole table, toss jokes at Won’s pinched expression until the line between the other’s brows eased up. 

He didn’t know for how long he’d done that - stare at nothing, the sound of the pub fading into the background noise before Wes jerked himself out of it. 

“If it weren’t for me you’d be holed up in that studio for the next four weeks, elbows deep in clay.” Wes grinned, “Stop acting like I’ve dragged you here just to suffer.” He gave the younger the kind of smile that experience had taught him makes Won a little more lenient. One hand coming to rest on his friend’s shoulder, squeezing down as he playfully shakes him. 

[wes-kwon]

[wes-kwon]

sculptcr​:

Quite possibly, Wes was the only man who could claim he wasn’t sulking while the sulk still hung heavy in his tone. Honestly. Which one of them was the older one, again? Because, Won sure as hell felt like the oldest at times like these. Especially when Wes resorted to such low measures as calling him Won-ah. “That your way of telling me my art is a waste of time, hyung?” He asked, words thick with sarcasm, tone overly dry and unamused. 

He rolled his eyes. Won didn’t know why he bothered putting up a fight. In the end, when it came to Wes, he always got what he wanted. Wasn’t that the hallmark of their friendship, to begin with? He sighed, already moving to follow Wes, fingers flexing as he fixed his white collared shirt, other hand grabbing absently for the beige overcoat he looked best in. “Mmhm,” he hummed, already knowing Wes’ idea of making it up to him and actually making it up to him nearly always differed. “Two rounds,” he corrected. “And you drive.” 

.

Wes smiled, pleased that he has his way - yet again, even if he fails to make it less obvious. Almost manages to feel something like satisfaction before the pleased tug on his lips starts feeling a little unnatural, out of practice. The hyung only pulls a laugh out of him, eyes rolling. He doesn’t know the first thing about art, except that Won’s sculptures look good. Sometimes too strange, a little weird - almost like Won’s trying to say something, but Wes doesn’t get it. He used to walk around exhibitions and listen to people talk about his friend’s work with big words and Wes felt like they were in on something he couldn’t grasp: “Uh-uh.” He grinned, “You’re finally catching on.” Wes nodded, teasing obvious. 

“Two rounds.” He parrots back, already stepping out of the studio, his SUV parked at the front yard, “Promise.” Even though he already knew they’d stay for more than two rounds, because Won was easy to convince like that. 

It’s a much easier task when they do get to Conan’s - out of the chilly air out and welcomed by warmth and the scent of beer and cheap food. Wes takes exactly a second before he’s pushing Wes by the shoulder and shoves him in the direction of the bar and the last two empty seats. It’s a tight squeeze, thighs and shoulders tightly pressed together. Wesley’s attention goes right to the TV. 

“See,” He complains. “Missed the first half the game already.” 

[wes-kwon]

sculptcr​:

Won managed to keep his face neutral only because he’d known Wes for so long. The bitter edge to his sarcasm, however, was new. Won knew why –  it wasn’t like Wes’ broken heart was some big secret. Really, he should count it as a win that Wes was even up to going out. But still, he’d be lying if he didn’t admit, even to himself, that Wes’ words stung, the quip about a happy ending wounding his pride somewhat. 

It wasn’t the first time Wes inadvertently hurt his feelings, nor would it be the last. But, Won had long since learned how to deal with and accept Wes’ complete lack of awareness. “I go out,” he said, ignoring the childish way Wes spun on the stool he’d provided him. “You’re the one who has been sulking,” he said, not really caring to be careful with Wes’ feelings, lord knew the other wasn’t careful with his. “I wasn’t aware Conan’s was giving out happy endings these days.” 

.

“I’m not sulking.” Wes responds, out of habit, people nag too much these days. His mother calls almost twice a day: lengthy, annoying conversations, that always end up the same, while his father refuses to talk. The silence is exhausting, but Wes is too stubborn to be the one who breaks it first. Irritation bubbles up, itching under his skin like a physical thing. “I just don’t want to waste all night here, Won-ah” He says, hearing the sulk in his tone which only serves to frustrate him further. 

“Sure they do - if you smile pretty.” Wes hops off the chair, his jacket tossed nearby, strung up across Won’s unfinished work. Humanoid figures covered up that give him the honest to god creeps every time he’s here. Wes doesn’t know how Haewon spends so much time in this place, surrounded by these mute eyes. “Let’s go. I’ll buy the first round and I’ll get you onion rings. You can’t work without a model, anyway. I’ll make it up to you, alright?” 

[wes-kwon]

adriansmysteries​:

starter: open. ( @portbriarstarters​ )  location: xp comics & games. 

“I don’t know why he’s not talking to me.” The exasperated father confesses to the poor person beside him, who likely did not want to be caught in this conversation with the distraught parent, but was fated to be in Adrian’s path at the wrong time. Alas, it was a habit of the writer to abuse of people’s sympathy. You give him a hand, he will take your whole arm. Next thing you know, you’ve learned entirely too much about his ails. “He knows I don’t like Iron Man and think he’s a subpar superhero, but I went ahead and threw him the Iron Man themed party anyway, didn’t I? So what if I said I wouldn’t get him an Iron Man collectible? I gotta draw the line somewhere. Those things cost an arm and a half.” It all sounded perfectly reasonable to Adrian, who turns back to the shelf with pursed lips and a frown on his face. His gaze lingers on an overpriced Batman figure, then back to his companion. 

“Now Batman, that’s a superhero. I actually got one of those at home.” Realizing he’s omitted the lead, the writer shakes his head. “It’s the whole reason Rafa’s mad at me, but I get to buy myself a Batman if I want to. It’s my money. Right?" 

.

"Uh-huh.” Wes gives a sound that’s more or less left up to interpretation - he’s not listening, really. He wasn’t a big fan of books and the reading that went with them in high school, it came with the jock territory. Wes didn’t have the time and his father never really encouraged studying further than the GPA that he had to keep up to be part of the team anyway. And if you were part of the team and that team won, teachers tended to be lenient with you. So he got off easy. No interest in books, even the ones that had mostly pictures in them.

Now movies - movies he got, those and games. Back in the dorms of Whitby he’d spent too many hours playing Call of Duty with his teammates, blowing off steam after practice. It was bonding. It worked. He doesn’t have people to play with now, but he has the free time. So it’s honestly a pure chance that he found himself in the store. 

“I don’t know, dude.” Wes mutters. “Sounds like you’re being a hater,” The guy tosses a look back. “And Iron man’s totally bad ass, so.“ He shrugs. “I say suck it up and buy the kid the damn toy.”

[wes-kwon]

[wes-kwon]

sculptcr​:

Won was annoyed, though it didn’t show on his face. He’d only asked Wes as a last resort after his other model had cancelled last minute. He knew very well how unwilling and unable his childhood friend was to sit still for any amount of time. If he was even marginally arrogant, he would’ve asked Wes if hurrying genius was wise, but he was much too passive for such blatant displays of confidence. 

Instead, his grabbed for his favored shaper, glanced at Wes’ arm, and quietly committed the movement to memory. “I don’t remember agreeing to go with you,” he said absently, gaze returning to his latest sculpture. He dragged the curved edge against the clay, gliding the medium into the shape he desired. “In case you forgot, Wooyoung, I’m not holding a gun to your head. You’re free to leave if you’re that anxious to go yell at a TV.” 

_

He hadn’t agreed. Because Wes hadn’t asked. It’s the kind of thing that doesn’t occur to him when it comes to Won: asking. He’ll bitch and frown and come regardless. Or Won’s version of bitching, at least - used to be mellow sort of protests when he was younger and disapproving frowns now that they are few years older.  

“As opposed to standing here and being felt up without a happy ending?” Wes’ mouth goes flat - the sarcasm’s a new addition to his vocabulary. His broken heart honing it to a sharp edge. “Yeah.” He draws another sigh, turns a full 360 on the little pedestal of a chair. “When’s the last time you went out?” 

[wes-kwon]

sculptcr​:

There was comfort in the hyperfixation of sculpting, a silence in his brain that allowed Won to just breathe. It felt as if someone had closed every single tab open in his brain, silenced the chorus of too much, and left an empty space for creativity. He didn’t consider himself a very tactile person, but for his art, such things became necessary. It was easier to feel the chords of muscles, to memorize the way they stretched and coiled, before recreating them in an entirely different medium. 

His mouth pursed, brows furrowing as he followed the line of his model’s arm, watching the way it dipped and curved. His touch was feather soft, without intimacy, meant only to explore in the strictest, most professional of fashion. He paused at their wrist, gently turning their arm so he could get a good look at the underside of it, at the way the muscles responded to movement.  

Only then did he released them, expression one of contemplation. “Could you flex your arm for me?” he requested, voice sounding far away, fingers already thrumming, craving to recreate. 

@portbriarstarters​​

_

He draws a  breath, a single sound somehow both resigned and annoyed. This isn’t the first time Wesley has surrendered to this. Whatever Won sees in the muscles that make people people, the two of them must see it very differently. Because frankly - Wes isn’t sure what’s up with the fascination, really. A body’s a body - it does what it’s supposed to. He’s so used to seeing his own as a tool. To be kept in condition and working - sure. And yet, he’d never once stopped to admire the lines and shapes that muscles do the way Won does sometimes. 

“We should’ve been at Conan’s an hour ago,” He complains, fingers tightening in a loose fist as he flexes regardless, “We’re going to miss the game.” It’s so close to Friday night that Wesley is willing to convince himself that it is, toss back a beer and just yell at a TV for two or three hours at a stretch then go home and toss back a few more glasses of whiskey before he fell asleep on his couch: “Can we hurry this up?”

[wes-kwon]

audrcyfern​:

audrey  had  been  painting  all  day ,  it  was  a  sunday  which  meant  henry  would  be  with  her  dad  at  scoops  likely  so  she  got  this  time  to  paint.  audrey  always  thought  that  when  an  artist  didn’t  use  their  hands  for  a while,  it  was  always  a  little  rusty  similar  to  riding  your  bike  again  after  a  while.  she  was  always  moving  her  hands  though  whether  it  be  changing  diapers,  scooping  ice  cream,  taking  notes,  drawing  in  her  sketch  book,  driving.  her  hands  never  grew  tired.  ❝  have  you  ever  been  drawn  before  ??  ❞  audrey  blurted  out  to  the  person  beside  her,  she  brushed  her  hair  back  and  smiled  at  them  one  of  those  audrey  fern  smiles.  you  could  bring  someone  back  from  the  dead  with  a  smile  as  fierce  and  heartfelt  as  hers.  ❝  it’s  just  .  .  .  well  ,  i’m  trying  to  get  better  at  drawing  people  you  see.  i  draw  a  lot  of  faces  but  not  so  much  the  person  ,  the  body  ,  you  know  ??  ❞

_

He’s no stranger to the pains of sitting for someone’s sketches. Seems fun at first, before Wesley’s inability to keep still becomes an issue. He struggles with it. 

“Yeah,” He nods, scratching at his brow, with something of a frown etched on his face. “Once or twice back during my university years when money were tight.” Posing for a whole class of people was bad enough on it’s own. Doing so with a hangover was an experience. 

“I’ve been told I make for a shitty model, actually.” Wes looked up, brow arched. A question. “How I’m doing so far?“