The soft scratch of pencil against paper filled the room once more—steady, unhurried, a quiet rhythm neither of them felt compelled to break. Raven sat across from him, her true form still exposed, her shoulders no longer as rigid as before, though a faint tension lingered in the way her fingers rested against her thigh.
She glanced at him from time to time—not directly, never for long—but enough to notice. Enough to feel something unfamiliar settling quietly in her chest.
"You're… really not reacting at all," she said after a while, her voice softer than usual.
Leon didn't look up. "I am reacting."
A slight frown touched her lips. "No, you're not."
A small smile formed at the corner of his mouth. "Just not the way you expected."
Her gaze lingered on him a moment longer. "…Most people stare."
"I am staring," he replied calmly.
"That's different."
"How?"
She hesitated, searching. "…They look at me like I'm something strange. Something… wrong."
The pencil paused—just for a fraction of a second—before continuing its steady movement.
"And what do you think you are?" he asked.
Raven exhaled softly, her eyes drifting away. "…Different."
"That's not an answer."
"It is to me."
Leon tilted his head slightly, his attention shifting from the page to her. "Different doesn't mean wrong."
"It does when people look at you like that," she said, her voice tightening just enough to betray something deeper.
"And you decided to believe them?"
Her lips pressed together.
"That's not fair," she muttered.
"Why not?"
"Because…" She stopped, frustration flickering across her face. "Because it's not just one person. It's everyone."
Leon's gaze softened, though his tone remained steady. "Everyone you've met so far."
That made her look at him again.
There was no pity in his eyes. No forced comfort. Just a quiet, unwavering certainty.
"…You make it sound simple," she said.
"It isn't," he admitted. "But it's still true."
Silence followed, though it no longer felt as heavy.
Raven shifted slightly, her posture loosening without her realizing it. "So what? I'm just supposed to ignore it? Pretend it doesn't affect me?"
"No," Leon said. "You acknowledge it… and then decide it doesn't define you."
A small, incredulous laugh escaped her. "That sounds like something Charles would say."
"Does that make it wrong?"
"…No," she admitted, almost reluctantly.
The pencil moved again—faster now, more assured.
Raven watched him for a moment before speaking once more. "…Why me?"
Leon didn't answer immediately.
"You could've asked anyone," she continued. "There are plenty of people here who actually look… normal."
"Normal is overrated," he said lightly.
"That's not an answer either."
This time, he paused.
Then, quietly—"Because you hide."
Her breath caught.
"…What?"
"You're always someone else," he said. "Even when you don't need to be."
Her fingers tightened slightly. "…It's easier."
"I know."
She blinked, caught off guard by how quickly the words came.
"It's easier to become someone people accept than to risk being rejected as yourself," he continued.
"…Then why are you trying to change that?" she asked softly.
"I'm not," he said.
She frowned. "You're not?"
"I'm giving you a choice," he corrected.
The words settled between them.
A choice.
Not pressure. Not expectation. Just… an option.
Raven lowered her gaze to her hands, the blue of her skin catching the soft light spilling in from the balcony. For once, she didn't immediately feel the urge to hide it.
"…I don't know if I can do that," she admitted.
"You already are."
Her head lifted slightly. "…What?"
"You're still like this," he said, gesturing subtly toward her. "And you haven't changed back."
Raven stilled.
He was right.
She hadn't even noticed.
Something stirred in her chest—uneasy, unfamiliar… but not entirely unpleasant.
"…That's because you're busy drawing," she said, though the certainty in her voice had thinned.
Leon smiled faintly. "If that's what you want to believe."
She opened her mouth to argue… then stopped.
Because part of her knew it wasn't true.
Minutes passed, the sound of the pencil softening as the sketch neared completion.
"…Leon," she said suddenly.
"Hm?"
"…What if I don't like it?"
He didn't hesitate. "Then I'll draw you again."
The answer came so naturally it caught her off guard.
"You'd just… keep trying?" she asked.
"Until you see what I see."
She stared at him, something unreadable flickering in her yellow eyes. "…You're stubborn."
"I've heard that before."
A faint smile tugged at her lips—small, but real.
"…You're not like the others," she said after a moment.
"I didn't realize I was being compared."
"You are now."
"Should I be worried?"
"…No," she said softly. "It's… not a bad thing."
The room fell quiet again—but this time, it felt warmer. Safer.
The pencil finally came to a stop.
Leon studied the page for a few seconds, making a couple of precise final adjustments before closing the sketchbook halfway.
"Done," he said.
Raven's body tensed slightly.
The familiar unease returned—but it no longer felt overwhelming.
"…Already?" she asked.
"Time moves fast when you're overthinking."
She exhaled softly, her eyes fixed on the sketchbook. "…I'm not ready."
"You don't have to be."
Her fingers curled faintly. "…That doesn't help."
Leon chuckled under his breath and stood.
Without any dramatic pause, he walked toward her.
Raven instinctively straightened, her gaze following his every step.
He stopped in front of her, then lowered himself onto one knee in a smooth, unhurried motion. He held the sketchbook out—not presenting it, but offering it.
"…Here."
For a moment, she didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Then, slowly, she reached out.
Her fingers brushed the edge of the page before she carefully took it from him.
Her eyes fell to the sketch.
And stilled.
It was her.
Truly her.
Not softened. Not altered. Not hidden.
The texture of her skin, the sharp lines of her features, the intensity in her eyes—it was all there.
But…
It wasn't how she had always seen herself.
There was strength in the strokes. A quiet confidence in the way she was captured. Something steady. Something… real.
Her grip tightened slightly.
"I…" Her voice faltered. "…I don't look like this."
Leon rose and sat beside her—not too close, not distant either. Just enough to be there. A quiet presence.
"You don't see yourself like that," he said.
Her eyes remained on the drawing.
"…It's not ugly," she whispered.
The words felt unfamiliar. Strange.
Leon didn't interrupt.
He let the silence breathe.
"…It's not perfect either," she added, almost cautiously.
"It doesn't need to be," he said softly.
Raven swallowed, her gaze tracing the lines again—slower this time.
"…It feels… honest."
"That's the point."
Silence settled once more—but it was no longer heavy.
It was calm.
"…Leon," she said quietly.
"Hm?"
"…Thank you."
Simple words—but heavier than anything she had said before.
His smile softened. "You're welcome."
She hesitated, then—"…Can you teach me?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Drawing?"
She shook her head slightly. "…Seeing."
For the first time, Leon looked genuinely surprised.
Then, he chuckled softly.
"That might take longer."
"…I don't mind."
He studied her expression for a brief moment, then nodded. "Alright."
Raven looked back at the sketch, her fingers no longer tense against the page.
For the first time in a long while…
She didn't look away.
And beside her, Leon said nothing more.
He didn't need to.
Because this time—
She was finally beginning to see.
To be continued…
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