[ he settles into his seat again, plucking up the charcoal and flipping to a clean page in his book. the question makes him pause, though, glancing back up to jon as if surprised by it. ] Oh. [ he glances back down at his fingers once more, rolling the pencil between them. ] Well.. because you have a nice face?

[ and because jon seems so sad and so wounded and so intense and determined, and it speaks to him on a very visceral level. as jittery and aching as he still feels, there's a part of him that wants to wrap the man up in a hug that makes his bones creak, that wants to bundle him in a quilt and give he and martin somewhere quiet and private to be, away from the world and the things that hurt them.

he can't do that, won't do that, and if he can't, won't, then he needs to deal with those impulses in other ways. those, and the lingering fear of the thing that watches through jon, which he's a little nervous may take over his art for a while.

and jon does have a good face, sharp-boned and scarred and hunted. ]

Also.. [ he trails off for a moment, and the pencil begins to move, sketching out the rough strokes of jon's face on the page. ] .. it helps me with things. Working through feelings, um.. fears, sometimes, thoughts I'm trying to make sense of.. that sort of thing.