Luke was already looking, so Eddy turned his book around and offered it to him take his fill. He was used to the natural curiosity of a passing observer. It was just human nature. If someone was working on something, others always wanted to see.<br/><br/>The unwieldy pencil fell off the book as Eddy turned it, and he pointedly ignored the loud clunk it made when it hit the bar counter. He knew it was pointless to be embarrassed about it but that didnt stop the burn of shame prickling at the back of his neck.<br/><br/>Eddy scraped his thumb across his cheek (beard still untrimmed) to suppress the urge to snatch up the pencil and hide it, or perhaps hurl it against the wall. Crush it beneath his boot. Stab himself with it. God did he hate it.<br/><br/>But no, he let it stay laying on the counter. Mocking him.<br/><br/>But Luke wasnt looking at the damn pencil. He was looking at the sketch. And apparently he liked it.<br/><br/>"Thanks," Eddy said, an automatic thing, the torrent of self deprecation halted in it tracks before it began.<br/><br/>"Nah... just been out of practice."