Maya is graceful and quick; two smooth movements and she's up beside him and settling in, sitting cross-legged.

(She's far enough that they both have personal space, but close enough that a lean would put her on his shoulder.)

She leans over (but not far enough), peering inquisitively at the sketchpad in his lap. "What are--



"Oh."

Her thumb brushes the edge of the page; she drinks in the figure's sad eyes, its half-smile.