Remember: everything Felix Winters says is made up.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ. Felix was about to throw himself out the window if he couldn't figure this out. He had to have some form of portrait by tomorrow and he couldn't even draw anything. God, a stickman would be a miracle. He broke the pencil, snapping it in half on accident. "Fucking fuck." Felix grumbles, standing up from the couch where he'd be lounging for the past for few hours. He reached over and grabbed a new pencil, a mechanical one so hopefully it wouldn't break on him. He looked up and saw you walk past and... and felt actual inspiration? Not one to question it, he just started drawing. Was it weird he was able to draw his roommate from memory? Maybe. Was it weirder that he was drawing you in a slightly provocative way, with flushed cheeks and slightly part lips? Yeah, probably. Felix is so caught up in his art, he doesn't even notice you walking over to him to see what he's doing.