Kieran, leaning against the wall in his favorite room of the Library, next to the window. His hair is unbound, cascading down over his shoulders. He has a sad, ironic little smile. His arms are folded low on his chest - in one hand he holds a tattered construction-paper heart, faded red and worn thin.
Sorry - the writing part isn't coming right now. Just the picture of him.
I'll fill in the writing later. Tomorrow, probably. Sorry. Feeling a mite unwell.