Chekov sat at the desk in his room. Scribbling furiously on a sheet of paper. He had to make this just right. It had to be perfect. Had to be.
It was a picture of you. He looked back up at the picture you and him had taken about a week ago. It was of you and him, you were smiling, sunshine making your hair glow. It was taken during shore leave.
He looked back down at the paper. He didn't think he was all that good, but you loved his artwork. Chekov finished drawing your hair, and started on your face.
He worked on your nose, and eyes. The eyes were the hardest part. He made sure to include as much emotion as possible in your eyes. Then he drew your mouth. Working out the way is was slanted slightly to one side, the way your lips looked.
He finished it off with the little pattern on your shirt. Then set the pencil down. He examined his work, satisfied.
It looked as though someone had taken a black and white picture of you, and put it on the paper.
It was perfect.
Pavel knew you'd love it. Because he put all of his heart into it. He picked up the pencil again, and signed his name at the bottom. The at the top, he wrote "To (y/n)" in his best handwriting.
He rolled it up, and put it in his pocket, ready to give it to you first thing in the morning.
Then, he went to bed, dreaming of your reaction to the picture. Dreaming of how your cheeks would grow redder than tomatoes, how you'd get teary eyed, and hug him.
He dreamed of how he'd tell you that he loved you, and mean it, with all his soul. Because it was true. He loved everything about you. And he hoped, that you loved him too.
