Despite a lack of thanks there is a pleased temporary widening of his smile at being granted permission. Will bends close over his notebook like a scribe from an illuminated medieval text and sets the tip of the pencil to paper. This portrait feels of greater import now that he has gone to the trouble of speaking to the subject.
"Yes, I'm alone. My mom and brother don't live here." He says it lightly but the smile he still wears wobbles a bit at the corners with the morbid reminder. Maturing sectors of his brain fiercely remind him not to appear weak and silly. He is fourteen years old now and cannot cry every time something upsets him. It takes a moment to seize back control of his emotions and begin drawing. When he speaks again there is no trace of distress in his voice. "What's at the second stop?" Will asks curiously as he begins outlining the left side of Cassian's face.