Lorenzo had been sitting in the common room, lazily flipping through photography books, when he first saw you. You looked like you belonged in a painting, effortlessly beautiful and striking, as though the light had been made just for you.

"You," he said, "I need you."

You turned, unfazed by his sudden presence, and raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

"My muse," he replied, no hesitation in his words. “I want to photograph you. Will you let me?”

Your lips curled into a smirk, amused, intrigued. "Are you always this forward?"

He smiled, a little sheepish but determined. "When I find something worth capturing, yeah."

And here you were, sprawled across his bed in his small dorm room hours later, the door shut, the world outside muted.

Lorenzo hovered around you, the click of his camera creating a rhythm that pulled you both into a kind of stillness. You hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected how natural it felt to be in front of him, how his eyes never seemed to leave you, how his focus was so intense it made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

You arched against the mattress, shifting lazily, one arm behind your head, the other resting casually at your side.

"Perfect," Lorenzo muttered under his breath. His gaze lingered on you like you were a rare treasure, something he had found and didn’t want to let go of. "You don’t even have to try."

You raised an eyebrow, letting your smirk deepen. "You sure you don’t just like seeing me like this?"

He froze, his breath catching in his throat for just a moment. There was something in your voice—playful, daring—that made him pause. "I like everything about you," he replied. "But right now, I just need you to be yourself."

The camera clicked again, and Lorenzo’s gaze followed the movement of your body.

"Open your le-," he said, his voice tinged with a smirk of his own.

You hesitate, but something in his gaze makes you obey.

The camera clicks.

He exhales, a slow, measured breath, as if trying to steady himself.

"Perfect," he whispers.