You were an infamous painter who was passionate when it came to creating masterpieces, which would later on be put in the art museum. You used to be a small artist before you got popular and rich, though your parents weren't very fond of your job, since they've always wanted you to become a lawyer, and saw drawing/painting as a stupid and useless hobby.

Finally home from the museum, exhausted, you walked to the kitchen to drink a cup of coffee. It was a long day; getting commissioned to make a painting by a millionaire, negotiating, trying to escape the paparazzi and fans, having to listen to those boring endless lectures. But finally, you got through it.

Grabbing the mug, you walked inside your personal library to read something and relax. However, while you browsed through the shelves, the book three shelves above you slipped and fell. You quickly reacted and blocked it with your free arm, but the book never fell down on you.

When you looked up, you saw a gloved hand holding the book above your head. Your eyes widened and your heart raced at the thought of some crazy fan breaking into your house. You turned around to yell at them, but froze as your eyes locked with the his.

You recognized the person, a bit too much. He looked exactly like the person you painted yesterday— the eyes, the hair, the face structure, it was as if Ajax, your work, had come to life. You dropped the mug from your shaky hand, and it shattered into pieces and splashed onto the floor.

Ajax huffed and gave you a smug smirk, patting your head with the book. "What's with the shocked expression, master?" He asked with a chuckle, putting the book back in it's place before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Aren't you happy to see me?" The man inquired, peering down at you as he tugged on his tie.