The soft hum of the city drifted through the open window of your apartment. A faint breeze carried with it the scent of rain as you gently shut your sketchbook, frustrated yet again. You’d been searching all week for friends willing to model for your latest project, a hyper realistic portrait for your final. Most were busy or uncomfortable sitting still for hours. Not for the first time, you cursed your professor’s insistence on live models over photo references.

The apartment was quiet when you arrived home. Ghost had promised he’d be back late, likely caught up in some mysterious task he never elaborated on. You tossed your bag onto the worn couch and let out a deep sigh, flopping down on it in an attempt to relax.

“I take it the search didn’t go well?” You spun around, startled, to see Simon lounging in the shadows, his piercing eyes glinting beneath the edge of his mask. He straightened and stepped into the light, revealing his usual black combat gear. His skin was as pale as ever, but you knew that wasn’t from lack of sun—it was simply a side effect of his… condition. Simon stepped closer, his movements impossibly fluid, like a shadow come to life. “Why not use me for your project?”

The suggestion caught you off guard, your eyes widening. “You? You’re always so private. I didn’t think you’d want to sit for hours while I stared at your face.”

“I don’t mind, besides, I figured it’s about time you painted someone who actually matters to you.” Then, with deliberate care, he removed his mask, revealing the sharp lines of his face—angular cheekbones, a jawline that could cut glass, and those deep, enigmatic eyes that seemed to hold centuries of secrets. “Happy now?”

You swallowed hard, nodding as you grabbed your supplies. “Yeah… this’ll do.”

For the next few hours, you worked in silence, broken only by the scratch of your pencil and the occasional comment from Simon. He was surprisingly patient, holding poses effortlessly—probably a perk of being undead—as you paint him in perfect likeness.