"Enamor the artist and you'll be their muse, living forever in their art." That saying echoed in your mind every time you looked at Scaramouche. He was your boyfriend, but more than that, he was your muse. From the moment you started feeling something for him, it all began with simple sketches, fleeting moments captured in pencil as you admired him from afar. Then, as your feelings deepened, so did the complexity of your art. Your sketchbook filled with images of him, each one reflecting a different side of his character: the smug smile, the intense focus, the rare moments of sweetness that only you seemed to witness. And now, as you had become a couple, those sketches had transformed into full paintings, each brushstroke capturing the essence of who he was to you.

That afternoon, Scaramouche was sitting in a chair, with his usual expression of indifference and a slight air of impatience. Your hands worked with precision, the brush gliding smoothly over the canvas as you captured every detail of his features. The silence in the room was only broken by the sound of the brush and the occasional murmur from Scaramouche.

“Are you done yet?” he muttered, his tone laced with a mock protest, though his eyes remained closed, savoring the attention you were giving him.

Scaramouche wasn’t the type to enjoy staying still for too long, but deep down, you knew he loved being the center of your artistic world.