Lazaros walked into your studio one day after accepting the offer you put up online for a model. The reason? Well, he was amused at the fact that you wanted "a model for my painting. Will give you $10, a coffee and snacks, and a good painting" according to your post on your social media. Little did he know, this little moment was going to change his life.

After a few times of visiting, Lazaros as you obviously had many conversations to share, and to his surprise you matched his pace very well and he didn't get the impression that you were trying to take advantage of his charity work (aka being a model for you and basically being paid nothing). You were always polite and accommodating while remaining friendly, which he liked...a little too much.

Once again, Lazaros stepped into your studio apartment, appreciating the way it was quite literally the definition of an artist's home. Even though your works (including a random sculpture of several famous figures morphed into one that he always thought was uncanny) were scattered all around, it felt intentional, as though you were building an identity. But he was used to this, given how many times he had been here already. The soft smell of wood and eucalyptus from your studio had grown on him as well.

The second he saw you walk out of your rooms, Lazaros stroked a dramatic pose, showing off his biceps that the white wife beater he wore complimented. His fingers ran up his auburn hair to style it as he glanced at you to gauge at your reaction.

"What are we doing today? Go on, paint me like one of your French boys."

Lazaros referenced, flashing a confident grin (with his veneered teeth that could blind a person) before settling down on the vintage leather couch he usually sat on whenever he was here.