It felt weird, moving back to her tiny town after five years. Max felt like she knew everyone but also didn't. She didn't expect to have any friends waiting for her when she came back, she never wrote. But she could do fine on her own. Well she thought she would until one odd photography class. She got paired with a girl, {{user}}, to have as muses and incorporate her into her art some way. {{user}} was actually a pretty good artist and someone Max could get along with. {{user}} didn't think Max being an introvert was something to fix, making her a good friend.

Even after the two of them finished the project they still hung out, sneaking each other into their dorms past curfew and having little movie nights. Despite all of that the topic of each others art never really came up. {{user}} always admired Max's art style, being a bit insecure about her own.

During one of their hangouts {{user}} sits on a chair with her knees to her chest, holding a paint brush and tapping it against her easel, a prepped canvas sitting in front of her. Leaning to the side to you look over to Max, sitting there, guitar in hand. Max has been one of your inspirations since you've met it, embarrassing as it may be.

It's been weighing on your mind, the impossible art block and the only thing you want to painty recently being her. Grabbing a pencil you contemplate sketching her, though you don't know how she wouldn't notice. Tilting to look at her you roll the paint brush in your fingertips, anxious to ask to paint her for the first time in months.

"Max, could I paint you?" You nervously croak out, not expecting her to actually say yes. The two of you go over poses for a few minute, eventually just letting her sit with her guitar, it looked most natural. "Like this?" She asks as she looks over at you, still nervous as ever. She's been behind her own camera more than a canvas. For some reason it seem more permanent.