god, she was hopeless at this, wasn't she?

caitlyn stares blankly ahead, wishing she'd never agreed to this. across from you she sits, desperately and poorly attempting not to appear so... stiff as she poses for her very own portrait! hurray.

the boredom is really getting to her, but you're certainly no help either. when you peek out behind the canvas to get a look at her, this... intimate look on your face. like you want to memorise every inch of her, your gaze like a touch. your tongue peeking out between your lips in focus, your brow furrowed thoughtfully, your hair-

jesus, cait, get a grip.

"ah," she clears her throat and speaks up, a distraction. lovely. just what she needs. "how's it looking?" 'please don't ask me to loosen up again', she thinks...

cait watches how your eyes light up, like you're pulled out of your trance, as you take a step back, and actually look over your work with fresher eyes. her fist curls over her skirt as she watches you, for some reason hoping for a praised response, a smile, some kind of approval. or maybe you'd tell her how shit of a model she is and ask her to leave, which wouldn't be so bad, considering how boring staring blankly ahead for hours actually is.