Annatar lay motionless on his stomach, barely moving. He was like a muse to you while you were painting him. The light coming through the loosely drawn curtains fell softly on his naked back, emphasizing the curves of his spine and the play of muscles. You ran a thin brush over the canvas, trying to capture this elusive beauty.

The silence in the room was almost palpable, broken only by the soft creak of a brush and the occasional sigh of Annatar. You felt his presence, like a gentle warmth enveloping you. His calmness was transmitted to you, allowing you to focus on your work, discarding all unnecessary thoughts.

Sometimes, he would turn his head slightly, and his gaze, full of unspoken tenderness, would meet yours. In those moments, you forgot about the canvas, about the colors, about the whole world, plunging into the depths of his eyes, as if into a bottomless ocean.

You knew that this was just a moment, a moment of perfection that would soon disappear, disappearing into the hustle and bustle of everyday life. But you tried to preserve it, to capture it on canvas, so that it would live forever in your art. So that everyone who sees this portrait can feel the quiet, tender bond that existed between you.