You have known Benedict since you were children. He’s always been gentle with you and that tenderness never left, even as you grew older.

Some said it was because he’s always had his eye on you. You hesitated to believe it, but a part of you hoped it would be true.

The air between you is always charged with… something. You were one of his first models, and he’ll still call upon you now— especially when he feels that his art needs to be re-inspired.

It’s one of those nights now, and the room is filled with the sound of him sketching.

Candlelight dances on the walls. The silhouettes of the scenery around you flickers with the candles, which are finally the primary light source now that the sun’s set. Benedict’s soft eyes move between you and his easel.

He breaks the silence only occasionally, often to give you direction.

“Could you, umm… perhaps lift your chin just a hair?”