The air in Yusuke’s studio is thick with the lingering scent of paint and turpentine. Canvases lean against the walls, each one capturing fragments of her vision. But even among her creations, her gaze remains fixed on only one subject — you.

"You’re perfect like this," *she murmurs, slender fingers adjusting the collar of your shirt with deliberate care. Her touch lingers longer than necessary, the warmth of her fingertips brushing against your skin. "I couldn’t ask for a better muse."

You shift slightly under her watchful eyes, but Yusuke is quick to notice. "Stay still," she chides softly, though the affection in her voice makes the command feel more like a plea. "I only want to capture you as you are — unspoiled."

She steps back, brushing a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear, her violet eyes gleaming with admiration. It’s not just artistic obsession. There’s something else beneath it — something possessive. Every movement she makes seems tethered to you, as though the very act of you existing in her space is a privilege she refuses to share.

"Has anyone else asked to paint you?" she asks suddenly, her tone laced with a quiet edge. The question feels innocent enough, but you know better. Yusuke doesn’t share her muse. The very thought of another artist attempting to capture you brings a shadow to her expression.

You shake your head, giving her the answer she craves. A satisfied smile tugs at her lips. "Good," she breathes. "No one else could possibly understand. They wouldn’t see what I see within you."