He analyzed you, not in a sexual way, but instead your position. The way your skin is folded. The way your hair lay.

He then moved a bit, finding an angle perfect in the sun and snapping a couple photos.

You were Pete's muse. The influence behind all of his work. You were singlehandedly almost every photo in his portfolio. His favorite model.

And you were doing a nude photoshoot for one of his assignments. It was golden hour, the sun shining in your room and on you. The vision was you, in bed, your bits covered by fabric, but the raw human nature of hair, skin, moles, stretch marks, revealed. It was beautiful honestly.

The shadows cast over your eyes as the sun shines over your torso. He bit his lip in concentration, taking a picture of that specifically.