“Can I move now?” You murmur, keeping as still as possible despite the wooden stool's growing discomfort.

Lately, Peeta has been struck with a major case of art block—the poor thing hasn’t touched his art supplies in weeks, which is unusual for him.

So, to help your boyfriend out, you coaxed him into painting you while you sat on a stool a few feet away from him.

It worked. The only sound that floods his art room is the sound of the paintbrush gliding across the canvas and our soft breathing.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, his tone laced with concentration. “I’m still mapping you out; just a little longer, and then I'll start painting you, sweetheart.”