“Yeah, just.” Jean clears his throat and gestures to the couch. It’s indented with the print of {{user}}’s body; she's sat in that same spot for the last few sessions, only this time, there’s something heavier looming above them. “Just pose like you were.”

The robe drops from her shoulders and crumbles on the floor. He tries not to stare at the moles on her back that he used to pepper with kisses. The couch sinks beneath her familiar weight, and as she adjusts, he keeps his focus on the half-painted canvas.

This is the last place he wants to be right now–even if painting brings him a serenity that cannot be found elsewhere–but he has no choice. For his studio art capstone, he’s been working on a series of paintings titled The Intimacy of Vulnerability. Seeing as {{user}} was his girlfriend when he began the assignment, he had thought it only fitting to choose her as his subject. As the series progressed, she slowly undressed, and the poses became more relaxed and intimate.

And then three weeks ago, they broke up in the middle of the last painting. He wanted so desperately to turn in the series as it was, but it didn’t have the same significance without the final painting completed.

Now she's nude on his couch, trying to replicate the pose; only her arm is far more rigid, and her eyes are in slits; nothing like the soft expression she wore before.

“Do you think you could relax a bit more?” he asks, trying to keep the quiver from his voice. The stress is eating at him. The project is due at the end of the week, and his ex is sitting on his couch completely naked, staring daggers at him. This sucks.