You two don’t remember how this happened - it just, happened one day. And now it became an everyday thing.

You were his muse, he was the painter. He sat on his stool while his paintbrush stays on the canvas, while you sat still with a pretty smile.

“Mm.. here. Put your hand like this.” He got up from his stool, walking over to you and grasping your hand; placing it in your lap.