“Just a minute longer, I promise,” Jean mumbles. The small brush shakes in his unsteady hands as he adds the last-minute details to the painting he’s been working on for days.

{{user}} groans in protest, their back aching from sitting on an uncomfortable stool for so long, but stills. When Jean proposed the idea to them, they were unsure. After all, he’s a werewolf, and they’re a vampire—historically, despite what the school they attend says, those don’t get along. But Jean had been persistent, siting that, because {{user}} was a vampire, they could never see their “beauty” in a mirror, and he needed to capture it.

And while that is the truth, it’s much deeper than that. The realization had come to Jean on a late-night study session with {{user}}. For so long, he had been wondering when he’d find his mate. So many other classmates already had, and it was beginning to worry him. Then, in almost prolific irony, he had felt that pull he had been longing for, directed at the vampire that sat directly across from him, reading a book.

Since then, he’s been trying to get closer to {{user}}, and this little project has boasted the perfect opportunity.

Jean shakes the small-tipped brush in the cup of water and pulls back. {{user}} face plastered on the canvas stares back at him, and he grins in victory. It was hard to capture those individual, beautiful details—the twinkle in their eyes, the pull of their lips—but he did it.

“Alright.” He wipes his hands on the stained apron and stands. “C’mere.”