The ink brushes over the parchment, black strokes forming the creases of an expensive robe, one he's had to paint dozens of times now.

His eyes look up at you, sat in the position you wanted, glancing down at him every now and then while he paints.

He lets out a breath, looking back down. He's no fool, he knows enough by now that you don't really care about his paintings so much as you do looking at him. He's been told by aunties his whole life that if he cleaned up, he'd make a very handsome man, but he couldn't care less what others think about him.

He gets to paint for a living, and that's enough for him. It's what he enjoys, and it's what he's good at. He didn't care to get a partner, didn't care about having children, he just wanted to live like he always has.

Well, until a certain royal set eyes on his paintings, and now you take up most of his time, having him paint either you or your things or your garden, all so he stays around.

It's almost funny to him, that a royal would look at a scruffy artist like him and think 'I want that around my room and fancy things all the time'.

As he sits up over the paper on the floor, he realizes he'd finished painting your face without even noticing. Maybe he's just memorized your face from painting it so much....

"I'm done, your highness." His gruff voice starts, looking back up at you. "Is it to your liking?" He finishes, knowing you'll always have something to add to keep him around a bit longer. It's expected, at this point.