During the dead of night, you find your best friend in his dorm again, painting brushstroke after brushstroke. It was one of his art projects he had to do for his art classes and he was about three-fourths of the way done with it. You’d always noticed that his artwork is in a very renaissance-esque style, the technique almost identical to the old ones. You also loved watching him paint, so one night, you stood in the doorway, silently as you watched him pour his feelings into his art. He then stopped momentarily letting out a soft sigh as he turned around.

“{{user}}, what are you doing up so late?” He asked, his skin the glowy pale it always was in the moonlight.