Muse, Model… Mine
The campus courtyard is buzzing with students sprawled out on the grass, groups huddled over assignments, and a few skateboards rolling across the pavement. Freen and Becky are stretched out under a shady tree, Becky resting her head on Freen’s lap, scrolling on her phone while Freen absently plays with her hair.
They’re in their little world—until a shadow looms over them.
Becky squints against the sunlight, and—
Standing in front of them is a literal walking aesthetic Pinterest board—ripped jeans speckled with paint, deep brown eyes that seem to be studying them like a sketch in progress, and a confident smirk like she’s already figured out their life stories.
"You're Freen, right?"
Freen, startled, blinks. "Uh, yeah?"
The girl extends a paint-streaked hand. "Iris. Fine arts department." She pauses, tilting her head slightly. "I’ve been looking for a muse for my next painting series, and... you’re perfect."
Becky immediately perks up, grinning like a proud girlfriend. "Babe, see? Even the art world agrees—you’re gorgeous."
Freen, slightly flustered, laughs. "Oh—uh, thanks?"
Iris's smirk deepens. "Have you ever modeled before?"
Freen shakes her head. "Not really. I mean, I take pictures sometimes, but I’ve never—"
"Even better," Iris interjects smoothly. "Natural beauty is hard to find."
Becky snorts, still entertained by the whole situation. People hit on Freen all the time—it’s basically a hobby for some.
"Sounds cool," Freen says, still a little unsure. She looks down at Becky, silently asking for input.
Becky shrugs. "Go for it, babe. Why not?"
Big mistake.
At that moment, their friends—Nam and Emma—drop onto the grass beside them, balancing iced coffees and snacks like they’ve just come back from a supply run.
“What’s this?” Nam asks, sipping from her straw.
"Freen just got recruited to be some art major’s muse," Becky replies, still lounging, completely unbothered. "Apparently, she's perfect."
Nam hums, eyebrows lifting. "I mean, true. If anyone’s gonna be painted like a Renaissance goddess, it’s Freen."
Emma glances at Iris, then at Becky. "You’re weirdly chill about this."
Becky, laughing: "Duh. It’s art. Not like she’s asking Freen on a date."
Iris, watching them with amused eyes, lifts her sketchbook. "Who says I can’t do both?"
The group falls silent.
Freen’s eyes widen slightly. Becky’s grin freezes. Nam chokes on her drink. Emma slowly turns to Becky like uh-oh.
Then, Iris winks.
And just like that—she’s gone.
Becky watches her leave, still smiling. Still laughing a little.
But there's a tiny, tiny crack in her confidence now.
And Nam? Oh, she definitely caught it.
“Becks.” She nudges her. “You good?”
Becky blinks, still looking at where Iris disappeared. Then, she waves a hand dismissively.
"Pfft. Yeah. It’s just art, she was messing with me, Nam."
Nam exchanges a look with Emma.
Oh, this is gonna be fun to watch.
The fine arts building is tucked into the quieter part of campus, a space filled with the scent of paint, old wooden easels, and a kind of creative chaos that makes Becky’s eye twitch just a little.
She parks her bike outside and glances at the time. Three hours.
Becky had dropped Freen off here, thinking this was gonna be a quick sketch-and-go type of thing. Maybe an hour, max.
But nope.
Her girlfriend has been locked in the art studio for three hours—with that smirking, too-cool-for-this-world art major.
Becky is no longer amused.
The door finally swings open, and there she is.
Freen steps out, smiling, glowing, relaxed— and covered in smudges of charcoal.
Becky’s eyes twitches.
She pushes off her bike, walking toward Freen with narrowed eyes. "Babe... what happened to your face?"
Freen blinks, still half-lost in her own little world. "Huh?"
Becky wipes at Freen’s cheek, where dark smudges streak across her skin. "You’re literally covered in charcoal. What—?"
Freen laughs, completely unaware of the slow murder forming in Becky’s eyes.
"Oh, Iris just said I had a perfect bone structure for shadows." She gestures to her cheek, lips quirking. "She was showing me how to blend—"
"She touched your face?"
Becky doesn’t mean for it to come out like that. Like her voice has suddenly dropped an octave. Like she’s trying very, very hard not to go back inside and drag Freen out caveman-style.
Freen doesn’t catch it.
"Yeah, it was cool! She’s really good with light and angles—"
Before Freen can finish, the rest of the gang arrives.
Jamie, Alice, Title, Tor, Ted, Heng, Nam, and Emma stroll toward them, fresh out of their own classes, already in mid-conversation.
Nam spots Becky’s expression first. Pauses. Smirks.
Oh, this is gonna be fun.
"What’s up with your face?" Jamie asks Freen, squinting at the charcoal smudges.
Alice snickers. "You look like you lost a fight with a sketchbook."
Freen grins. "Art studio. Long session."
Emma tilts her head. "Wait, wait—this is from that Iris girl, right?"
"Yeah," Freen nods. "She was teaching me blending techniques."
Becky makes a sound.
It’s small. But it’s there.
Ted, sharp-eyed, leans in toward Nam. "Did—did she just growl?"
Nam, absolutely living for this moment, claps a hand on Becky’s shoulder.
"So," she drawls, way too amused, "how’s it feel, Becks? Being on this side of things?"
Becky snaps out of it, crossing her arms. "What side?"
Tor smirks. "The side where you look like you wanna fight an art major for smudging your girlfriend’s face like a damn romantic oil painting."
The group erupts into laughter.
Becky, scowling, shoves Nam off. "Oh, shut up. I don’t—this isn’t—"
Heng raises an eyebrow. "Be honest, do you even know what ‘blending techniques’ are?"
Silence.
Becky glares. "...That’s not the point."
Nam, wheezing, hooks an arm around her neck. "It’s happening, guys. The mighty star player Becky is jealous."
Becky shoves her off, groaning. "I am not."
Freen, finally catching the vibe, squints at Becky. "Wait. Are you jealous?"
Becky scoffs. "Of course not."
The group exchanges glances.
Becky’s jaw tenses.
Freen narrows her eyes.
"...Babe," she says, slow and soft. "Are you sure?"
Becky clenches her jaw tighter.
And Nam seals her fate—grinning wide and leaning in to whisper, just loud enough for Becky to hear:
"Admit it now, or it’s only gonna get worse."
Becky exhales, long and suffering.
"...We’re leaving," she announces, grabbing Freen’s wrist.
Freen yelps as Becky all but drags her away, ignoring the chorus of laughter behind them.
This is fine.
This is nothing.
She is not jealous.
…Right?
__
The next day, Becky tells herself she’s not going to the art studio.
She’s not going to think about Iris and her poetic bullshit.
She’s not going to think about Freen sitting there for hours while Iris gushes about her “perfect” features.
She’s not—
…Okay, screw this.
Becky marches toward the fine arts building, gripping a plastic bag full of snacks like it’s a damn battle weapon.
She tells herself she’s just being nice.
A thoughtful, caring girlfriend bringing her girl a little mid-session energy boost.
Totally normal.
Totally casual.
But as soon as she pushes open the studio door, her brain short-circuits.
Because oh.
Freen is sitting right there, draped on a stool like some goddess from a Renaissance painting.
The lighting in the room is soft, golden, warm—like even the damn universe is in on this.
But the real problem?
Iris.
Iris is standing in front of Freen, staring at her like she’s the goddamn Mona Lisa. Which Becky absolutely agrees.
Like she’s divine intervention. Again correct.
Like she’s never seen anything more beautiful in her entire life. Becky agrees with her entire soul.
Becky’s stomach drops regardless.
Iris doesn’t even blink when Becky walks in. She barely spares her a glance, too busy memorizing every inch of Freen’s face.
“Oh, hey Becky,” she says, voice lazy, completely unbothered.
Freen perks up at Becky’s arrival, flashing her a bright smile. “Babe! You brought snacks?”
Becky forces her brain to work again. She clears her throat. “Uh, yeah. Thought you might be hungry.”
Iris, still freakishly focused on Freen, gestures absentmindedly. “Freen, tilt your chin a little—yeah, perfect.”
Becky freezes.
Iris lets out a slow, appreciative hum. “God, the symmetry in your face is unreal.”
WHAT.
Becky clenches the plastic bag so hard it crinkles.
Okay. Okay, maybe she’s overreacting. Maybe—
“Oh, and your jawline—so sharp.” Iris steps closer, eyes narrowing with intense focus. “It’s like light and shadow were made for you.”
Becky’s eye twitches.
Freen, oblivious as ever, chuckles. “I don’t know about all that.”
Iris, smirking, tilts her head. “Oh, I do.”
Becky’s entire soul leaves her body.
She’s so painfully aware now that this is not just about art anymore.
Her grip tightens around the snack bag. Time for a new game plan.
Becky has officially had enough.
So, she does what any normal, supportive, definitely-not-jealous girlfriend would do—
She shows up to every damn session.
The first couple of times, she tries to play it cool.
“Oh, I just had free time! Figured I’d keep my girlfriend company.”
“Oh, what a coincidence! I was just passing by.”
“Oh, weird, I ended up here again, huh? Hahaha—”
By the fourth time, she stops pretending.
Now, she walks in with purpose, pulls up a chair right next to Freen, and sits down like she owns the place.
Arms crossed.
Eyes locked.
Expression? Guard dog mode activated.
At first, Freen just laughs, completely unbothered by Becky’s sudden interest in fine arts.
Iris, however, is very much aware.
And she? She finds it hilarious.
“Your collarbones catch the light beautifully,” Iris muses, eyes scanning Freen like she’s about to be framed in the Louvre.
Becky’s jaw clenches.
She leans forward, voice sickeningly sweet. “Yeah? And her cheekbones? Adorable. Best part of her.”
Freen turns to Becky, blinking in confusion. “Wait, I thought you said my—”
Becky gently squeezes her thigh under the table.
Not now, babe. This is war.
Iris smirks, clearly enjoying this. “You’re welcome to pose too, Becky.”
Becky’s smile is all teeth. “Nah, I’m good. I prefer my private audience.”
Freen, who still hasn’t caught on, laughs softly. “Babe, that’s so sweet—”
She pauses.
Tilts her head.
Frowns.
“…Wait. Are you growling?”
Becky immediately clears her throat, shoving a cookie into Freen’s mouth before she can ask any more questions.
“Eat, babe.”
Iris bites back a chuckle. “This is fun.”
Becky glares. “No. It’s not.”
Game on.
___
The final session arrives, and Becky tells herself she’s going to be on her best behavior.
Really.
She swears.
But then—
“Freen, let’s drape the shirt off one shoulder,” Iris suggests, stepping forward with a calculating gaze. “I want to capture something more… raw. More vulnerable.”
And just like that—
Becky stops breathing.
She snaps her head toward Iris so fast she almost gives herself whiplash.
“Absolutely not.”
Freen, already moving to adjust the fabric, pauses. “Huh? Babe, it’s just for art.”
Becky huffs. “Nope. No way. You’re hot, you’re half-dressed, and I’m pretty sure she’s about to start composing poetry about your collarbones.”
Iris, completely unfazed, tilts her head. “It’s just anatomy, Becky.”
Becky crosses her arms. “Yeah? Well, my anatomy is about to square up.”
Freen finally turns, fully confused. “Wait. What’s happening? Who’s squaring up?”
Becky doesn’t blink. Doesn’t budge. Glares.
Iris, still enjoying this way too much, holds up her hands. “It’s okay, Freen. If your girlfriend is uncomfortable, we can keep the pose more… modest.”
Freen softens immediately. “Oh! Of course, babe. If it makes you uncomfortable, we don’t have to—”
Becky’s brain malfunctions.
Wait. No. That’s not—
Her golden retriever simp instincts kick in full force, because Freen is looking at her like she’s the most important person in the world, like her comfort is the only thing that matters.
And Becky?
She is weak.
Her heart does a stupid flip.
She groans, defeated. “Ugh. Fine. Do whatever. But if she starts writing a love letter mid-session, I’m dragging you out of here.”
Freen laughs, leans over to peck Becky’s cheek.
“It's okay, babe. You’re cute when you’re all protective.”
Becky scowls. “I’m not cute. I’m scary.”
Iris snorts. “Yeah. Terrifying.”
Becky flips her off.
The session ends, finally.
Becky feels like she just survived a battlefield.
She doesn’t even realize she’s still tense, still glaring at Iris as Freen puts her jacket back on, still debating if an art studio is a reasonable place to throw hands.
Then—
Freen turns to her.
And Freen knows.
The realization hits her all at once, eyes widening just slightly, then narrowing in amusement.
“Babe,” she starts, voice too soft, too teasing. “Are you… jealous?”
Becky scoffs. “Pfft. No. What? Me?”
Freen just raises a brow.
Becky folds immediately.
“Okay, fine! Maybe a little. But you saw the way she was looking at you!” Becky gestures wildly. “Like she was about to paint you naked on a ceiling fresco.”
Freen laughs. “Babe, it’s art—”
Becky grabs her waist. “No. No more ‘it’s art.’ She was flirting.”
Freen hums, tilting her head. “And what if she was?”
Becky gapes. “Excuse me?”
Freen steps closer, biting her lip now, eyes way too amused. “You know you don’t have to fight every person who finds me attractive, right?”
Becky, dead serious, eyes blazing: “But I want to.”
Freen, biting her lip: “Oh.”
Freen was not prepared for that.
She shivers.
Suddenly, the warmth in Becky’s gaze is not just playful anymore.
And oh.
Maybe she likes this a little too much.
Becky notices. Smirks.
“We’re leaving.”
Freen blinks. “What?”
Becky, already grabbing her hand, dragging her toward the exit: “I need to deal with some errands.”
From across the studio, their friends watch them go.
Nam, arms crossed, snorts. “They’re definitely not running errands.”
Jamie high-fives Title.
Ted, shaking his head: “Should we tell Freen she kinda won this whole thing?”
Heng: “No. Let’s let her suffer a little longer.”
___
A week later, the art studio buzzes with anticipation.
Students, professors, and visitors gather around for the grand unveiling of Iris’s painting series.
Becky isn’t nervous.
Nope. Not at all.
She’s just here for support. Totally not to see if Iris somehow snuck a love letter into the brushstrokes.
Iris finally pulls off the cloth covering the canvas.
And—
Becky hates to admit it.
But it’s beautiful.
Freen is captured in soft, golden hues, eyes full of light, a perfect balance of strength and softness. Her expression is so natural, so her, it’s almost like the painting itself is breathing.
For a second, Becky forgets to be annoyed.
Then she sees it.
Right in the corner.
Small. Subtle. Almost unnoticeable.
A tiny figure.
Arms crossed. Glaring.
Becky blinks.
Then she bursts out laughing.
“...Okay, that’s actually kinda funny.”
Iris, leaning on her easel, smirks. “I figured I should paint the full experience.”
Becky snorts, shaking her head.
Freen leans close, voice low. “You know…”
Becky turns, raising an eyebrow. “What?”
Freen’s lips curl into a small smirk.
“You were really hot when you got jealous.”
Becky freezes.
Then—grins, slow and smug. “Oh yeah?”
Freen shrugs, pretending to be nonchalant. “Yeah.”
She steps even closer.
“Maybe you should do it again sometime.”
—
Nam, watching from across the room: “Okay, I’m leaving. They’re about to get gross.”
Jamie, nodding: “Yeah. Let’s go before they forget we exist.”
Heng, snapping a picture of the painting: “No, wait. I need proof Becky got immortalized in a fine art piece first.”
The End.