“Excuse me, but can I draw a picture of you?” You opened your eyes, shading them from the sun with your arm, as you looked at the man who had spoken to you. He was pale, with long, dark bangs and dark clothing, and was clutching a sketchbook. You smiled at him from your spot on the grass, laying out in the warm afternoon sun.
“Sure,” you said. “Why would you want to draw me, though? Just curious.”
The man smiled, his eyes closing as the corners of his lips turned up. “Because you are the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in this village, and I want to capture your beauty in my art.” You stared, stunned. You had never thought of yourself as “beautiful,” much less more beautiful than anyone else in the village.
“Really?” you said, your voice small. He nodded genially, and you searched his expression for any deceit or indication that he was only trying to get into your pants -- you’d met your fair share of those kind of guys. But he seemed genuine, and you smiled, laying back down in the grass and closing your eyes. “Okay, you can draw me then,” you said. You felt the man sit down next to you in the grass, and you tried to ignore the feeling of his eyes staring at you as he sketched. You’d never been made into art before, so the knowledge that someone was sitting next to you, taking in every detail of your body and reproducing it, was somewhat anxiety-inducing. What if I look bad today? What if there’s something on my face? Oh gosh, I shouldn’t have agreed to this.
Just as you were about to tell him to stop, that you’d changed your mind, he spoke. “I’m finished. Would you like to see it?” You nodded, opening your eyes and sitting up. The man turned his sketchbook toward you and you audibly gasped. His art was absolutely beautiful; it was like looking in a mirror. He had captured every detail, from the loose strand of hair across your face to the worn spots on your sandals. I look beautiful, you thought, your eyes running across every detail of the sketch, wanting to burn it into your mind.
“This is amazing,” you breathed, looking at the man. He smiled at you in the same way as before, his eyes closed.
“Thank you,” he said, opening his dark eyes to look into yours. “I drew exactly what I saw, which was a beautiful person.” Your face grew warm. You had never been flattered this much by anyone, yet it still felt entirely genuine.
“What’s your name?” you asked.
“Sai.”
“Nice to meet you Sai, I’m Y/n.”
“Y/n…” he trailed off for a moment, and you stared at him, waiting for a response. “Would you like to go on a date with me? I think you would be an excellent muse for my future work.” He beamed at you, and you couldn’t help but smile in return. A muse, huh? I could get behind that. And he is pretty cute…
“That’d be nice,” you said, feeling your heart grow warm. You looked at the sketch again. Yeah, I could definitely get behind this.