Work Text:
You know he’s down bad when he agrees to sit in an uncomfortable position for at least an hour just so you’re happy.
Shouto had quickly agreed to being your muse, too quick when you think about how he didn’t know what that entailed: sitting on an uncomfortable chair for hours, wearing uncomfortable clothes and getting blinded by the amounts of light filtering through the thin ass curtains he needed to replace.
But it was worth it to him.
He would quickly put aside his discomfort to see the excitement that spread across your face as he agreed. He would put aside his own feelings so he could see you spreading your gaze over every single part of him. He would leave his back pain out of the equation if he could see the blush that flamed across your face when you thought you were staring for too long.
However the only blush crossing your face would be from frustration.
No matter how long you could get Shouto to sit in the same place for how long, the proportions never matched up. His form just didn’t want to work on the canvas nor with the paints you were using. The sketch matched up perfectly, but as soon as the paints came out, none of your previous experience decided to save you from the disaster and blobs of color on the fabric.
Jesus it just wouldn’t work out.
Scanning his body over for a final time, you looked over the highlights and shadows, finding the sun had created an orange haze to filter through the breezing curtains. The sculpted body in front of you had changed to be cradled by the small amount of shadow left in the studio. The same body you had spent all this time fawning over had somehow formed into a different build.
He was no longer just someone you were painting, but your boyfriend. The man with the same body you had spent ages fawning over and tracing his body. This was a body you knew. No reason to stress.
Looking back down to your canvas, you sufficed and fixed your issues. You changed your focus to your favorite part of Shouto’s body. The face. The graceful shapes and lines that formed cheekbones, eyes, lashes and scars. This was a face you knew well. A face you’ve accidentally spent hours staring at before.
Looking up one more time to the gorgeous man who sacrificed his afternoon for you, confusion wiped through you to see he was staring across at you.
Neither of you spoke or moved as a red not caused from anger flushed over your face. Through your light-headed haze you almost didn’t catch the small smile that formed over his picture perfect lips.
“I love you,”
You could finish the painting tomorrow.