your muse

                                    

                                          
an introverted painter and a flirtatious model. 
                          
  
Connor was a professional. This was a fact that he esteemed very highly.  
                          
  The stroke of his fine haired brush was enough to hypnotize anyone, and the mixture of colors he swirled around on his palette perfectly captured the mood he strived to create. He was sure to add in intricate details, before surging the bristles in murky water as he went to work on his painting, not to be interrupted for hours at a time.  
                          
   The young man was excellent at his portrayal of the human anatomy and was praised for his nude paintings; raw, memorable, and filled to the brim with talent. Connors art professor took it upon himself to schedule appointments with models that were seeking opportunity, a bit of spare money, or just the privilege to be painted by the locally applauded, Connor Franta.
                          
  It really wasn't a big deal, nudity that is. As long as his model felt comfortable without their clothes, he hardly even gave a second thought to any sexual views that could be taken on his work. He perceived every vein as a river of color, each freckle an unsolved constellation, any stretch mark a delicate stripe of pink painted along thighs and stomachs. The body was a masterpiece, and he intended on capturing it. 
                          
  The day was a Sunday, and the time was around noon, light fluttering in through his transparent curtains. He kept a city flat with a studio just perfect for storing his abundance of canvases, paint, and other artistic tools. 
                          
  Any minute now he was expecting a model, currently setting up the area and getting everything in order to pass the time. 
                          
  The clock clicked tediously and Connor drummed his fingers impatiently atop his hardwood desk. He never was a patient person. Or a very sociable one either. 
                          
  Twenty minutes past, an upbeat knock on his door sent him shuffling down his hallway, the light etch of a frown upon his face, thinking pessimistically about how this was off to a very unprofessional start. Connor hated unprofessional. 
                          
  With the twist of a handle and the push of a door, he was met with a pair of sapphire eyes, already scheming the exact potion of colors he would merge to replicate its shade. 
                          
  " I'm Troye." The college student smiled gently, waltzing into the studio apartment with an aura of confidence that left Connor taken aback and blinking firmly to clear his mind. 
                          
  " You're twenty minutes late." feeling slightly grumpy, his complaint came up in a stubborn way that emitted a tinkering of laughter from his visitor. 
                          
  " Indeed I am. How unfortunate." He apologized in an artificially sympathetic voice. 
                          
  Connors brows clenched together in offense, frowning a little bit at the rude tone the boy used. He wasn't exactly used to his models having such an attitude. They usually conversed in limited conversation, and put him up on a hypothetical pedestal. 
                          
  "You've got the painting down Franta, but the social interaction - maybe not so much." Troye teased, walking uninvitedly into the center of the art studio, a room with a high ceiling, lots of space, and windows on every surface letting the warm glare of sunshine heat up the gallery. 
                          
  " I prefer to keep to myself." Connor shrugged, not bothered by this fact. He didn't exactly have many friends. 
                          
  " And do you go on dates?" Troye raised an eyebrow, a ringlet of curls swayed over his eye, and Connor felt himself itching to sketch it. 
                          
  " Well, you know, I'm sorta married to my work." Connor struggled not to stumble upon his words, suddenly feeling insecure under the amused gaze of the boy across from him.