flawless

two ghosts.

"Did it ever occur to you to paint something other than me?"

"Why would it? Nothing compares to you."

Your cheeks heat up as you stand in the middle of the empty art classroom, holding a rather uncomfortable stance for Jean to capture. His senior final for art class was to create a piece of art that embodies beauty;

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, as the poets say.

Ever so naturally, he chose you.

He had you sit down on a wooden chair, your legs crouched on top and one of your hands holding a book, the other holding your chin. Jean was slightly hunched over, a focused expression on his face as he began to stroke streaks of paint onto the canvas, his black t-shirt slightly smudged with the hues as well.

He wanted to paint the side profile of your face, which you were not on board with. Nevertheless, you couldn't say no to that pleading face. It would always win against you, every single time.

"Unless you want a thick mustache on your face, I suggest you quit moving, Y/n."

You try to compose yourself from the uncontrollable laughter you had, "I'm sorry, but you look so cute when you're focused," you pout, Jean's face still serious as ever. You sigh, finally able to relax, "So, what is a muse...," you imitate the french accent he would use when saying it, "... Anyway? You always call me that."

He hums in amusement, pausing before answering your question, "Well..it's what you mean to me."

You give a confused face, not turning from the angle he wanted you in, "What... I mean to you?"

"Yeah, you're my source of inspiration, what drives me to create the most beautiful painting I am capable of," He says in one breath, letting go of the sight of the painting, and looking towards you, your face gorgeous as it looks out the window, "You are to put it simply...

my art."

You couldn't help but move your head towards his direction, his eyes smiling as the shape of your heart. You couldn't stare for too long, or else you swore you would die from the happiness that burst in your chest every time you were near him, "Okay then... I'll stay still, promise."

Jean lets out a small laugh, making you chuckle as well.

"Thank you for doing this,

and for being such  a perfect muse."

-

History has a funny way of repeating itself.

"Your... muse?"

You were frozen, the words barely making it out of your mouth. Your gaze was locked in on his pleading face, something you remember all too well. His warm, slightly tough hands were still placed on your bare cold shoulders, and you felt embarrassed at how much it hindered your train of thought.

"My muse."

"I, I don't know," you sigh, looking down at the ground. As you thought of the idea of being with Jean for hours a day, along with him painting your being, you couldn't help but think of Reiner as well. You soon realize that feeling in your body is guilt. Was this okay to do? I mean, why wouldn't it be, you and Jean are just old friends with a history intended to stay in the past. Yes, friends.

So, why did you still feel guilty?

"He liked my work, Y/n," Jean adds softly as you stared into those light brown eyes, who looked down upon you with anticipation, "I mean, he really really liked it."