And that's how we had officially met. Simple, no drama encounter, a beginning towards a steady friendship.

When our schedules matched, I lounged with them and drew Kade from up close. Occasionally my girlfriend at the time, Julie, and buddy Patrick would join me while I penciled my muse. By the time spring quarter of my second year kicked in, Kade and I had become steady text buddies. He had a good sense of humor, and I dished it right back.

We trashed closed-minded politicians, discussed old-school Hollywood movies, groused about studies, and talked about whatever else was on our minds. I found his parents and identical twin brother lived in Olympia, and he visited them at least once a month. He had a black belt in karate, liked running in the mornings, and preferred tea over coffee.

Drawing Kade became even easier now that we were becoming good friends. I learned the differences between his many smiles and grimaces, the fake and honest ones. I teased his grumpiness when he didn't like a particular pose and praised when he managed to sit without a twitch.

During summer quarter, I joined Kade and his friends to backpack the Grand Valley trail. Observing Kade with his lover, Shane, allowed me to see glimpses of him in a different light. His attentive, mischievous, romantic, possessive sides. It was interesting and eye-opening, and I humbly realized there was so much I had yet to learn about my muse. So many more of his expressions left to see.

Observing Kade with his lover by the fire inspired me to draw a full pencil drawing of him. It took me two weeks to recreate all the details from memory, but the result was magnificent—Kade's black and white, contemplating profile was so realistic that one expected him to blink any moment.

My muse approved the angle and encouraged me to explore the detailed photographic style further. Photorealism intrigued me for a long time, but I guess the praise from my muse was the turning point to pursue it seriously. Even my dad had acknowledged my talent after I gave him a beautifully penciled picture of his carefree, smiling wife before she was diagnosed with cancer.

By the middle of my third year, my free time was spent more with Kade and his friends than mine. Kade had split up with his boyfriend, and I was ashamed for feeling slightly happy, for this meant I had more opportunities to spend time with my muse. I especially grew fond of our Friday or Saturday nights, with us sprawled on his couch and watching Hollywood movies from the 80’s and 90’s.

More time with Kade translated into more drawings of him. I was hunting for unique shots to pencil—no duplicate pictures were allowed in Kade's book. Needless to say, the plank rose with every drawing, and I had thirty-seven blank pages to fill.

I didn't notice the change in Kade's behavior for a long time. Or more precisely, it never crossed my mind this man could be developing romantic feelings for me. After all, we had clarified that men did not interest me romantically from the beginning. I guess I was too busy cataloging expressions of my muse to notice anything outside my happy bubble.

Witnessing Kade's possessive side directed towards me was … confusing and unexpected, and of course I didn't recognize it for what it was. Not until it was right in my face.

It happened during one of my usual nights out with Kade and his friends at one of our favorite clubs. I noticed the mood was off soon after my girlfriend Julie and I arrived at the club. The conversations were reduced to dry jokes, along with superficial exchanges of opinions and hidden glances. Usually Kade joined-in to keep the mood light, but this time he was quiet and for some reason, Julie's presence made him tense.

My muse relaxed only when Roy or other friends took her to dance. It was a strange feeling seeing her whisked away yet again, as if the guys at our table had a mission to keep Julie busy. But maybe I was reading into it too much? The other two girls from our gang were also on the dance floor. Only Diane and her boyfriend, Zack, remained to keep us company. One glance at Kade, however, revealed I wasn’t imagining things.

“A couple of dances more and I'll take Julie home.” I finished my beer and attempted to stand up, but Kade's hand on my arm stopped me before I even lifted my butt.

“Stay. Don't go so soon.” Intense grey eyes pinned me. He was so different tonight, the easiness I associated with him gone. “Another beer?”

His own first bottle was still half-full. Kade wasn't much of a drinker and never took more than two bottles of beer for the evening. Maximum of three, if he was at home. He said he hated losing control and the feeling of a muddled mind, but I also knew that decision was heavily influenced by his father, who was a recovering alcoholic.

“Nah, I'm good, thanks.” I shook my head. “Time to bring Julie home and for you guys to relax. I'll text you sometime next week.”

“You're not coming over tomorrow?” Surprise and disappointment tinged his voice.

Saturdays had lately become our day and by extension, Saturday nights as well. I'd draw him during the day, and we'd watch a movie sprawled on his sofa in the evening.

“Julie isn’t going to LA this weekend, so some quality time is planned.” I winked, satisfied like a Cheshire cat.

Usually, light innuendos about sex lightened the mood, but apparently it was the exact opposite this evening. Perplexed, I watched Kade's face darken and irritation seep into his eyes before he looked away. I placed my hand on his shoulder, concerned.

“Did something happen? You're not yourself tonight,” I asked.

We locked eyes, and I saw a storm of emotions play out there. What was bothering my muse? Kade briefly looked at his friends and turned back to me. It was as if he didn't want to share whatever was bothering him in front of others. Although, if I interpreted Diane's and Zack’s sympathetic looks, they already had some idea what might be wrong?

It was disappointing to know I wasn't trusted enough to be let on a secret. I thought we were at the point of our friendship where we didn't have secrets anymore. Clearly, I had presumed wrong.

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