"We should do portraits of each other."

I jump in response to Thomas's sudden comment. I turn to face him, where I am met with a big smirk.

"You get so scared so easily."

"Thanks for the information, Einstein. How about you, I don't know, stop scaring me?"

"I don't even do it on purpose, Lucy. I'll just start talking to you, and you'll jump. What do you want me to do? Stop talking to you?"

I am met with Thomas's gigantic puppy eyes as he pouts like a child who has never been told no. As much as I want to say yes, I know that would be a lie, so I go back to his previous comment.

"You want to do the portraits now? I don't have any art supplies, not anything good anyway. We could use one of my old sketchbooks that I never used with some pencils."

Thomas decides if it is worth it to bring up if I want to talk to him, but he lets it go as he assures me that that's fine, and it should still be fun anyway. I leave Thomas on the couch as I gather all of the supplies we need in my office.

As I come back out, Thomas is turning on my string lights and lighting the candles on the coffee table. I set the supplies down as I turn on my lamp nestled between the TV and the wall. Soon enough, there is plenty of light for modeling portraits, so we sit down on the couch and face each other.

"Do you want to go first? You suggested this. Also, how long should we model for? Are we just doing our faces?"

"I can go first if you want. I think we can model for about 30 minutes each, then we can show each other our portraits at the end. I think that'll give us just enough time before I go," he says with a sleepy smile.

I demand he goes first because I haven't drawn in years, and I feel like if I mentally prepare to draw, I will somehow draw better.

He flips open the sketchbook, where he is greeted with complete, empty pages. He asks me why I bought and kept this if I was not going to use it. I assure him I knew there would come a time when I would use it. I don't let him know that I've probably had this sketchbook for over seven years. Not like he needs to know anyway!

He holds the pencil in his hand and sets the sketchbook in his lap as he adjusts me till he is satisfied. Of course, I had to let down my hair, tuck one side behind my ear, twist away like I'm looking outside, and my hand next to my ear as if I am tucking it away in the moment.

I come to terms with my pose, and I settle in for the 30 minutes I am required to pose. I do my best to stay still and not move much, but some yawns escape, yet Thomas is unfazed. He is lost at sea and scanning the seas for where to go. My face is his compass, and he must return home.

We stay like this for the 30 minutes, where I hear the sound of the wick crackling, the air conditioning buzzing, and the pencil scraping against the paper. I see the street lamps in the courtyard. Some are dimmer than others, but they do not compare to the fireflies dancing around the square. There are some small children capturing them and letting them go, basking in the beauty that is their light.

I take a peak over at Thomas, where he catches my eye instantly. A blush rises to my cheeks as I avert my eyes and go back to my pose. Thomas continues to work until he tells me I am done.

I stretch a bit and let out a tiny yawn.

Thomas tells me that he can leave early if I am tired, he's not bothered in any way, and I can tell he is earnest considering he gives me a soft smile that says, "Go rest." But I won't have it. If I sat there and posed for 30 minutes, I want to see the portrait he created, and in order to do so, I need to draw his portrait.

We switch positions, where he is sitting cross-legged on the couch. He stares at me as I get myself situated on the couch. It is now my chance to pose Thomas how I want. I try different things, where he is resting his head on his fist, he is staring out the window, hand in his hair, he is looking down, letting his hair cover part of his face. 

I decide that I need some prop to make this work, so I go into my office and find a medium sized box. I find something suitable, and I place it in front of Thomas, where I instruct him to rest his head on top of his hands, where his hands are laying flat on top of each other while his forearms stick out. I move some hair out of his face, and I tell him not to move.

I realize early on that I should have made Thomas focus his eyes on something because they are burning into me. No matter when I'm drawing, no matter when I look at his hair, his arms, his nose, his lips. Nothing takes away his eyes.

I start with his hands and arms as well as making the shape for his neck and head. His hair is its own beast. His hair is beautiful, don't get me wrong. But how do I capture the beauty of something so complex? It makes me wonder how he did my hair.

I close in on his face as more time passes, where I feel a tinge of embarrassment as I stare into his eyes. As I stare more and more at his nose, lips, cheeks, eyebrows, freckles. 

Staring at Thomas like this doesn't compare to how I feel about this portrait. I almost don't want him to see how I see him. But all of that is lost when I hear the timer go off on my phone, signaling time is up.

I hold onto the portrait, feeling embarrassed that I didn't do well and feeling that I did too much. Thomas doesn't move though. He has put the box down, and he is adjusting his neck, but he makes no attempt to reach for the sketchpad. I think we were both under the impression this would feel funny and lighthearted. This is exposed and profound.

I decide to let him see his portrait first as I shove it into his hands. I twiddle with my fingers as he gazes at the portrait. He looks at the portrait again and again, pausing to only look at me as if he is saying, "You created this?"

He tears out the portrait I did for him as he carefully returns the sketchbook to me, where I suddenly see myself. Thomas drew me. He drew me in a way that can only be identified as me. The way he drew my curls, the way he drew my lips, the way he drew my hand, the way he drew my eyes. Every detail is there down to the mole on my neck. 

It's so beautiful I feel I could cry. I stare at it for an eternity when Thomas clears his throat.

My eyes shoot up as I see Thomas, presenting me with a delicate smile. 

"It's getting late, Lucy. I think I should head out."

I turn myself towards the clock as it whispers the time. 10:09.

Before I can answer Thomas, a yawn slips out, making the both of us smile as I guide Thomas towards the door. He has the portrait held tenderly in his hand. I want to ask about what he wants to do tomorrow, what he wants to do the rest of the week, I want to ask if he had a good time, but all of that washes away as Thomas wraps his arms around me.

His head rests gently on top of mine, and his arms hold me in place as I wrap my arms around him and rub his back. Our hug is short and sweet.

He opens the door and heads out, but not before I remind him to text me when he gets home. Thomas assures me he will.

Once he's gone, I stare at the portrait he made of me for as long as I can. I brought it with me into my bedroom as I look at the tiny details and choices he made when drawing me. "I should buy a frame for this," I think to myself.

It's only after I receive Thomas's text that says he made it home that I put the portrait away and go fast to sleep.