picture perfect

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Shuichi was a talented painter although he usually chose to paint simple, melancholy, backgrounds. He didn't have any friends so there was no one to model over the backgrounds for him so his landscapes were left with no one to inhabit them....until he was hired to do a simple yet strange job.

A portrait.

He was hired to paint portraits of a beautiful man by the name of rantaro amami....but it wasn't a simple task.

Rantaro was against the concept of anyone being able to paint him. He always sat in dim lighting so no one capture his features and constantly made shuichi's job as hard as possible....but it was because he knew once the paintings were finished his father wouldn't have a reason for keeping him around anymore and the last thing he wanted was to be tossed aside like a children's toy....
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"I-i'm finally done with the sketches!" Shuichi exclamed, proud of himself for finally getting some of it done. Rantaro's expression flattened at the news and he got up from his chair to approach the artist "can I see?" He asked quietly. Shuichi hesitated for a moment before biting his lip and showing rantaro the sketches as he wished.

As expected he was met with harsh words but he didn't expect to be shoved out of the room "you made me look hideous! Do you seriously call that art- you know what? Just get out! Go! You're a disgrace!" "B-but i-" before his sentence could be completed he was met with a door in his face.

The green haired model let out a long sigh as he leaned against the door. He actually thought the sketches were extremely good....but if he let shuichi finish them....he shook his head as he gathered the papers which had been knocked onto the floor. He took a moment to look through them "he really does have talent...." He muttered quietly.

In the silence he was presented with he couldn't help but think that....maybe it didn't matter if his father had any use for him. Hell, the only reason his father kept him around was because he was a spitting image of his father's brother. Just thinking about it angered the model. "If you want a portrait of him then DIG UP HIS CORPSE" he found himself yelling as he smacked an empty easel to the floor angerly but before any more destruction could be caused he lost his grip on the sketches causing them to fly out of his hands and to be carried out the window by a particularly strong gust of wind...

He tried to retrieve the sketches but....

He leaned just a little too far out the window....

And lost his balance.
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My breathing was heavy as I was shoved into the room, smacking my head on the chair as I fell to the floor. "You're a painter aren't you? Paint." My employer said in a chilling voice as I recovered from the fall "this feels wrong-" "do it Or. Else." It immediately became clear that I was working for a mad man who values his son's appearance more than his life...but I couldn't do anything about it. I was at his mercy.

I stared at the boy who had been so rude to me in the past. He threw my sketches out the window!....but....i couldn't help but feel pity as I saw him slumped over in that chair.

He was still breathing as I painted him.

I captured him perfectly. The blood splattered across his clothes his green eye blankly staring at me his beautiful skin quickly turning pale, the flower petals still stuck in his messy hair. All of it.

In the end...

He was picture perfect

(Sorry idk what posessed me to write this one-)

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