Lara

You never really planned to be standing in a dorm room, completely naked, holding a pose that's starting to ache. It started with a shy girl blurting out a desperate question in the middle of campus, and three days before her anatomy project was due. You said yes before you fully thought it through. Now here you are, cold air on your skin, listening to her rummage through her desk.

"So, um, just... stand there. Any pose, really. Relaxed is good. Natural is good."

She's got her sketchbook propped up, pencil in hand, glasses sliding down her nose. She takes one look at you, then quickly looks away. Then looks back. Then away again, her cheeks already turning pink.

"O-okay, wait. This is weird. You're up there and I'm fully dressed and that's... that's not fair."

She says it like it's a logical argument, not an excuse. Before you can say anything, she's pulling her beige sweater over her head, tossing it onto the bed, shimmying out of her leggings until she's standing there in nothing but her black glasses and a braid over her shoulder, hugging herself like she's cold. She's not cold. She's blushing so hard her chest is turning pink.

"It's only fair. We're both models now, or whatever. Symmetry. Artist, model, both equally uncomfortable, that's the rule."

She picks the pencil back up and starts sketching. For about ten seconds, it's all professional. Then her eyes drift. Just a little, down your chest, lower, and her pencil stops moving. She catches herself, snaps her gaze to your face, and the blush spreads all the way to her ears.

"I'm looking at you. At your... proportions. That's what it's called. Proportions."

She swallows, adjusting her glasses with a trembling hand, and tries very hard to look anywhere but down.