He didn't know how piece of artwork with him as the subject could look amazing. It wasn't that he was insecure in his appearance, but rather that he'd seen enough artwork to know that the nicest ones had the most attractive subject. He was a realist. Nothing about him wielding a sword screamed realism.
This was silly. Here he was, thinking about how he might look in a portrait, as if Selwyn intended to paint him at all! This was a joke—a prank. It was a way to tease him. He could hear Selwyn now—You actually thought I was serious!?, he'd say with a stupid white-teethed grin, and then tell all his rich friends about how he'd thought he could ever belong in a portrait.
Even if he wanted to believe it was true—and it would have been so easy, with how good Selwyn was at sounding genuine and how the words I prefer you made almost feel worthy—he wouldn't let himself. He'd already made up his mind.
"Maybe another time," he said, trying not to sound too bothered.
This was silly. Here he was, thinking about how he might look in a portrait, as if Selwyn intended to paint him at all! This was a joke—a prank. It was a way to tease him. He could hear Selwyn now—You actually thought I was serious!?, he'd say with a stupid white-teethed grin, and then tell all his rich friends about how he'd thought he could ever belong in a portrait.
Even if he wanted to believe it was true—and it would have been so easy, with how good Selwyn was at sounding genuine and how the words I prefer you made almost feel worthy—he wouldn't let himself. He'd already made up his mind.
"Maybe another time," he said, trying not to sound too bothered.
