Croquis

Friday, 3:00 PM. I was in my workroom, coloring a web novel cover, when the doorbell rang. I checked the intercom. It was Dain. She was wearing an oversized sweatshirt and short shorts, holding a sketchbook and a pencil case in both hands. She was pacing back and forth anxiously in front of the door, looking like she regretted pressing the buzzer the moment she did. I opened the door.

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"Oppa!" Dain's eyes widened. I had no idea why she looked so startled when she was the one who rang the bell.

"What's up?"

"Ah, well, you see..." Dain stammered. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, and she clutched the sketchbook tightly against her chest.

"Come in first."

"Oh, okay!" Dain slipped off her shoes and stepped inside. We sat in the living room—Dain on the sofa, and me on the floor opposite her.

"What's going on?"

"Oppa, I have a favor to ask," Dain said, still keeping the sketchbook pressed to her chest. "Could you be my croquis model?"

"...What?"

"Croquis! Figure drawing! I have an assignment, and I need a model. The school models can only be drawn at school. If I want to practice at home, I have to hire one, but hiring from job sites is so expensive. And when I ask my friends, they all get so awkward..." Dain's words tumbled out rapidly. She was clearly the type to get incredibly nervous when asking for favors.

"So I thought of you, Oppa. Since you draw too, you know what croquis is. It's nothing weird, I swear!"

"I know. I went to art school too."

"Ah, right." Dain paused. Then she smiled, a realization dawning on her. "Of course. You're Siru, after all."

"If it's croquis, what do I wear?"

"Shirtless. Just your upper body."

"..."

"It's seriously totally normal in art school! We even do full-body nudes! This is just your upper body!" Dain covered her face with both hands. I thought about it for a moment. A croquis model. It was a routine request for an art student. I had done it myself back in college. In class, if the person next to you stripped down and sat there, you just drew them because it was a lesson. But having Dain draw me felt a bit different. I couldn't quite put my finger on why. No, that was a lie—I knew exactly why, I was just pretending not to.

"How long will it take?"

"Just thirty minutes! Six five-minute poses!"

"In here?"

"Ah, could we do it in Room 101? All my art supplies are down there."

"Alright."

"Really?! Oppa, you're the best!" Dain leaped to her feet. Clutching her sketchbook, she dashed toward the entryway. "Come down in five minutes!"

The door to Room 101 was left half-open. From inside, I could hear the clattering sound of Dain setting up an easel.

"Oppa, come on in!" I stepped inside. It was unmistakably an art student's room. Dain placed a backless round stool in front of the easel. "Sit here, Oppa."

Opposite the stool stood her easel. A sketchbook lay open, with pencils and conté crayons laid out beside it. Dain brought over a floor lamp and positioned it next to the stool. A warm, amber light cast a soft glow at an angle, throwing deep shadows. It was the perfect lighting for capturing form.

"Oppa, the lighting's good, right?"

"Yeah. You set it up well."

"Then... you can take it off." As soon as the words left her mouth, Dain's face flushed crimson. She scurried behind her easel as if trying to hide. "It's totally normal in art school, so why is this so awkward..." I heard her mutter to herself.

I grabbed the hem of my T-shirt. I pulled it up over my head and slipped it off. The afternoon sunlight filtering in from outside brushed against my bare skin. It felt cool. The crisp air of April. Placing the discarded shirt beside the stool, I sat down.

"What pose?"

"Ah, j-just make it natural. Put one hand on your knee, and let the other one rest freely." Dain's voice drifted from behind the easel.

I settled into a pose. I rested my left hand on my left knee and lightly gripped the edge of the stool with my right. I twisted my upper body slightly. In croquis, a subtle twist of the torso is essential to bring the form to life.

"Oppa, that's a great pose. You can really tell you went to art school."

"Start drawing."

"Okay!" Dain gripped her pencil behind the easel. I kept my gaze fixed forward, remaining perfectly still. The key to being a croquis model is absolute immobility. I had to maintain this exact posture for five minutes. The scratching of the pencil began. *Skritch, skritch.* The sound of graphite sweeping rapidly across paper.

One minute passed. The scratching stopped.

"..." Silence. Then, the scratching resumed, faster this time. Over the top of the easel, I could see the upper half of Dain's face. Just her eyes. Those round eyes were staring at me. No, they were staring at my upper body. It was the gaze of an art student, observing her subject. Yet, that gaze was gradually shifting.

Two minutes. The pauses in Dain's sketching grew more frequent. She would draw with rapid strokes, then stop to look at me. The duration of her stares grew longer. I tracked where her gaze was landing. At first, it was the overall form—the line from shoulder to waist, the basics of croquis. But gradually, her focus narrowed. Her eyes lingered on my collarbones. Then they drifted down to the center of my chest, my sternum, my abdomen, and my obliques.

Dain's face was burning red. The hand holding her pencil trembled slightly. In croquis, if emotion seeps in, the lines begin to waver. Dain was wavering right now.

"Dain."

"Yes?!" she squeaked, peeking out from behind the easel with just her eyes.

"Are you nervous?"

"I'm not nervous! Why would I be!" A blatant lie. Her voice was an octave higher than usual.

"If your lines are shaky, don't draw with your wrist. Use your whole arm."

"...Ah, right." Dain took a deep breath. *Whew.* Then she set her pencil in motion again. This time, the lines grew longer. The sound of her using her entire arm was distinctly different.

"Good. Just like that."

"Oppa, are you modeling or directing?"

"I'm your art school senior, after all."

Dain pouted with a huff, but her pencil didn't stop.

Five minutes. The first pose was over.

"For the next pose... can you stand?"

"Sure." I stood up. The floor lamp illuminated me from a lower angle, casting dramatic shadows across my upper body. Deep contours formed beneath my shoulders, under my chest, and along the sides of my abdomen.

"Raise one arm. Put it behind your head."

I raised my right arm and rested it behind my head. Lifting the arm stretched my obliques, defining the lines over my rib cage. Perhaps the personal training sessions with Haeun were already paying off, as my arms showed a bit more muscle definition than before.

"Oppa, do you work out?"

"I started recently."

Dain's pencil paused. A beat. Then it moved again. I observed her eyes. Those round eyes peeking over the easel. Her gaze lingered on my abdomen. While I didn't have what you'd call a ripped six-pack, my lean frame naturally revealed the subtle lines of muscle. Dain's eyes traced along those lines. Then, she bit her lip. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Dain had a habit of biting her lip when she concentrated on a drawing—whether she was spinning her pencil, framing a composition, or adding fine details. She was doing it now. Nibbling her lower lip, her eyes locked onto my torso, her pencil racing across the paper. This girl, seriously... I didn't know how to read her. It was only natural for an art student to focus intensely on a model, but there was something else mixed into Dain's concentration. The lip-biting. The flushing cheeks. The frequency of her pauses. This wasn't mere observation; she was acutely conscious of me. Not just as a subject, but as a man.

Second pose finished. Third: sitting on the stool but showing my back. Fourth: resting my arm on a chair and propping up my chin. Fifth: leaning against the wall. With every change of posture, Dain's reaction shifted. When my back was turned, she seemed relatively fine, probably because we weren't making eye contact. But when I propped up my chin and looked straight ahead, she averted her eyes multiple times. Not from my face, but from my collarbones. The line running from my collarbones to my chest. Her gaze would slide down that line, pause at my abdomen, and linger at the V-line of my hips. And every single time, she bit her lip.

"Dain."

"Yes?"

"You'll hurt yourself if you keep biting your lip like that."

"...!" Dain released her lip. It was bright red. Not from blood rushing to a bite, but because her entire face was flushed with embarrassment. The blush had spread all the way to the tips of her ears.

"I-I'm always like this! When I draw!"

"I know."

"Then why did you say anything!"

"Because you're going to ruin your lips."

"...Oppa, you're an idiot." Dain hid her face behind the easel. She practically buried her nose in the sketchbook as she scribbled furiously. This girl, honestly... She was so transparent. Even when she tried to hide it, her body betrayed her.

Sixth. The final pose.

"Oppa, for the last one... let's do something similar to the first pose. But this time, look over here." She wanted me to look at her. I sat on the stool, resting my left hand on my knee. I turned my head toward Dain. Our eyes met over the top of the easel. Dain let out a tiny, sharp intake of breath.

"...J-just stay like that." Her pencil began to move. This time, it was slow. It wasn't a rapid croquis sketch anymore; her lines were deliberate and careful. Dain looked at me, then at the paper, then back at me. Her eyes darted back and forth. I kept my gaze on her as well. As a model, I had to keep my eyes fixed. Dain, behind the easel. Her oversized sweatshirt had slipped off one shoulder, revealing a glimpse of her collarbone. Her bobbed hair clung to her cheek. Tiny beads of sweat dotted her forehead. Her expression wavered between intense concentration and nervous tension. Her eyes swept over me—my shoulders, my collarbones, my chest, my abdomen, and then back up to my face. My eyes. Our gazes locked. Dain's pencil stopped. She bit her lip. This time, her upper lip. Her teeth pressed into the inside of her upper lip, causing her lower lip to pout out slightly. Plump cheeks. Round eyes. Red ears. Bitten lip.

"Oppa."

"Yeah?"

"...It's beautiful," Dain said, still holding her pencil, looking straight at me. I couldn't tell if she meant me or the drawing.

"The drawing?"

"Ah, yes! The drawing! The drawing is turning out so beautiful!" Dain hid her face behind the easel again. Her pencil flew across the paper. *Skritch-skritch-skritch.* She drew as if fleeing from something. The five minutes ended.

"Time's up," I said. Dain set her pencil down. She let out a massive sigh, "Phew~" as if she had been holding her breath the entire time.

I picked up my T-shirt and slipped it back on. The moment I pulled it down over my head, I caught Dain staring at something before she hurriedly averted her eyes.

"Dain."

"...Yes."

"Show me the drawings."

Dain hesitated for a moment. Then, she lifted the sketchbook to show me. Six croquis drawings. They were good. In croquis, energy is far more important than anatomical precision. You have to capture the subject's movement, weight, and atmosphere in a very short amount of time. Dain's sketches had exactly that.

The first pose: my seated upper body. The line flowing from my shoulder to my waist was captured in a single, sweeping stroke. There was a slight tremor in the line, but that shakiness actually made the drawing feel alive. The third pose: my back. The muscles of my back and the lines of my shoulder blades were rendered in soft shading. The sixth pose: facing forward. This one... Dain had drawn my face. In the other sketches, she had only roughly blocked out the facial features, but on the final page, my eyes, nose, and lips were drawn with surprising detail. Especially the eyes. Eyes that were looking right back at her. Around those eyes, there were traces of the pencil passing over the paper multiple times. She had revised them. Over and over.

"Didn't you run out of time on the last page?"

"...A little."

"You put a lot of effort into the eyes."

Dain clutched the sketchbook tightly to her chest. "Your eyes, Oppa... they were hard to draw."

"Why?"

"Because they look sleepy, but they're not actually sleepy. It's like... there's a light in them, but you're hiding it. Something like that."

I looked at Dain. She was an observer. An artist looks past the surface of a subject to see its essence.

"You drew it well."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Dain's face lit up instantly. It was like a flower blooming. "Oppa, thank you! This was a huge help!"

"Let me know if you ever need a model again."

"Really?! For real, for real?!"

"Sure."

Dain threw her hands up in a cheer. Then, she gasped, "Ah!" as if remembering something. "Oppa, should I do something for you too? To pay you back for modeling."

"Don't worry about it."

"No way! I'd feel too guilty getting a free model!"

"Then, dinner."

"Dinner?"

"Come up and eat. You haven't had lunch yet, have you?"

"Uh, I was about to make instant ramen when I decided to ask you—"

"Come on up. I'll cook for you."

Dain's eyes widened to their absolute maximum. "Your cooking is seriously amazing, Oppa! Seojin-eonni brags about it all the time!"

"Seojin does?"

"Yeah! She was like, 'Siu's soybean paste stew tastes exactly like my mom's!'"

...Is Seojin really going around telling other people that?

"Hurry up and come over."

"Okay! Five minutes! I'll clean up and head right up!"

I went back up to Room 201 and opened the fridge. I decided on kimchi fried rice. Simple, but delicious. I finely chopped the kimchi, stir-fried it with some pork, tossed in the rice, and topped it with a fried egg. A quick drizzle of sesame oil to finish.

Five minutes later, the doorbell rang. "Oppa! I'm here!" Dain walked in. She had changed her sweatshirt. This one was even more oversized than the last, but she was still wearing the same short shorts, leaving her bare legs fully exposed beneath the hem of the massive shirt.

"Take a seat."

"Whoa, kimchi fried rice!" Dain sat at the dining table. She picked up a spoon and shouted cheerfully, "Thank you for the food!"

One bite. Two bites. Three bites. "...This is insane."

"Is it good?"

"It's way beyond just 'good.' How is it even possible for it to taste like this?" Dain kept eating, her spoon never stopping even as she spoke. She didn't even care that a few grains of rice were stuck to the corner of her mouth.

"Oppa, make this for me every day." Dain broke the fried egg. The golden yolk oozed over the rice. "This is the absolute best," she said, smiling brightly.

I sipped my water and watched her from across the table. Her fingernails stained with paint. The graphite smudge on her index finger. The grain of rice on her lip. The faint blush still lingering ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠on her cheeks.

"Dain."

"Yeah?"

"Show me your next piece when it's finished. Not today's sketches."

Dain's spoon paused. "...You want me to show you my next piece too?"

"Yeah."

"...Really?"

"Of course."

Something welled up in Dain's eyes. It wasn't tears; it was a bright, shining light. "It's a promise." Dain held out her pinky finger. It was the exact same gesture Yuri always made.

I hooked my pinky with hers. Her finger was larger than Yuri's, but still slender. The finger of an artist. I could feel the slight calluses on her joints from holding pencils. "Promise!" Dain pressed her thumb against mine to seal the deal, beaming. This girl, seriously... What am I going to do with her?

After finishing every last grain of the fried rice, Dain placed her bowl in the sink. "Thanks, Oppa! See you tomorrow!" she called out as she left. The door clicked shut.

There was something Dain had left behind on the dining table. A small sketch drawn in pencil on a piece of kraft paper. It was a sketch of my face. In the corner, she had written: "Thanks, Oppa ♡". A heart. A round, slightly lopsided heart.

I picked up the paper and walked to my workroom, placing it on my desk right next to Seojin's memo.

The two notes lay side by side.

I opened the web novel cover file again. The brown-haired female protagonist. It didn't look like Seojin anymore. Perhaps influenced by Dain, her eyes had become a bit rounder. ...This won't do either. I gripped my stylus and looked at the reference images again. I began redrawing, strictly following the character design sheet from the commission brief. This time, no familiar faces slipped into the drawing. Because I was fully focused.

10:00 PM. I finished the cover and saved the file. Leaning back in my chair, I stared up at the ceiling. Seojin. Haeun. Dain. Their faces overlapped in my mind. Three completely different faces. Three completely different emotions. Each of them had entered my daily life in their own distinct way.

The curve of a waist defined by a cafe apron. A chest hovering over me as she spotted me at the gym. The moment a towel slipped down on a rainy night. The moment we both averted our eyes at an awkward dinner table. The eyes staring at me from behind an easel, biting her lip.

I had thought this villa would be a quiet place when I first moved in. A place where I would cook alone, draw alone, and sleep alone. But I was wrong. The doorbell rang. Every single day. Someone always came over. To eat, to bring coffee, to ask me to work out together, to ask me to be a croquis model.

I used to believe that being alone was comfortable. I still thought so. But... I looked at the two notes on my desk. Seojin's neat, rounded handwriting. Dain's large, lopsided letters. I looked at myself, unable to throw either of them away. And I knew. The walls had already ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠begun to crumble, and I wasn't doing anything to stop it.