Paint Me
"It’s beautiful," Annie says, absolutely astonished, when Armin shows her the finished product. And it is — the lines are perfect, the shapes are realistic, and the colors are so vibrant, so bright, and so alive. So unlike the person they’re meant to portray. "You exaggerated a couple things, though."
Armin tilts his head to the side curiously as his eyes move back and forth between the canvas and his model. ”You think so? I know the nose looks a little big, but…”
Annie swats him his arm as she scowls. ”I’m not talking about the nose. I’m just…” The hair is more gold that platinum blonde, the skin more radiant, the cheeks redder, the eyes such a beautiful blue. Annie has to wonder if this is actually how Armin sees her. ”It’s not totally accurate.”
Still sitting, he lays down the canvas and beckons for her to come closer, so that she’s standing between his legs and so that his arms can encircle her waist. ”You say that because you don’t see yourself the way I see you.” She grunts, and he chuckles as he props his chin against her stomach, his eyes looking up at her brightly. ”Either way, I’d rather have the real thing than a painting.”
It doesn’t matter how many times Armin compliments her or uses cheesy lines — Annie always ends up blushing. ”Please,” she grouses, “don’t say that. It’s so embarrassing.”
Armin stands up, laughing softly, and gently kisses the crown of her head. ”Sorry, I can’t help myself. I really do think you have beautiful eyes, though.”
"Stop," she wails, but still allows him to lace his fingers through hers. "I liked it better when you were making fun of my nose."
"I’d never make fun of your nose."
"I’d never make fun of your nose!" For emphasis, he kisses the tip of her nose.
"Stop!" she yelps, now blushing bright red. With a huff (more in embarrassment than actual anger), she storms off — and as usual, Armin chases after her.