His gaze searched Ferran’s face, taking in his renewed smile, and Nikolai offered one in return, fondness in his eyes and a trace of his dimples on his cheeks. He inched closer, not quite where he sat previously, and began rinsing out his brushes again. Newly clean paintbrush in hand, he hesitated for a moment: it occurred to him that he may have made Ferran feel obligated to stay and the possibility wore at his conscience.
Yeah? Still want to be my canvas? he asked. It was a playful question, accompanied by one of his trademark smirks, but an honest question nonetheless, shot through with a faint nervousness. Not a common emotion for Nikolai anymore.