“Could you clasp Laird Whiskersworth MacFluffington closer?”

“Like this?”  Jongdae clutched the oversized teddy bear nearer, but moved his head in the process.

“Yes, but don’t forget to keep looking down intensely.”  He glared at the stuffed animal, and you laughed.   “You look constipated.  Come on…  Intensely, but lovingly.”  He moulded his face into an approximation of desire, and you internally sighed.  It was giving cheesy romance novel, but you’d take it.  You could always tweak it under your brush.  “That works.”

Turning back to your canvas, you shaded more red around the female figure, represented by the unappreciated Laird MacFluffington.  True, his lumpy, if beloved body, was not the most accurate model for a human woman, but you had always been better at painting women from memory than men, hence why you needed your affectionately long-suffering hybrid’s help.  Humming as you dropped into the zone, you murmured, “That’s good…” and then internally chuckled at the betrayal of the stillness of the rest of his body by his traitorously wagging tail.

Jongdae started to gently sing along to the tune you were humming, and that really put you in the zone.  At least until the laird’s wig slowly, but inexorably slid to the floor.  

He tried.  He really did.  But you could see that he was struggling.  Body shaking, shoulders bouncing.  Cheeks puffing with the effort to keep a straight face.  Sighing, you sat back.  “Go ahead.”  You cleaned your brushes while Jongdae doubled over with laughter.  “You’re a menace,” you muttered.  “You have no romance in your soul!”

“The wig!” he wheezed.  

Rolling your eyes, you gestured with a brush.  “I’m not good with hair!  I needed visual representation!”

He was near to crying when his laughter came to an abrupt halt.  He looked over at the front door, his ears at attention.  

Figuring you could both use a break, you stood.  “I want a snack, are you hungry?”

“Oh…no…” he said faintly.

You nodded, heading for the kitchen, then stopped short, turning your head toward him in shock.  “Wait…no?”  To your knowledge, Jongdae had never turned down a snack in his life.

He vaguely waved you on.  “No, I’m not hungry.”

“O…kay…”  You entered the kitchen, idly wondering if you should play the lottery.

By the time you emerged with a plate of grapes, cheese, and nuts, he was at the door, peeping through the hole, his tail wagging slightly.  “What is it?” you asked.

He jumped.  “Oh, uh…what time is it?”

Nonplussed, you glanced over at the clock.  “12:45.”

“I’m going to go get the mail.”  With that, he was out the door, and you were left with your snack, your half-finished canvas, and Laird MacFluffington.