Xie Lian Redrawive Come So Far Huh

xie lian redraw…i’ve come so far huh

when i put more effort in venti’s birthday than my own birthday

from artist to muse vil schoenheit x reader (can be read platonically or romantically)

summary: in which Vil admires a painting of him and commissions the reader to paint him once more. they unexpectedly get close

author's note: happy birthday vil! as mentioned, this can be read platonically or romantically, just pick your poison!

tags: gender neutral reader, sfw, fluff, strangers to friends to ???, platonic/romantic, 7.8k+ words, JP translation terms used (e.g., pyroxene instead of shaftlands)

you can also read this on AO3

History has thousands of artists chasing after their muses, the ones who they idealized, that which inspired them most, but what if the muse chased after the artist instead?

Beauty lies in the eye of the beholder. Of course, it was undeniable that certain eyes were better than others. Vil may not possess the same ability as his vice dorm leader to find the beauty in everything, but he certainly knew how to identify anything with beauty.

Who and what did Vil find beautiful? Himself, obviously, but there were other things as well. If you had asked him yesterday he might have talked about the new pair of heels from Ténèbres, coming in a gorgeous shade of blue that matched Pomefiore’s robes, almost as if they were made for him and him alone. If you had asked him last week he might have mentioned an apple carving made by Epel, one of the Fairest Queen, and in his opinion the peak of his junior’s creations thus far. If you had asked him today, he would have to say it was a painting of him.

He would be honest and admit that him being the subject of the portrait gave it much of its charm, but he would be loath to not give the artist credit where credit was more than due.

The shoot he had today was quite odd, as was in line with most of the company’s track record, where instead of being photographed he would have to pose in front of multiple artists, all with their own art styles and mediums. A slow-paced and time consuming task that took up hours off everyone’s day, but he could appreciate it— his beauty was allowed to transcend beyond his mirror, beyond lenses and screens.

Vil would also admit that their recruitment team had hired excellent people, all of whom provided different takes on him, but it was your work that drew him in most.

It is not your skill alone that he appreciates, but your vision; the vision you had portrayed him as, recognized him as.

Pastel blue wasn’t a color he was frequently seen in— he who, for the longest time, was associated with deep indigos and royal purples, red the hues of rubies and blood, and black, not quite a color but like the abyss, like the absence of light— all of which were associated not only with opulence, but with villainy. He is accustomed to it, fully embracing how they enhance his beauty, but he can appreciate the freshness of something new— not too drab, not too bright, not too soft a shade but cool, like ice.

Still, when he puts on the coat that’s all it is to him— a coat. It is a nicely done piece, yes, and he likes the androgyny of the fit— the way the belt cinches his waist, the puff and cuff of the bishop sleeves, the length of the jacket, stopping just below his ankles if only to show off his heels. It is more adventurous compared to what most men would consider, but nothing grand as far as haute couture is concerned.

He sifts through numerous poses, allowing the artists to get up close to get their reference shots— none of them prod at his makeup or hair, so it’s hardly uncomfortable. After a dozen or so minutes of allowing them to figure out their ideas, you speak for the first time since greeting him, merely telling him to ‘sit down with a relaxed, but good posture’.

Simple enough, enough that he believed he’d be able to hold that pose throughout the whole session. You seemed to think so, too, by the way you didn’t get up to take any pictures of him, merely working away on your canvas.

The final product, however, he would hardly describe as simple.

The structure of the trench coat itself pays homage to vintage styles popular years ago, with the choice of color and fabric giving it a more modern take. A layer underneath was a ruffled, white shirt not unlike the ones commonly seen in period dramas. It’s a mixture of a few different periods of time, but it is at your work that he sees just how tasteful it is— a futuristic nostalgia.

When you had asked him to simply sit and relax he wondered if it was out of consideration for him, or perhaps to make the pose as simple for yourself as possible, and while there might be some truth to either one he realized there was clear intent, a scene you wanted to portray.

Vil looked like he had come out of a portrait of a noble from a few centuries ago— almost fitting in with that image if not for the icy blue coat, style and sheet ripped from the wrong era. Still, you somehow made it work, setting him against a cold, winter sky that matched the hues of his own attire. You don’t even show his shoes, instead choosing to stop at the pool of blue fabric around his legs, as if the coat had actually been more of a dress or skirt.

He had been sitting, yes, but not merely so. Vil always makes sure to keep a straight posture unless instructed otherwise, but the way his hands are postured— one kept closed, and close to him, the other opened upwards to the sky, speaks of a relaxed regality.

Above all, it is his expression that strikes him most. Of course, Vil is incredibly appreciative of his own appearance, and has specific looks he knows he pulls off best, practically to the point of effortless, but there are certain changes that make him less smug, giving way to a quiet confidence.

In particular, it is the way he looks at the viewer— though his positioning is relatively leveled, the slight tilt of his chin and the look in his half-lidded eyes painted him almost all-knowing, secretive, as if looking down on the viewer within valid reason.

Vil isn’t simply Vil in your artwork, but a cold, regal noble— not exactly one that’s antagonistic, perhaps even fair, but certainly one that was authoritative and powerful.

If Vil smiles at the thought, no one points it out; you certainly don’t, even as you chose to approach him, or rather, your painting.

“Excuse me. Management will be looking through the artworks now,” you were polite and straight to the point in talking to him, and he can admire your decision to be as professional as possible. He, too, was said to be quite the stoic person, so it would be hypocritical to find fault in you for maintaining respectful boundaries.

“Just a question,” he interrupted before you could leave the room with your work in tow. “Could I take that painting with me once they're done with it?”

Belatedly, he wondered if he should have been more upfront with his compliments to the artist, the artist whose name he did not even know, though he supposed wishing to own your work and your work alone served the very same purpose.

He thinks neither about you or your art for a while. After all, Vil is an incredibly busy person, with school and his photo shoots taking priority in his head, but he does display your portrait of him in his room, secured with a frame so that nothing, not even dust, would tarnish it.

Looking at it every morning, every night almost serves as a reminder to himself— to not simply be Vil Schoenheit, though he supposes there’s hardly anything simple about him. No— it is still his name, his face, his reputation, but he needs to transform in a sense that he is not just the same Vil wearing different makeup, with different hair, modelling different clothes, but Vil playing a role, Vil who embodies the role, is the role— not so dissimilar to acting, he supposed.

Modelling shouldn’t just be about selling clothes, it should also be about artistry, from the experimental to the avant-garde— and at times, after his shoots, he wonders about how you would’ve interpreted him— what stories you saw from his expression, the garb he adorned, and the poses he struck.

It’s a little odd, Vil thought, that he spent a minute or two thinking about a person whose face he barely recalled, but he assumed it was the same feeling of reading a book or watching a movie, thoughts of it popping up in the back of your mind every now and then.

Still, even with his admiration for your creation, he doesn’t go out of his way to look for you— he could have asked for your name from the staff, but he doesn’t. He could have tried to look for you on social media, but he doesn’t.

Even though, in truth, he would like to see your rendition of him once more; see your interpretation of his beauty.

Then, come a faithful day, he has another photoshoot— and he finds you working as a part of the team once more. There’s no easel in front of you this time, however, with your canvas being the set itself. It’s still quite good, he thinks, because a good set design aided in making him and his photos as beautiful as possible, but he wouldn’t deny that there was some disappointment that that was all you would be doing.

When you greet him, he greets you back with less indifference than he usually would.

“How unexpected to see you again. Do you work in the same industry?”

“Oh, I’m surprised you remembered me,” so you said, though your face barely changed, not looking very surprised at all. “I’m still a student, so I’m just working part-time.”

Interesting. You were similar to him in that aspect, then.

“You must be quite good to have been picked.”

“Or cheaper to hire,” you replied with a wry smile, one that faded away quite quickly, “but coming from someone like you, I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“It was a compliment, so you should,” he agreed. He wouldn’t be spending time talking to you if there wasn’t a beauty in you he could appreciate— which was your talent to capture his beauty on canvas, of course.

“I see.”

You don’t seem very enthused talking to him, not in the way Epel seemed to cower at the sight of him holding a makeup bag, but more in the sense that it wouldn’t affect you at all whether he continued talking, no, whether he talked to you or not in the first place. He could be offended, but you don’t seem very enthused either when you’re called away to attend to some other set piece, so he supposes you’re either just awfully professional or wholly unsociable.

Either way works with him. Better quiet than being exhausting or bothersome to him and the rest of the crew.

When the day ends and everyone gets up to leave, he realizes he still doesn’t know your name.

It’s important to know, Vil reasons, because he expects you to continue popping up during his shoots, because he wants to see another painting of him, because you might make a name for yourself in the future, because it might be worthwhile knowing you beyond paint and face. He’s in no rush to learn it, however, as he knows he’ll wind up crossing paths with you once more.

Over the course of a couple months he’d seen you more than a few times, enough to wonder if his agent was actually acquainted with whoever it was that kept recommending you as a part-timer for the very same shoots he participated in.

Still, despite being able to count your encounters with a full hand, you’re never doing any work as comparable to the first time. Just like the second time, he always spotted you doing some kind of set work and, truly, it feels as if he’s more annoyed for you than you’re annoyed for yourself… or so it seemed, at least based on the small talk he’d initiated with you.

Admittedly he would appreciate that kind of work within the Movie Appreciation Club, where there were barely any members willing to do backstage work, but seeing you… it’s talent a little wasted, he thinks, especially knowing those sets would likely be discarded and dismantled after today.

When he walks in the room he fully expects to see you there, and lo and behold, you are.

“Ah, it’s you again.”

“Yes. It’s nice to see you again, Vil Schoenheit.”

Neither of you are even the least bit surprised that the two of you would be working in the same space again, although he notes that some of your coworkers certainly do look a little shocked. Perhaps it’s how he greets you before you even get the chance to, or how casually he chose to address you, as if he’s known you for quite some time. Perhaps it is by how unphased you are by his appearance, visually and literally, or how you just go back to sorting your things like he wasn’t there watching.

He wouldn’t deny being a little irked at how nonchalant you are in front of him, but all things considering the two of you were essentially work acquaintances now, and he might as well get used to it since it was evident you weren’t doing it to be rude.

“Let’s do our best today as well,” you ushered him towards you with your free hand, “I was assigned to work with you personally, by the way. I assume you don’t have anything to do with that?”

“Of course not,” he scoffed. He liked the potential he saw in you, but that was not enough reason for him to meddle in a work setting. “Perhaps they simply thought you were the best among those present, and therefore best suited for me.”

“Hm,” you neither agree nor disagree, and though it’s good that you never let any compliments get to your head it’s quite maddening how you never properly accept them either. Do you know just how often he hands out compliments? Not very often, that’s what. “Possible, although I am the closest in age to you in the room, so perhaps it’s to make you more comfortable.”

“Unnecessary, but understandable,” he replied, beginning to wipe his makeup off so you could work with a barefaced canvas, “it’ll be a makeup look using mostly gold leaf flakes, yes?”

“Mhm. Just on one side of your face, though I might extend it to your neck and arms.”

There are a few things he wants to discuss with you further, and as soon as he finishes cleaning his face properly, just to make sure no residue would affect his skin later on, he doesn’t hesitate to start talking.

“This is our sixth time meeting, yet I still don’t know your name,” Vil muses, and because he doesn’t expect you to answer, you usually let him do most of the talking during your five minute conversations, he continues, “you never signed your name on that portrait you made of me either.”

“One, you never asked, and it didn’t seem too important to tell you without being prompted. Two, the magazine art director said we shouldn’t, so I didn’t… oh, close your eyes for a moment, please.”

“Alright,” and he does so, immediately feeling a hand on his chin as you figure out the best angle to apply the flakes atop his eyelid.

“Thank you. Oh, and I’m surprised you actually kept that painting.”

Just an inkling, but he doubts you actually look all that surprised, you never really seem to be. He’s just going to have to take your word for it that you are, deep within.

“I wouldn’t have asked for it otherwise,” neither would he have had it discarded, or just laying around somewhere in his room to collect dust. “In fact, I wouldn’t mind having another one,” maybe not in his room this time— interior design still mattered to him, after all, and having two would be a little tacky, wouldn’t it? Maybe he’d keep it tucked away safely in his home back in Pyroxene.

“Like… a commission?”

“I wouldn’t ask you to do it for free— you’re obviously not enough of a fan of me to do something like that,” besides, he definitely had the money for it. Maybe he’d even pay better than the ones hiring you for these jobs right now.

“I wouldn’t say no to that, I would appreciate the money, although…” for once there’s some hesitation in your words, and Vil was tempted to open his eyes. However, you hadn’t given him the go signal, so he wouldn’t in the chance his makeup would be ruined, or the chance your finger would end up stabbing him in the eye.

“...although?”

“Although it might take a while,” you clarified, “as in, I’m not particularly inspired or motivated right now. I don’t think I’d be able to paint you the way you seem to want me to.”

What of your portrait of him, then? Was that you feeling particularly inspired that day, or did that mean he had found himself enthralled over a half-hearted work? Either or trouble him slightly, perhaps a little more than slightly, all leading to the fact that it meant you could not find any inspiration out of him as he currently was.

How frustrating. It must be fixed.

After all, he isn’t some one-time muse that you could discard from your thoughts so easily.

But how exactly was he going to go about it?

He wasn’t going to question that it was because he wasn’t beautiful enough, because he is more than certain that he was, is, will always be, but there had to be something specifically that would make you so enraptured by him that you would be inspired by him even when he wasn’t in the same room as you, to the point that he would inspire you even with your other projects, to the extent that you would even draw him out of your own volition, not just because he had paid you to.

“Then give me your business card, or your number or MagiCam ID,” Vil says as he arrives at a decision, “I don’t have a deadline, just take as long as you want, and I’ll spend that time showing you how worthy I am to become your muse, how grateful you should be that the Vil Schoenheit wants you as his artist specifically.”

There’s a short silence as he feels your fingertips stop moving against his cheekbones, one that ultimately vanishes as you let out a small exhale of breath, almost like a huff of laughter.

Neither of you comment on it, though you do promise to give him your contact details.

Good. He was going to make sure you would be inspired enough to paint him even more beautifully than you had before.

“Oh, you can open your eyes now, though please don’t move around too much.”

Vil doesn’t expect anything but the sight of your hands and the mirror behind you when he opens his eyes, so the small smile you have on your lips has him a little stunned. It’s the first time you had ever smiled at him, properly that is— he can’t recall you doing so the times he had greeted you, nor the times he had complimented your work.

Something about that smile of yours has him believing he’ll succeed that goal of his.

When Vil had sent you the down payment, he had asked you if there was anything in particular you needed from him— some specific reference angles, or pictures, perhaps— you had stated that you could send over anything, anything ranging from selfies, to clothes he liked, to even the things he did throughout the day.

He believed it would be somewhat inappropriate to tell someone he barely knew, work acquaintances you two may be, about his day and his life in NRC, but he was still persistent in getting you inspired, so he sent you a picture of him once a day.

Were those pictures the same ones he had posted on MagiCam already? Yes, but he wasn’t very sure you’d even scrolled through his page despite having followed him recently, so those pictures were sent in case you had missed them, as well as a call to action to react to them with your account.

He has his reaction notifications muted, and he’d rather not follow you on such a public account for both of your sakes, so he can’t exactly tell whether you do interact with his posts at all. However, he supposes your effort in using the purple heart instead of the plain, red ones to react to the images is sufficient enough.

Sometimes you would ask him questions, too, but nothing ever too out of the box— if he could show which eyeshadow palette he had used, or who designed a certain article of clothing he had previously worn, or a close-up of a certain pattern or print you found interesting— all relatively standard things, though he wondered if they were of any use in helping you obtain inspiration for the commission.

Regardless, something’s going to work eventually, so Vil continues this routine for one week, and then two, and it is in the middle of the third that something finally changes for the both of you.

Vil makes sure to get an adequate amount of rest at the most optimal time, so you would never catch him awake in the middle of the night. However, it seemed as if the same cannot be said about you, considering Vil had woken up with multiple messages from you, all sent past three in the morning.

Not just any messages, but audio recordings sent as messages, as if to emphasize that you couldn’t be bothered to type anything so late at night, but going to bed was still out of the question.

He was going to lecture you as best as he could despite the physical distance between the two of you, either through an eloquently typed, extremely long paragraph of a text message, or his own audio recording, but first and foremost he was going to listen to whatever you just had to send so late at night.

Once he had finished his pre-breakfast routine, of course. He could listen to you while eating.

It’s clear a few seconds in the first sent message that you had not meant to send it to him, because as close as Vin and Vil sounded to each other, they were clearly two different people in your MagiCam contacts list.

Your eyes must have been so bleary, vision blurry to send a late night rant to your client, one you had been insistent to be completely professional with; it’s unfortunate, really, that you had mistakenly picked him, so as punishment he would continue listening to every single message anyway.

Vil listens out of curiosity at first, partially because he’s already begun listening, partially because he can’t recall you ever speaking so much in the span of… several minutes? Especially without prompting from him. The reason he continues listening, however, is because of the sound of your voice. Frankly, it’s not very beautiful nor comforting to listen to, and he even cringes a little at how evident the exhaustion is as you speak.

It concerns him, honestly.

There’s no real cohesion in the things you talk about, jumping from topic to topic as you discussed how tired you were, how each little stressor in your life piled up one by one until you simply caved in and burnt out.

“I just want to rest…” you tell him, or rather the one you had meant to send the messages to, but he thinks the answer would have been the same from either person.

Then you should rest.

Vil understands that for many, it’s something easier said than done, understands because he is the same— if sleep deprivation wasn’t so detrimental to his appearance, he might have spent more nights staying up late too, studying, researching, working to become the best, or rather the most beautiful of them all. However, that isn’t the case, and if someone like him needs to spend seven hours a day sleeping, then what more you?

Vil’s already forming paragraphs in his head about what he wants to say to you when you send a message hours later, and in his mind he’s calculating the hours of sleep and it’s simply not enough. If you were going to sleep late, at least wake up late too, hmm?

The first message is a simple ‘sorry for sending it to the wrong person’ text, but the three dots next to your icon indicate that you’re typing up a storm, one that Vil doesn’t have the patience to wait for and read. Excuses were excuses and wholly unnecessary, especially when he’s already made up his mind. If he lets you explain yourself, you’ll inevitably just give him more reasons to scold you.

He simply does not have all day for that.

It’s why he decides to call you, clicking on the call button without giving you a single warning or time to prepare yourself. Honestly, it did not matter too much to Vil what you had to say— what was important was you listened to what he had to say.

“Listen, and try not to interrupt me too much while I’m talking,” he says as he tunes out your fumbling. It’s a little funny, he thinks, that this is how he sees you make a fuss the first time, you and your incoherent mumbling as you tried to explain yourself but to no avail. He hadn’t even done anything, you had done this to yourself.

“First, I don’t care that you sent all those messages to me,” and it’s true, he doesn’t. He wasn’t going to get angry because you sent him a bunch on accident, especially when you hadn’t so much as spoken a single word against him.

“In fact, if you want to keep sending them to me, go ahead. I prefer to talk live-time like this, of course, but the audio recordings work too because we’re both busy people… and because we seemingly have different sleep schedules,” Vil thinks he might have heard you say something under your breath, but he’s not too sure, “and speaking of sleep schedules… just what time did you sleep last night?”

You tried to answer, but he doesn’t hear it, chooses not to— mostly because if he hears a number beyond three he might lose it. He has a feeling it’s beyond three.

“Rather, I wouldn’t even count it night anymore. Must have been an hour or two away from morning, if I wanted to be generous in my assumptions. It’s not good for your skin, you know, and there’s only so much cosmetics can do to help you stay beautiful. Plus, to stay up that late, I wouldn’t be shocked if you had… what, canned coffee that’s more sugar than caffeine? Maybe an energy drink?”

Vil sighs. You’re not saying anything, and he doesn’t hear any sniffles or whimpers to indicate that you might be crying, but he does pity you, and he certainly does not want this conversation to be discussed through audio recording with some other unsuspecting contact.

“Look, I understand where you’re coming from. Acting and modelling aren’t always counted as art, not in the way yours would be, but it is, and as an artist, I get it,” because perfection and flawlessness isn’t something you obtain at birth, isn’t something you maintain without so much as lifting a single finger. To balance work, even if it’s something you’re passionate about, with your other priorities, is draining to the mind and body, and you were on the verge of crashing down, if you hadn’t already.

Vil’s already used to it, learned at an early age with some help from his father, so he deals with the stress of time a little better than others, but he’s not completely immune and he’s had his moments— he would absolutely not recommend it, and he’d rather not let his artist go through the same thing.

“But even if you want to keep working, or maybe because you feel like you have to keep working, you just have to stop yourself and rest. If you were just a night owl full of energy three hours past midnight I would let you go easily, but all signs point otherwise. You want to work when you’re at your best, otherwise the work you’ll put out… simply put, do you really think you’d be able to perform your best?”

When Vil finishes scolding you, there’s a few moments of silence— from both of your ends. If your audio recordings were the most you’ve ever said to him, unintentionally that is, then that must have been the most he’s ever said to you.

“Oh, um, sorry, Vil-”

“No, don’t be. Why would you be?” You cannot see it but he raises an eyebrow. “Your work habits don’t negatively affect mine, or affect it all. I’m just telling you to take care of yourself if you want to stay beautiful. Really, if you were one of the potatoes here at Pomefiore, I imagine I would have had my hands full with you…”

Even Epel and the rest of his first years go to sleep at the same time all the others do. With those ungodly sleeping times, you might be more fit for Ignihyde than his dorm, and he could just imagine your habits getting worse.

“Also, you better not work on my latest portrait without getting any rest. In fact, I’m forbidding you from putting a single dot on that canvas on the days you’ve gotten less than seven hours of sleep, understand?”

Vil expects you to say sorry one more time, or that you’d definitely get some rest some time soon, but when you decide to thank him for calling you… well, it’s only natural to feel good to have his good intentions recognized. It was about time, he’d say.

Except he doesn’t say that, instead clicking his tongue as he bids you farewell. He doesn’t really know if you’ll even heed his requests as there was no way he would know without seeing you in person, and considering he was usually stuck on an island… the chances that he could were slim.

He would just have to hope that you listened. Particularly about the part where he told you to not work on his portrait without resting first— he knows it’s quite poetic to have an artist lose sleep over their muse, but he’d rather not do that to you.

Something had changed between the two of you since that day.

Of course, some things stay the same, like your tendency to use the purple heart when reacting to his messages, but your texting routine shifts into less two acquaintances talking to something arguably closer.

Vil still sends pictures of him, just like he has every day since the day he got your contact information, but Vil changes it up subconsciously— specifically, choosing to send the image to you before he posts it on MagiCam. It’s hardly a difference, and it’s not like he’s asking for your approval on whether it looked good or not, but on the one rare occasion that you’re actually online the same time as he is, you point it out.

‘You haven’t posted that yet.’

‘I was just about to,’ he texted back, though it allowed him to realize one thing— that you do, in fact, check his profile. Maybe you even interacted with his posts. Even though he doesn’t do anything to confirm it, something about that little fact fills him with pride, almost like an unspoken praise on your end.

It’s probably that incident that spurs him to start sending you more than just one photo a day— just for you, exclusively. The same picture with a slightly different angle, or a different pose or expression. The reactions are usually the same, though occasional comments about how you preferred the unposted version get a laugh out of him. Lucky for you, then, to have a version for your eyes only, hmm?

You begin to start sending him sketches, too. None actually of the portrait, he still has no idea what it’ll end up looking like, usually not even of him, sometimes something not related to him at all, but he can’t help but appreciate them all the same.

If you’re willing to send it to him, the same way he sends you pictures of him, then it must be something you’re proud of, right? That much is worthy of commendation.

Then there’s the voice messages. Vil would still rather just call you, but the conflict in your schedules make the former far more convenient. They’re more from you than him, and he still finds himself irked when more than half of them are sent in the middle of the night, but he returns them all the same— who knows, if his face wasn’t enough to inspire you, then maybe the addition of his voice will.

Plus, recording what to say saves a lot of time, especially when he’s getting ready in the morning, and preparing for slumber at night.

Speaking of, he hadn’t sent anything to you yet today, had he?

“Good morning,” he says into the phone, the sound of a blender whirling at a distance, “don’t mind the background noise. I’m making breakfast. Anyway, last night…”

The last thing that changes between the two of you, the new routine, would be how often the two of you greeted each other good morning and good night. He doesn’t remember who exactly started it, he could have done it to be polite, you could’ve done it to politely end a conversation, but it becomes a habit.

“...You actually said good night earlier than me. I wonder if you did that so I wouldn’t fret over you staying up late anymore, hmm?”

He’s seen how late those good night messages could get sent, from one to two to three in the morning, because for some reason you’ve never tried to lie about it before, but Vil just thanks the Seven you don’t go to bed the same time he wakes. He might end up losing hairs thanks to you otherwise.

“In any case, you should be waking up soon. Just because it’s a weekend doesn’t mean you should slack off,” he pauses momentarily, and though he heard no footsteps he certainly heard the door shut. “Though, of course, you can relax as you need to. Have a pleasant day.”

He ends the recording, sending it to you as he turns to greet the student who entered the room.

“Good morning, Rook.”

“Roi du Poison! Oh, what a magnifique start to this morning! How blessed am I to be greeted by a sight so rare!” It’s no surprise to Vil to see his vice dorm leader as energetic and talkative so early in the morning, but something about the words chosen do.

“Rare?”

The smile on the huntsman’s face grows wider.

“Oui! Pardon me, but that gentle expression… it's just like the first snowfall of winter, little crystals fluttering down from the sky, landing down on earth with a ballerina’s grace and a queen’s elegance. How wonderful to have witnessed this!”

While Rook was talking, Vil turned to his phone, using the screen as a pseudo-mirror of sorts. He knew Rook had a tendency to over-romanticize his comments, but he certainly didn’t see that proclaimed gentleness, but he wouldn’t be surprised if that expression had long left before he could notice it.

“Oh, what I would give to be the person who could make you look that way!”

There’s a certain insinuation to Rook’s words, one that he doesn’t miss. Though he prefers to talk to you in the privacy of his room, there have been times he’s talked to you in the lounge or hallway, so it wouldn’t be much of a shock if Rook knew he had been talking to you. Consistently.

He’d prefer to keep matters with you private, but he’s not ashamed of it either— how your work relationship had transformed into something… else, something Vil doesn’t quite have the words for yet. Just something he doesn’t have with anybody else.

“That person…” Vil trails off just as he begins, not really sure of what Rook wanted to hear from him.

“Oui! It must be nothing but delightful to be that kind of person to you!”

To be any kind of person to him should be a privilege, but what category could he possibly place you in?

It’s a little difficult pinning down how exactly you see a person you, well, don’t see very often in person, but still spend a substantial amount of time with, in a sense.

How would he describe you? For starters, surprisingly vexing. He certainly doesn’t mind how long it sometimes takes you to reply, or how subtle to downright unnoticeable your compliments could get, but he does mind the state of your health.

You’re also quite considerate, asking him how his day has been, offering to listen to his problems the same way he listens to yours.

The latter is an offer he almost never takes, but it’s an offer he keeps at the back of his mind. It’s sweet, he thinks, and despite your initial distant attitude you’re sweet. Although he’s not ready to talk to you about… well, a lot of things, there’s a comfort in knowing you were more than willing to listen when the time comes.

You were a multitude of things, and… Oh, and of course, an artist. Funny how despite that being the whole reason he kept starting conversations with you in the first place, it had soon become second to how he thought of you as a person.

Special, he thinks, that could be the word for it. It’s the closest he’s gotten to describe what kind of relationship the two of you had, to what you were to him.

“Important?” he settles for instead, a word that still meant a lot despite not holding the same meaning. “You’re my right hand, aren’t you? Of course you’re important to me as well.”

Amidst Rook’s excitement and showers of flowery words, Vil spots the knowing look in his eyes. They both know there’s a difference.

“It’s good to see you again.” It's been a little more than a month since his conversation with Rook that he finally gets to see you in person again. You look well-rested, thankfully. He’d rather not lecture you in front of other people, and he was sure you’d rather not be on the receiving end of that either.

“Vil,” as opposed to the last time you two had met, your greeting is far friendlier, even sounding like you were waiting to see him. He would admit only to himself that he had been waiting to see you too. “I’m happy to see you again.”

You’re doing your best to look and sound as professional as possible, even though he had already heard you at your worst. Maybe because your co-workers are gossiping among themselves already. Still, he can’t help but tease you, just a little bit.

“Oh? You’re happy?” The small smile you wore dropped near instantaneously.

“What… is that so surprising?”

That you’re happy? No, not really, of course you were, it was him you would be meeting after all, but the fact that you actually verbalized it? Yes, enough to make him laugh to himself.

“You’re early, by the way. The models won’t be needed for at least thirty minutes more.”

“Yes, I’m well aware,” he tells you, before slowly guiding you someplace else, where the two of you won’t be eavesdropped on, “but it’d be nice to talk to each other properly, wouldn’t it?”

Properly, without having such a long distance between the two of you. The last time the two of you met in person, he was simply your client, but there is no simplicity when it comes to Vil, and now…

“It would,” you reply, “but is there anything you want to talk about?”

“We can talk about me, or we can talk about you,” there’s nothing in particular. He knows it’ll likely be nothing personal due to the two of you being in public, but he’s open to talking about most things. All he wants is to relax in your presence for a little bit, especially because after this, he knows it’ll likely be another month, maybe more, before he could see you once again.

“Then… Do you not want to ask? About the painting’s progress?”

Ah, yes, the commission.

“You can talk about it if you want,” of course, he’d like to see it soon. One because it’ll be of him; two because it’ll be painted by you, but he’s not going to pressure you to get it out any time soon. Beauty took time, masterpieces even more so. “But I already told you, just take your time. I can wait, even if it’ll take another year.”

You can try to hide it, but Vil’s perceptive enough to notice how your eyes avert at something he had said.

“Okay,” it’s more than evident now that there seems to be something on your mind, and he wonders if he reads you better due to having gotten to know you, or if it’s because you allow him to see you like that.

He doesn’t tell you to spit it out already, instead waiting patiently for whatever you had to say. It must have been serious for you to look that way.

“If I fulfill the commission, will you stop talking to me?”

Vil doesn’t know what overcomes him, but one second he’s blinking at your words and the next he’s laughing unabashedly, uncaring despite how certain it is that attention had been drawn to the two of you.

Stop talking to you? With how ingrained you’ve become in his daily life? Absolutely not, and how preposterous it is for you to insinuate that he would do such a thing.

“That might be the dumbest thing you’ve ever told me, and I’ve listened to you talk while you’re sleep-deprived,” he hadn’t even finished talking but you already look relieved— astounded, even, based on how you widen your eyes.

“That would mean running the risk of someone else becoming your muse, and that’s just awful… for you. They’ll never compare to me, and I’m just sure they won’t care as much as I do whether you get three hours of sleep or seven,” he clicks his tongue, shaking his head, as if disappointed at the suggestion. Still, just to make sure you really get it, he softens his tone, making sure to reassure you to the best of his abilities.

“I’m not selfish enough to ask you to paint me, paint for me, exclusively, but you’re still required to send me those little sketches you do every day, even if they’re not of me. I’m sure you understand what I’m trying to tell you, right?”

It takes a while for you to respond, you still looking at him with astonishment and sure, he gets it, you could take a picture so it would last longer, but he’s not even wearing anything special yet, and his makeup is pretty minimal to make it easier for the makeup artist later, so he’d like a response. When he does get it, it’s not what he quite expects.

“...I wish I was in my room right now… I really want to go home…” your hands twitch as you murmur to yourself, clearly a statement more meant for you than for him, but it does set off his curiosity. He’s a little piqued, honestly— he was planning on inviting you for dinner later, too, but you want to go home? If you were embarrassed, you could just say so without being so dramatic about it.

You change the subject before he could even begin to ask, though.

“Thanks, I just wanted to make sure… By the way, does NRC allow packages to be sent from outsiders?”

When Vil gets your package one week later, his first thought is how he wishes you were there to present it to him in person. The next is how he just had to rush back to the confines of his room to open it. Thankfully he had no classes left for the day, because he just knew he would be distracted thinking about what was inside the whole time.

Well, not exactly— Vil knows it’s the portrait, but unveiling it and seeing the final product, that’s what excites him.

It’s a relatively big package, certainly larger than his usual deliveries, but it’s quite light— likely due to the canvas not being framed yet, and it’s nothing his weight training exercises haven’t prepared him for. He understands why Epel’s a little shocked to see him stride in the lounge carrying it, though.

“Epel, be a dear and open some doors for me, will you?”

And he does, instinctively knowing to lead Vil straight to his bedroom. He thanks the boy sincerely for his service, only putting the package down to lock the door. He wouldn’t want to be disturbed now of all times.

Despite his anticipation, he’s slow, careful in opening the package. It’s likely safely secured, he doubted you would be okay with otherwise, but the moment feels delicate, like something he should savor. He’s been waiting so long for this, after all.

When he sees you’ve covered up the canvas with cloth he rolls his eyes, closing his eyes to lift it up slowly, only opening them when he knows it’s fully uncovered.

And then he sees it.

That gentle expression… it's just like the first snowfall of winter, little crystals fluttering down from the sky.

The expression Rook had called snowfall… and, if he was right to assume so, those were the clothes he wore that day, and that was the look that was on his face when he was reassuring you that he was there to stay.

He looks… unlike him, unlike the Vil Schoenheit everyone knows, but it is him, and Vil wonders how much of this— the soft gaze, the soft lines, the soft smile— is how he looked that day versus how you’ve come to see him.

It’s different, starkly so, from your initial portrait of him, the one that drew him to you in the first place. He looked regal then, distant, cold, and while he still likes that image of him, he knows he much prefers how you perceive him now, because it’s the side for you alone, and because this portrait was proof that you knew just how special it was to see it.

He picks up his phone and calls you immediately. You answer.

“Vil,” you begin slowly, “you understand what I’m trying to say, don’t you?”

“Of course,” he’s smiling, and he thinks you might be too, “I feel the same way.”

diasomnia as otome game characters

a/n: an informal, messy piece of an idea i had for the diasomnia gang

malleus draconia

malleus is the crown prince of the kingdom of draconia, as well as your betrothed. because of your family's influence and your upright personality, you have been selected as the crown princess and are due to marry him soon. the women of the kingdom were envious of your position; after all, who wouldn't want to marry the handsome and powerful prince malleus draconia?

you.

if your heart didn't already belong to another man, you would have been elated when your father broke the news about you being chosen as the future queen of draconia. if you weren't so deeply in love with the heir of the rosehearts dukedom, maybe you would have been able to fall in love with malleus, even if it will you take years. however, as the only daughter of your family, you knew that it was your duty to act as the bridge between the two prominent political powers of the kingdom.

life behind the palace walls after your marriage is lonely. malleus isn't a terrible husband, but he rarely visits you in your quarters and is often away whenever you decide to see him personally. maybe the possibility of love blossoming between the two of you is just a fleeting dream after all...

however, you'll never forget that one time malleus showed you kindness when you wept in despair on the night before your wedding. he gently held your hand and didn't utter a single criticism towards your tears; he simply accompanied you in silence.

sometimes, you feel as if someone is in your room when you're asleep at night; sometimes, you'd feel the caress of someone's fingers on your cheek as a whispered apology echoes in your ear.

an apology for not being able to be a husband who can bring you happiness.

lilia vanrouge

lilia is the general of the kingdom's army, as well as the marquis of the house of vanrouge. he's one of draconia's meritorious subjects who participated in many wars, and he has also gained the king's utmost trust due to his ability to fight.

you first met lilia when you were about to cross the bridge in the garden behind the palace, where you witnessed him tossing a pebble into a wooden bowl floating on the river's surface. stopping in your tracks, you contemplated making a detour to the gazebo on the other side of the bridge. before you could walk away, he noticed you and called you by your title. with a playful smile, he invited you to come closer, and you approached his side, seeing no harm in sparing the general some of your time.

once you're standing next to him, you asked him what he's doing. lilia answered that he's making a wish; according to a famous legend, a long time ago, a court lady who slept with the king wished to give birth to a son and threw a rock in the river, and soon conceived a royal baby. fascinated by the story, you couldn't stop yourself from asking him what he had wished for.

lilia merely smiled at you.

whenever he visits the palace to report to the king, he would see you strolling around with your court ladies trailing behind you. you always looked lonely, and he has never seen you wearing any other expression.

so he made a wish in the river.

a wish to see you with a bright smile, even just once.

since that day, the two of you had started meeting up on the bridge just to talk. you were surprised to find out that lilia was malleus' caretaker, and the embarrassing childhood stories he'd share of the crown prince never fails to make you laugh.

before long, lilia fell in love with the crown princess.

sebek zigvolt

sebek is the devoted retainer of draconia's crown prince, as well as your childhood friend. your friendship bloomed from the close relationship between your families, as your fathers had been friends from a young age.

when you unexpectedly reunited with sebek in the palace, you had forgotten your dignity as the crown princess for a moment and tackled him in a hug while malleus and lilia watched the two of you interact, their eyes wide in surprise. you were so happy to see him as a knight serving the royal family since that had always been his dream, which you wholly supported. sebek was surprised to see that you're the crown princess, and wasn't sure if he should reciprocate your gesture; on one hand, he wanted to as your friend, but on the other hand, he felt like he should hold himself back as malleus' retainer.

not to mention... you're also his master's future wife.

sebek had hoped to never see you in the palace. he hoped to never see you wear the crown, because that would mean the silly promise he made with you when you were children will remain as an insignificant piece of the past - a dying memory of your promise to marry each other when you're both older.

despite the difference in your ranks now, that didn't stop you from dropping by the royal library to see him during his free time. you never forgot his passion for reading, so you knew that would be where he dwells when he's not busy guarding the crown prince.

although he's not your knight and you're not his princess, sebek will protect you with all his might - just like he had promised you before he disappeared from your life to pursue his studies back then.

silver

silver is your personal knight and the adopted son of your uncle, who's an inspector of the royal court. before he became your servant in the palace, he was a former prince of the fallen country draconia had conquered. after losing his royal title, he was sentenced to become a slave. he was later bought out of slavery and adopted by your uncle, whose wife was unable to conceive a child.

even before he became your knight, silver has always been loyal to you and ended up being your closest cousin. most of your childhood was spent with him and sebek, and when the latter suddenly left you without so much of an explanation, silver was the one who comforted you.

in all of the routes, silver loves you. so with a heavy heart, he's forced to watch you give your hand to malleus and stand next to him as his queen; he's forced to watch lilia fall in love with you and rebel against the royal family to claim you; he's forced to watch you elope with sebek, and would later be punished for failing to stop the two of you from leaving the country.

you've showed him nothing but kindness. every day is a living hell for silver because of the prejudice he's forced to face, despite him being the adopted son of a high-ranking noble. he lives for your smile that saved him as a child. he wants to protect you and be your pillar of support. he shielded you from the rain when you ran outside after hearing the news of your engagement with malleus, and brought warmth to your side when the loneliness of your palace life extinguished almost your flame. he defended your honour when you faced the threat of being deposed, and allowed blood to stain his hands when the assassins sent by the father of malleus' concubine were after your life.

when you finally play his route, know that he endured all the mockery and contempt just for a chance for you to love him like how you loved the others.

gave up on trigo and drew instead😀

DID I SRS GET UNION BIRTHDAY VIL FOR THE FIRST TEN PULL AND SUIT UP VIL FOR THE TWENTHYTH PULL?2&4₱3₱₱4!!;):