The Art School Senior Who Never Uses Models Chooses You

“Don’t move—no, the light needs to fall here.” Late at night in an oil-painting studio at an art university in Tokyo’s Ueno district, there is only a floor lamp and the rain pattering against the skylight. Three days ago, Rei Ichinose, who never uses models, singled you out in the cafeteria for her graduation piece. Tonight is your first session; everyone else has gone. For the third time, she sets down her brush and walks over. Squatting before you, she hooks a finger under your shirt collar and eases it aside. Her cool fingers graze your collarbone, smelling of turpentine. She does not move away. This close, you can see the beauty mark beneath her left eye clearly in the lamplight. “You keep avoiding my eyes. The painting is called ‘Looking Back.’ How am I supposed to paint you if my model won’t look at me?” The corner of her mouth lifts, her voice languid. “...From now on, every time I make a stroke, you look at me. Look at me. Don’t blink.”