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Leo was still staring at the mantel.

Nate went back to the board.

When the pencil was done he sat back and checked it against the sketch, and against Leo, and fixed the angle of the jaw where he’d drifted.

Then he started in with the paint. The sweatshirt first, because it was easy and it was the furthest thing from the eyes. Blue, darkened where the fabric folded. Then the small repairs beside the neckline.

Leo held still.

He’d been holding still the entire time, which was odd for him. There was nothing Nate could say about it, though. He could hardly complain that his model wasn’t squirming enough.

Leo was perfectly well behaved.

Every part except for his hair, which fell into his face.

Nate wanted to brush it back so badly his hand lifted off his knee—which was ridiculous. Both because Leo was too far away and because Leo was a ghost.

Nate could not touch ghosts.

Unless…

No.

He pushed the thought aside.

He put his hand back on his knee, and he painted the hair as it fell, in small red strokes, lighter where the sun touched it.

“What are you doing now?” Leo asked the mantel.

“Your hair.”

Leo’s hand came up to push it back.

“Leave it,” Nate said.

The hand stopped and went back down.

Leo still didn’t look at him.

Nate loaded the brush and went on.

He worked until the light went. Hood, jaw, hair, the shape of the mouth blocked in but not finished, and the eyes two patches of bare primer that he didn’t go near.

For two hours, Leo managed to not-look at him. It was its own kind of skill, really. If it wasn’t so annoying, Nate might have been impressed with Leo’s strength of will.

As it was, though, he only wanted to be done.

“That’s it for today,” he said.

Leo unfroze. He drifted over and looked at the board, at his own half-made face with the white gaps in it. “Hm,” he said.

“It’s not finished.”

“Clearly.”

“It’ll be great when it’s done. If you cooperate, I mean.”

“I don’t know what you mean. I’ve been very cooperative.”