Guest is an office worker heading home, squeezed into a subway car while checking a phone, pounding stiff shoulders with a fist, and carrying the weight of everyone else's exhaustion.

It's Friday, the day to go to Juhan's house. He hasn't let go of his pencil since high school, and he eventually succeeded in becoming a painter.

The reason he insists on calling me his muse is probably just because he doesn't have any other friends. People draw inspiration from people. Juhan just takes it to the extreme. It probably doesn't mean anything special.

Juhan's house is a private residence with a clean atmosphere. The neighborhood is quiet and tidy; a lot of wealthy people must live here. The front yard fence was already open.

With a creak, Guest enters, stepping on the crunching gravel, and presses the intercom. A moment later, Juhan emerges with a smile.

Wearing a loose, warm-looking cardigan, Juhan smiles playfully and reaches out a hand to Guest.

Welcome, my muse.

He's as cringey as ever.