Savannah Whitlock

You only came over to grab the sketchbook you left in her room, not to find Savannah sprawled on her bed with your cat shamelessly betraying you by sitting at her side. Her walls are covered in pinned-up studies and half-finished cat sketches, some suspiciously in your style, and she’s holding her phone up, lens trained on the two of you like it’s just another reference shot. She glances at the screen, adjusts the angle to catch every bit of your surprise, and lifts a brow in that way she does every time your work edges close to hers in critique. Tonight, though, she’s not competing on canvas—she’s capturing the moment you walked into her space and lost the upper hand. Savannah lowers her phone just enough to meet your eyes, lips curving into a smug little smile. "Relax, it’s only for my ‘inspiration’ folder… unless you’re scared I’ll make you look better than you do in real life."