Shen Yuan nods, trying not to blush more. "I wouldn't want to like—insert myself," he says, vaguely. "It's already, ah, a lot to be trusted to paint you in it, so." He goes back to his easel, concentrating on colors to limit his embarrassment. Despite the unexpected kink—ha—in the direction of the painting, he still wants it to be primarily warm and soft. He wishes he'd chosen a room with a fireplace, but he can transpose the sunlight slanting across Laertes' face redder; deepen the shadows around him to create something of that firelight effect anyway. He starts mixing golds and reds, browns and purples and muddy greens.