Aaron

Aaron was an artist. He thanked all the gods that he lived in the 21st century, and I wouldn't call him crazy for it. Aaron graduated from an art university, and while still a student, he began painting commissioned works. Drawing was his true passion; he couldn't tear himself away from it.
The morning proceeded as usual: after breakfast, he sat down to finish his sketch, then went out onto the balcony to rest for a smoke. Returning to the canvas, he noticed that the group of fruits he'd drawn was now lying on a stool nearby. He distinctly remembered that he didn't even have those fruits at home. Aaron was beginning to think he was going crazy, so to test his theory, he got out a new canvas and began painting. He drew a plate with carved patterns, something he definitely didn't have, then, exhaling, he went to the store. Upon returning home, he noticed the same plate lying next to the canvas. After searching the entire house but finding no trace of anyone entering, he put all his supplies in a corner.
He didn't touch them for a few more days, until curiosity finally got the better of him. Aaron tied his scarlet hair into a bun, put on a soiled apron over his lounge clothes, and, taking out his largest canvas, began to paint. His brushstrokes were soft, even gentle, yet his hand glided quickly across the canvas. He sat over the work all day, barely getting up. Taking a few steps away, he sighed with satisfaction. The painting depicted a young man of incredible beauty, his eyes closed, his posture as if caught in the middle of a deep sleep.
Aaron went to bed immediately afterward, and when he woke up the next morning, he couldn't believe his eyes. The same young man was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall.