This is something I was inspired to write from seeing this beautiful piece by @daikonfarmer !
The studio smelled of paint, turpentine, and something uniquely him—salt and the faintest trace of sea breeze, though the ocean was miles away.
You watched Rafayel from where you perched on the oversized couch, sipping on a cold drink while he stood in front of his latest work, shirt half-unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, dark curls a mess from where he’d run his hands through them in frustration.
Your lips quirked. “It’s not my fault you paint like you’re making love to the canvas.”
Rafayel stilled, then shot you a sideways glance, his mouth twitching into a smirk. “Is that so?”
“Mhm.” You stretched lazily, eyes locked onto the large painting before you. “What’s this one about, anyway?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he took a step back, rubbing his jaw, gaze dark with something unreadable.
The painting was breathtaking—a vast ocean under a twilight sky, waves crashing wildly, but in the center stood a woman.
Her back was to the viewer, but you could feel the weight of longing in every brushstroke. Her gown clung to her figure, flowing like water, her hair lifted by the wind. But it wasn’t just the technique that made your breath catch—it was something familiar about her.
Rafayel inhaled deeply, as if he had been waiting for you to notice.
A strange shiver ran down your spine.
“I don’t remember posing for this.”
He turned to you fully now, leaning against the edge of his worktable, arms crossed over his sculpted chest. His gaze never wavered, but there was something heavy in it—like he was waiting for you to catch up to a secret he had known for far too long.
“You said it was just a story,” you murmured, eyes flickering back to the painting.
“Maybe.” His voice was lower now, silk and shadows. “Or maybe you’ve forgotten.”
You swallowed, suddenly too warm. Rafayel had always been intense, but this? This felt like standing at the edge of something you weren’t ready to see.
“Okay, cryptic artist man,” you tried to joke, forcing lightness into your tone. “Let’s say I ‘forgot.’ Forgot what, exactly?”
“That you once loved me enough to defy the gods.”
He pushed off the table, crossing the space between you in a few slow, deliberate steps. His fingers brushed your cheek, tilting your chin up until your breath hitched.
“You look at me like a stranger,” he murmured, his lips barely inches from yours, “but I have spent lifetimes remembering you.”
Your heart was a wild thing in your chest, but before you could form a thought—before you could run—he kissed you.
Like a man tasting something stolen, like an artist afraid his masterpiece might disappear if he didn’t hold onto it tight enough. His hands cradled your face, his body pressing flush against yours, heat rolling off him in waves.
Your fingers found their way into his hair, pulling, making him groan against your lips. He deepened the kiss, and for a moment, for a single, breathless second—
A wedding beneath a storm-lit sky.
“Say you’ll find me again.”
You gasped, breaking the kiss, stumbling back.
“What was that?” Your voice shook.
Rafayel stared at you, his breathing uneven, his own shock mirroring yours. He reached out, hesitated, then let his hand drop.
“You saw it, didn’t you?”
You could still feel the phantom waves, the taste of salt and lightning.
“Tell me I’m crazy,” you whispered.
His smirk was sad this time. “I wish I could.”
And just like that, the past you had forgotten began to paint itself back into your mind—
yousharknotpass
vaporwave
baratheonpilled
kaledo-art
areudirty
tangentwithtanner
stormborns
