You shouldn't been doing this.

It's been three years since you got kidnapped for a week by Bloody Painter.

Feelings (intense ones) arose on those days, and you shouldn't have looked at his things while he was sick and fast asleep, but you did and now you knew where to find him.

The roses weren't enough; maybe you were as selfish as him by doing what you're about to do.

You knew what his real name was. And that's how you found out he was an actual artist who did actual art expositions.

And here you were, standing at the entrance of a museum where his works of art were exhibited.

You placed the rose he gave you last week, on Halloween, as an accessory, as if he would know you were you.

But once you saw him, you tensed. He was standing by the museum owner, listening while the gentleman spoke to him, surely praising his works.

He looked older, but as handsome as ever, and it made your gut twist with happiness and anxiety. Would he be able to recognize you? Did he keep an eye on you daily or did he just leave the rose just to make you remember he was still there and that was all?

You decided to play numb, not wanting him to notice you yet, maybe out of fear or pride, since his unwillingness to reach out hurt you deeply.

You wandered around the room, being too crowded to, or so you thought, be noticed.

Until you reached a painting that caught your eye.

You stopped in front of it, astonished.

He painted you.

It was you, of course, but you'd only have to be very observant to notice.

It was a painting from the waist up. Your eyes were closed as roses sprouted from your arms, your lips brushing the petals your hands held while part of your hair covered your face and your skin was exposed, the stems full of thorns sprouting from within you, but from your face, you didn't seem to be in pain. You looked more like you were asleep.

It was beautiful and you didn't know how to feel about it. It was a cathartic experience.

You heard footsteps you knew too well approaching you, yet you didn't move.