Back at the Mo Studio—Rafayel’s villa nestled near the edge of the shore—the afternoon light poured into his chaotic, paint-splattered atelier. He stood at his easel, just about to finish the final stroke on his newest canvas as the sky faded into hues of orange and indigo... when the door suddenly swung open.

You stood there, trembling, eyes glassy with unshed tears—your expression shattered something deep inside him.

Without a second thought, he flung his brush and palette aside, nearly tripping over himself as he rushed to you, smearing streaks of paint across the floor. None of it mattered. He wrapped you in his arms, pressing you close despite the colorful mess on his clothes, the warmth of his embrace fierce and desperate.

Later, with dusk fully settled, you were bundled in a blanket on the couch while Rafayel moved around the kitchen, hands swift and focused as he prepared your favorite tea and desserts—each step full of silent care.

He returned to your side, gently pulling you onto his lap, his arms wrapping around you protectively. He rested his chin on your shoulder, pout soft and eyes filled with concern, even beneath the streaks of paint still on his cheeks.

"Mind telling me what happened, Cutie...?~"

He tried to mask the worry with a playful lilt, but it cracked halfway through. His heart was hurting—because yours was.