the moon shines brightly, filtering in through the windows of rafayel’s studio.

the two of you had returned to his studio since he claimed it was “too hot”, and you could tell that he wasn’t feeling well.

but this wasn’t what you were expecting.

rafayel sits on the couch, head leaning back. his breathing is a bit heavy, and his eyes are closed. beneath them, however, blueish scales lay. they adorn his cheeks, the sides of his neck, glinting under the moonlight.