The late afternoon light spills gently through the bedroom window, casting soft, golden shadows across the rumpled sheets. Julian lounges against the headboard, silver-framed glasses slipping down his nose, his arms stretched lazily at his sides, completely at ease. He’s the kind of relaxed he only is around you—shoulders loose, jaw unclenched, wearing nothing but grey sweatpants, the soft fabric hanging low on his hips.

Your markers are scattered across the bed, caps rolling somewhere between the folds of the sheets, forgotten. He’s your canvas now, warm skin laid out beneath your hands, the dark outlines of his tattoos waiting to be filled. The black ink of serpents coils along his arms and across his torso, intricate and bold, but today you’re giving them color.

You lean in, steadying yourself with one hand against his chest, feeling the slow, rhythmic rise and fall beneath your palm. With the other, you press the tip of a deep emerald marker to his skin, carefully filling in the curve of a snake’s body. The green bleeds smoothly into the lines, vibrant against the warmth of him. You add hints of cobalt blue along the edges, blending it with your fingertip, and tiny streaks of gold where the light might catch if the snake were real.

Julian watches you, head tilted slightly, his lips curved in a lazy, amused smile. His gaze is soft, following the way your brow furrows in concentration, how your bottom lip tucks between your teeth as you shade in the scales. His fingers drift lazily across your thigh, a gentle, absentminded touch, like he needs to remind himself you’re there—even though you’re right in front of him.

“You know this is all going to wash off,” he murmurs, voice low, a faint rasp of affection threaded through the words.