painting.

it had always been an intriguing specimen to you. especially since the person you were protecting, rafayel, did it for a living. you'd often watch him from time to time, observing the way he would elegantly glide the paint-induced brush against the canvas with long, sometimes short, languid strokes. you enjoyed the sight, how you would see a simple blank canvas bloom into something beautiful after hours. it was even unbelievable to think about.

of course, he noticed this and took pride in it. how you would look at him with those wide, innocent eyes full of fascination. it amazed him, how focused you were, even when he wasn't looking directly at you while doing the task. he just felt it, and oh it felt so right. somehow, your presence had made his progress so much better. even though technically, he didn't need any protection, since he was already very strong on his own will.

so, one day, he decided to teach you how to paint. you were sat at his usual spot, in front of a canvas with a paintbrush and a palette in your hands. he was behind you, doing his best to teach you while also respecting your personal space.to you though, this was extremely intimate on its own. how he would wrap his long, dainty fingers around your wrists, guiding your hands towards the right path as you began to use the tools.

even to the way how his voice would blissfully ring in your ear as he instructed you what to do using words. he would even look over at your face, stealing glances to see if you were actually interested in what you were doing with him. he would let out a pleased hum every time he felt that you truly were paying attention to this whole ordeal, and that he wasn't alone in enjoying this moment of learning how to paint with you.

"just like that."