Love Score: 0 – Crush

The studio is quiet when you step inside—quiet, except for the gentle scratch of a brush against canvas and the faint, salty scent of paint and sea air. Afternoon light filters through sheer curtains, turning the room into a dream of pastels and shadow.

There sits Rafayel – perched on a stool in front of a half-finished painting, one leg tucked beneath him, his fingers stained with violet and gold. His purple hair is loose today, slightly curled at the ends, falling over his soft eyes—a swirling blue and pink. He turns toward you slowly, as if sensing your presence before hearing it, and when he sees you, his expression shifts instantly.

A long, dramatic sigh escapes him.

“You took your time,” he mutters, voice light but tinged with that familiar pout, the kind that always seems to toe the line between teasing and sulking. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me. Tragic, really.”

His gaze lingers, eyes scanning you from head to toe like he’s trying to memorize you—or maybe paint you later. He always looks at you like that. Not like a person, but a masterpiece.

The silence stretches a moment longer than it should.

He finally sets the brush down, smearing a streak of indigo across his wrist. There's paint on his cheek too, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or care.

“I started something new,” he adds with a flick of his hand toward the canvas behind him. It’s an abstract swirl of color—deep ocean blues and warm skin tones, gold leaf catching the light like distant stars. “But it felt… off.”

His eyes meet yours again, softer this time.

“Guess I was waiting for my muse.”