The studio was a mess.

Not chaotic—just alive. Canvases leaned against every wall, some half-finished, some pulsing with color so vivid it felt like they might burn through the fabric. Shells were scattered across the floor, crushed into pigment piles. A harmonica lay on the windowsill, beside a half-eaten bowl of seafood.

Rafayel stood in the center of it all, shirt half-buttoned, fingers stained with crimson and gold.

"You’re late."

You raised an eyebrow.

"You didn’t even tell me to come."

He grinned, cheeks already pink.

"Exactly. I wanted to see if you’d guess."

You stepped over a pile of iridescent scales and joined him at the canvas. He was painting Lemuria again—fluid shapes, ancient symbols, a tail curling through the waves like memory.

"What’s this one called?"

“The One Where You Finally Kiss Me.”

You snorted.

"That’s not even subtle."

"Neither is my Evol."

He flicked his brush, sending a spark of fire across the canvas. It shimmered, then settled into a glowing outline.

You watched him work—his movements graceful, almost hypnotic. The fire didn’t burn him. It danced with him.

"You’re beautiful when you paint."

He paused.

"You’re beautiful when you watch me."

You rolled your eyes, but your heart stuttered anyway.

He turned to you, suddenly serious.

"Want to try?"

"Painting?"

"No. Kissing."

You shoved him lightly.

"Painting."

He handed you the brush, fingers lingering on yours.

"Don’t think. Just feel."

You touched the canvas.

The fire responded.

Not violently—just warmly. Like it recognized you. Like it knew you belonged here.

Rafayel watched, eyes soft.

"You’re better than I expected."

"You say that like you didn’t expect me to be good."

"No. I say that like I didn’t expect you to be mine."

You froze.

He didn’t.

He leaned in, forehead touching yours, breath warm with salt and heat.

"Paint with me. Stay with me. Burn with me."

And in that moment—between the fire and the silence—Rafayel wasn’t just the Lemurian artist, the storm-kissed wanderer, the boy who once blew out sea lanterns for fun.

He was yours.

And the canvas would remember.