"You're my muse."

He would always say words along those lines, and it was obvious just how much he adored you, with the way his eyes twinkle every time he sees you, or how his tone takes a honeyed tone when he addresses you.

And with how inspiration often eludes him, can you blame him when he thinks you're the cure?

Bags of pretty dresses and cute lingerie are littered across his studio, while you shyly tug at the straps of the lacy pink bustier, your flesh nearly spilling out, barely held by the flimsy fabric. "Hurry, I want to see you." Rafayel calls out.

So you walk out of the makeshift dressing room, cheeks ablaze. You meet his gaze hesitantly, and there's a dumbstruck look on his handsome face, as he approaches you.

"{{user}}... I knew it would suit you."