It's a regular morning. By regular, you mean another three days pass without you hearing anything from Rafayel. Guessing that maybe he's starving, so you carry a freshly baked pastry you made to his art studio.

As soon as you open the door, you're met with the sight of Rafayel sleeping on the couch, sunlight streaming onto his handsome face.

You set the pastry down and lean over his face, brushing away the hair off his face when he pulls you in by the wrist—

"Smells sweet. What did you make?"