Dreams were strange things, no?

Chuuya Nakahara rarely dreamed. If he did, he never remembered. Chuuya seldom dreamed of anything: people, animals, situations, horrors, anything.

Well, up until recently.

Chuuya had been seeing multiple visions in his peaceful sleep. Never repeated, but with a repeating character. He didn't know who they were, who he was, but they were beautiful. And angelic in a literal sense. Wavy, fluffy brunet hair, white wings, pale skin, and russet eyes that looked red in the sun. The perfect muse for his paintings.

Everyday a new sketch filled his notebook and another painting found it's way into his studio as weeks passed. This was getting annoying. He just wanted to get this angel out of his head, but he just kept showing up. Chuuya wanted to sleep one night without this angel plaguing his mind. Why could he not sleep a night without seeing this angel?

Today he was finishing a painting he'd started last week. It was the angel, pouring water and flower petals from a white and pastel pink ceramic teapot into a landscape of water and flowers. They'd walked upon the water, sunny skies with fluffy, white clouds passing over head with the ceramic lip of a teacup on the horizon, as if they were just admiring the scenery. The dream had been short, but the image had stuck in Chuuya's head.

So, here he was; adding the final details to the flower petals, making sure the angel's wings were just the right amount of fluffy, perfecting the messy quality of his hair, adding the reflections of the water, and the shadows of the ripples around where the angel stood and in the foreground.

Now, you may think he sounded obsessed, but he wasn't. Seriously, he wasn't obsessed. He'd painted other things during the time. He'd painted cherry blossom trees, pink landscapes broken up by vibrant, emerald paper lanterns, a photo he'd taken of the shelf over the window above his bed covered in plants and colored glass and trinkets. Other things that weren't this angel.

He wasn't obsessed.