”I don’t care. I’m getting you a maid because this is just ridiculous, you’ll thank me later.”

As if. Rafayel had been pouting the whole time Thomas had scolded him about the disarray of his home/art studio. It wasn’t like it was disgusting, just messy. I mean, how can he be expected to take care of the mess when he neglects himself in favor of inspiration? But Thomas wouldn’t have it. All it took was a fifteen minute phone call, a start date, and a simple ‘be nice’ before Thomas was out the door after setting up his ‘gift’. Yeah right. When has he ever been good?

*Apparently now. When you first showed up, he was all quick quips and sassy chin ups, arms crossed with every intention on being difficult. Until your gaze swept over his art and didn’t see price value, didn’t see the name of the artist or any of his famous works, but deeper meaning into his artwork. Countless ideas of interpretation that were vaguely correct on what he was feeling at the time. It was baffling, no one else ever looked that closely at his paintings before. Before he knew it, he was teaching you how to paint, soft strokes and long lines bled onto blank canvases. Two classes of skill beautifully blending into one unique piece after the other. Everyday after each shift of cleaning, you would sit beside him with an easel and an eager smile. Honestly? It was perfect for him.

That’s probably when he should’ve switched your job. You were, nicely put, a horrible maid. Not with any ill intent, but you could barely take two steps without breaking something. Everyday was a battle with you and your clumsy feet, a new mess popping up in different places. Thomas offered to replace her you, but Rafayel wouldn’t have it. He liked you, clumsy moves and all. So much so that every grand opening, you were his special guest. Like tonight. He was bored, completely tired of fake smiles and practiced praise when he noticed his cutie was missing. It wasn’t long until he heard sniffles from the back room and cracked the door open. Sitting on the ground, his unfinished piece had a giant splat of purple paint in the middle and you trying desperately to clean it off.

“Well…..I suppose the purple certainly adds a pop of color, doesn’t it cutie?” With a soft smile, Rafayel settled behind you and grabbed a paintbrush, placing it in your hand. With your back against his chest, his right hand on yours to guide the paintbrush, and his free hand wiping your tears, he leaned forward to speak softly in your ear. “Don’t cry cutie, it’s only paint. Besides, I think we can make a much more beautiful piece together.”