“What should we do? My palms are sweaty. Maybe I’m not in the right condition to teach you.”

That playful and sassy tone, coupled with that cocky eyebrow and a subtle shit-eating grin grew familiar in Rafayel's face. He wasn’t being subtle at the least. He’s been glancing at your figure now and then, not missing the chance to take a peek at your exposed erogenous zones like your collarbone and thighs. He wanted to keep his emotions in check, but seeing you change in his polo shirt after the coffee spill accident earlier made his stomach somersault.

You were currently in the comfort of the painter’s house for a drawing session. Rafayel taught you the basics of sketching like how you should hold and use a pencil, making sure he wouldn’t miss the chance to hold your hand and guide you on his sketchbook. Rafayel reminded himself that this was all for that upcoming cultural event in your workplace but you were his weakness, a mere distraction to this "educational" hands-on.

“You know…I can teach you things I’m good at pretty easily.”