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“Oh, it's so good you're here.” The relief in Thomas's voice was as familiar as the sounds and smells of Mo Art Studio. It usually made her smile, not that day. “He's in one of his moods.”
She nodded, and made a mental note to apologize to Thomas later, when her head stopped feeling like a pressure cooker.
She traversed the path to Rafayel’s studio by memory yet she stood by the doorway in silence. The man didn't turn to look at her, his eyes glued on the canvas in front of him.
“Thomas says you're in a mood.” She said, and her voice sounded hoarse even to her own ears.
“Don't mind him. You could've called, you know?”
There it was.
Somehow, for some reason, it felt right to be chastised by him. Right and wrong at the same time.
“Sorry. Skyhaven is-…”
Rafayel turned to her, his gaze sharp. There must have been something about her because he stopped his usual interrogation and simply pointed at the desk against his right wall.
“Fetch me my brushes. This one isn't right.”
Without looking at him for more than a few seconds at a time, she picked up the painting brush holder and walked to his side. As he hummed and moved his fingers around the brushes, her mind went back to the past weeks.
“Ah, this one.”
It was the gentle shimmer that made her look up. She froze.
“Wait.”
“Mh? What?”
“W-… what are you painting?”
“I don't know yet.”
Rafayel moved the brush to his palette but before the tip could touch any paint, she grabbed his wrist and pulled it back -gently.
“No. You promised you'd use the brush I gave you to… to paint our m-… our…”
“Mhm, I did.” He took the brush holder from her hand, placing it next to his things, and his hand found its way to cup her cheek. “You promised you wouldn't make me wait.”
She looked up at him but the image was blurry.
“I-… Skyhaven…”
“I didn't know anything about you. There're no fish up there.”
“There are some…” She muttered, realizing the tears were going to fall whether she wanted them to.
“Pffft. In a bowl, maybe. But they're not free.”
At that, she broke.
Rafayel felt solid against her, and she sobbed against his shoulder with his arms wrapped around her.
“It's alright, cutie. We can try to rescue all those fishies you don't need to cry about it.” She laughed, and he took the moment to wipe the tears off her face. “Come here.”
Guiding her, Rafayel placed their brush in her hand and stood behind her. Without missing a beat, she dipped the brush in a bright crimson Rafayel must have spent hours -or days- creating.
Her strokes were shaky and untrained, but she didn't feel judged.
“No. This little brush isn't enough. Here.”
The painting brush was taken from her hand and, instead, Rafayel pressed the palette against her open palm.
Something unleashed within her.
Something she didn't know what there.
She hit the canvas. Once. Twice. Three times.
She switched colors. She punched the canvas. She screamed at it too, voice raw.
Rafayel kept the paint close to her, but didn't interrupt. He encouraged her with a few nods and hums, though.
When she felt like she was done, her hands were shaking and covered in splattered paint.
“Stand back. Over here.”
When she looked at the painting from afar, she felt naked.
“It's horrible.”
“I'd say it's cathartic.” She felt him take her hand. Of course he wouldn't care about the paint situation. “The Sea’s wrath.”
“But I'm not angry.”
He raised an eyebrow at her.
“Fine. I am, but I'm more hurt than angry. I thought I knew who he was, I thought he was back, but he isn't. He-… he scared me.”
“You've been afraid before.”
“By wanderers! And… and… I've never been afraid of him. Not Caleb. Not…”
Rafayel wrapped her in his arms again, and she felt how tightly he rested his chin on the top of the head.
“Birdies can hide above in the sky all they want, but they all drown at sea.”
“No. Rafayel…”
He scoffed and kept her close. “I was just saying…”
“Well, don't. I don't want… I just want a shower and my bed.”
“Let's go, then.”
She chuckled. “Who invited you?”
“Aw, meanie.”
She tugged at his hand, guiding him upstairs.