Work Text:
Your head feels like a howling whirlwind, spinning endlessly for so long that you wonder when will it all stop. The hours have stretched on till you’re on the verge of collapsing into a void of your own spiralling thoughts.
As you turn the key, your motorcycle revs up and you drive through the rain-soaked motorway. So empty, yet full at the same time. The trees that line the road, the rain and hail crashing down on you, your thoughts, they close in on you, suffocating, trapping you, and tightening even harder.
The work of a hunter is honourable, of course, yet as you slaughter wanderers one by one and sign reports and paperwork at your dull office, your migraine is booming. Your colleagues at times feel the same, but still have no way to comfort you, or even understand. You feel nihilistic. The world around you is ever-changing, continuous, people moving on with their lives with jobs to do, and to you it feels colourless. It’s a canvas with multiple shades of gray, intricately detailed with clear intention, but still gray. As you drive through the pattering rain that soaks your clothes, you want to escape from that gray reality to some hopeful, dreamy world full of real colour and life, one where nothing will ever be taken away from you, that fills your heart with joy and contentment. That world doesn’t exist. How could you be so stupid? Of course it doesn’t. You’re driving off after work just to sleep and wake up and continue this monotonous cycle over and over again.
That world doesn’t exist. Or does it?
Your clothes are drenched and clinging to your skin. As you trudge through Mo Art Studio, water drips from your hair and body, leaving a slippery trail behind you. He can worry about that. You click the door open.
“Aww cutie! You’re soaking!”
The studio is dimly lit by candles and tinted in gray as the storm grumbles outside, heavy clouds blocking the light.
But he sits there.
Rafayel leans back in a comfy armchair. Beside him is a side table where he doodles on a sketchbook. His slender, long fingers, stained with paint twirl the pencil around in his hand. In that greyish room, his blue-pink ombré eyes gaze at your figure, like the tiniest dot of colour on that colourless canvas. A soft smile stretches across his relaxed face.
“I told you to bring a coat before you went to work! I can sense the weather better than any weatherman weeks before y’know!”
He petulantly nags with a pouting appearing on his lips. His smile remains, but disappears again when he gets a closer look at you, the drooping eye bags, the thin line of your lips, the absence of any light in your eyes.
He stutters, “H-hey, are you oka—“
You crash down onto his lap as you wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, like a clinging koala. He freezes for a moment, unsure what to do before he gently strokes your back.
“I… missed you,” you murmur in a horse voice.
“Missed you too.” He whispers back as his tone softens with a sense of severity.
You’re soaking him, latching onto him with your cold body and wet clothes, but he doesn’t mind at all. You bury your face into the side of his neck. It’s warm. Alive. The steady sound of his heartbeat could put you to sleep.
As you lean against his chest, he takes in a deep sigh. Then, supporting your legs with his hands, he picks you up in his arms.
“You poor thing. We can’t have you soaking my whole studio like a grumpy rain cloud.”
“I’m fine.”
“And I’m an ugly, amateur painter who adores cats.”
He remarks sarcastically before setting you down on the bed while the mattress sinks under your slouching weight. A warm, dry towel runs over your wet hair. In front of you, he leans over, gleaming at you with his captivating eyes, the colour of bold coral reefs and the ocean’s endless depths. He’s adoring you, your form looking like a depressed wet cat. Your chest feels lighter all of a sudden, embraced by Rafayel’s playful warmth.
“You look depressed cutie. Don’t you wanna tell me what’s up?”
His voice just feels so comforting. He never pressures you or ignore you entirely. He’s always there. Even when you ignore his messages to focus on work, he tirelessly blows up your phone with texts and silly pictures he took of seagulls.
“I swear, I’m just tired.”
“But in a different type of tired, aren’t you?”
For a moment, your voice cracks. “Yeah…”
“Mhm, I understand.” He hums, before walking away as he opens and digs into a clothes drawer. He tosses you a set of clothes.
In silence, you change into dryer clothes while he respectfully turns his back towards you. Breaking the quietness, he murmurs.
“Done yet cutie?
“Yeah. I am.”
He swoops you in his arms in an instant, then jumps onto the mattress like a dog in a muddy puddle. You sink into the springy mattress, beside him. Pulling you closer, his limbs wrap around you, pressing you against the warmth of his beating chest. You place your hands on his shoulder, fluttering your eyes closed. There’s something gnawing at your heart— it’s apparent, and something that’s weighing down on you.
“I-I… I’m starting to lose my point in life. I swear I don’t want to end it all! I just…” your voice trembles, and you feel him instantly squeezing him tighter, “I wanna run away from it all! I know it’s stupid to try and run away from you reality but I can’t deal with it anymore!”
The spiralling thoughts and spill out of your eyes as tears, overflowing, soaking your cheeks. Encapsulating you in his comfort, Rafayel lets you cry on his neck.
“Shhh, I’m here my beloved. That’s it. Let it all out…” he coos, combing your hair with his slender fingers. Shaky sobs escape your throat. With your hands gripping his shirt, you nuzzle your whole body against his.
“I’ll always be here. No matter how much you think that you’re forever alone and suffocated, I’ll devote my life to you, to making you feel happy, my bride, my beloved.”
For a second, he pulls your face away from his neck. You look away, trying to hide your pitiful, sobbing state with a pillow but he turns your face towards him. The feeling of his delicate lips caresses your tear-stained cheeks. Your cheeks are cupped in his palms as he kisses away each salty drop of tears, underneath your eyes, on your nose, below your chin. A warm, fluttery feeling spreads across your body like a revitalising drug. You hiccup and sniffle like a puppy, making his glowing smile widen.
“Mhm, feeling better cutie?~ Still need some tissues or snacks?” His breath fans over your ears before he kisses them too. Then, you let out a shaky sigh of relief. A hint of a smile stretches across your lips.
“No, just you, Rafayel.” You murmur as you run your hair through his indigo, wavy hair.
“Aw cutie! You’re making me blush.” His face is glowing, far more perfect and porcelain compared to the reddish tint in your eyes, your tousled hair and puffy cheeks after sobbing and crying in bed beside him. But you don’t feel ugly, worshipped instead like a divine pearl in his beating heart.
“So then, what do you want me to do? Kiss my cutie more? Cuddle? Sing for you?”
The opportunity is once in a lifetime, a Lemurian, the God of the Sea and Tides singing you a lullaby. Even when you bug him and plead to hear his reportedly divine singing voice, he turns his cheek, pouting as he stubbornly (and shyly) denies your request.
“Sing, definitely. A lemurian lullaby.”
His eyes widen, certainly not expecting you to take that choice— though it was obvious. A sigh escapes his lips.
“Ok then…”
My beloved, my beloved, why do pearls escape your eyes?
When I remain beside you
At the shedding of your embedded disguise
You’ve been kissed by the beauty of the sea
Blessed by the ocean as it be
My world is you, if only you knew
My beloved, my beloved, the tides and the moon envy our love
For only I shall gift you countless dreams of
A world where you swim amongst joy and bliss
A world where you can drown at the touch of my kiss
His voice as he sings in Lemurian was dropped by heaven itself, rilling in your ears in a melodious, pearl-like tune. The breath in your throat hitches. Its resonating tone that washes over you like the steady tide, the hum of the sea that cocoons you in the depths of its devotion.
He finishes his song with a velvety kiss against your lips.
Before you slumber in the safety of his arms, you perceive a canvas of dancing colours and golden light, a canvas of him.