Casual? - 04

★★★★★

Dinner with Zayne was... nice.

We talked about work, swapped a few embarrassing childhood stories, and argued (again) about whether mint chocolate is real dessert or toothpaste disguised as one. He laughed when I scrunched my nose at the idea of it.

Zayne has always been that kind of guy-easy to talk to, calm, familiar. Like a warm sweater you've had since high school.

But I couldn't stop glancing at my phone.

Or wondering what Rafayel was doing.

We were walking back to the parking lot when he suddenly stopped and turned to me.

"Oh- before I forget," He said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I had your Christmas gift delivered today, but they delivered it late and you weren't at home, so they left it with your neighbor."

"Oh, okay. I'll check with them when I get back." I said, giving him a small nod.

He smiled. "Merry Christmas, Y/N."

I returned the smile. "Merry Christmas, Zayne."

─── ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ───

By the time I got home, the hallway was quiet. Snow started to fall softly outside, brushing the balcony rails with white. Lights peeked through the gap under Rafayel's door.

So he was home.

I rang the doorbell.

No answer.

I tried again.

Still nothing.

But the lights were on. And I knew the passcode-he had given it to me weeks ago when I brought him soup while he was sick. Said, "just in case I pass out while painting or something." He's always been an extra for everything and I liked that about him.

This definitely qualified as a "just in case." Situation.

I hesitated... then typed the code in.

The door clicked open with a soft beep.

Inside, it was quiet-very silent. The living room was a little messy, but not unusual. What was unusual were the two luxury boxes sitting neatly on the couch. I think they're Zayne's gifts.

Figures.

But what caught my attention wasn't the boxes-it was the trail of paint smudges on the floor. Like someone walked barefoot with dripping brushes.

And then I saw him.

Rafayel.

My dramatic Rafayel.

Slouched in the corner of his bedroom, knees pulled to his chest, paint smeared on his arms, cheeks, even a streak on his neck. He looked like a masterpiece turned human-but the way he curled in on himself told a different story.

He was sulking.

He didn't notice me at first.

"...Rafayel?"

His head shot up, eyes red and puffy. He wiped at them quickly, clearly trying to act like I didn't just catch him having a breakdown.

"W-what are you doing here?" He asked, voice scratchy, trembling a bit.

I stepped in gently. "I have some stuff delivered here."

"Oh." He looked away. "Of course you came for them."

He pouted, his voice is laced with something else I couldn't figure.

I looked around and spotted the source of the paint.

In the far corner of the room, leaning against the wall, was a portrait.

Of me.

Painted in soft brushstrokes and starlit colors. I was smiling in it-eyes lit like I was caught in a moment of pure happiness. It was beautiful. Heartbreakingly beautiful.

I blinked. "...You made this?"

Rafayel bit his lip. His voice cracked as he said, "It's stupid. I searched the price of those gifts Zayne sent you. I still don't have money like that. I thought maybe if I gave you something meaningful... ugh nevermind, now it feels small. I didn't want you to see it. I didn't want to feel-"

"You think it's not enough?" I asked quietly.

He nodded, barely.

I took a deep breath and walked toward him. He still refuses to meet my eyes.

So I knelt down, right in front of him, grabbing his paint-stained hands.

"Rafayel... this is the most beautiful thing anyone's ever made for me. And you did all of this thinking of me. I feel seen, Rafayel. I feel special."

He looked up, finally, eyes filled with disbelief.

"I mean it." I continued. "I don't care about brands or price tags. I'm thankful about them but you? You saw me. You painted me. That means more to me than anything wrapped in a ribbon."

His lips parted, like he was about to argue-but I leaned in before he could.

Softly. Gently.

I kissed him.

He froze for half a second... then melted into it, like he'd been waiting forever.

When we pulled apart, his hand rested on my cheek, paint smudging my skin.

"You got paint on your face." He whispered, a little dazed.

"I don't care." I whispered back.

He smiled-really smiled-and my heart fluttered.

And just like that, the weight he carried seemed to lift, replaced with something warm, something real.

Genuine love, maybe?

Or something more?

After that, we just talked casually like we always do. Not saying a word of what we feel. We don't need words to describe it. I can see it clearly in his eyes.

Either way... I was exactly where I wanted to be.

★★★★★

some banging will happen in the next chapter :3