“I wish you could see yourself through my eyes” [Rafayel x Non!MC - hurt-comfort oneshot]
Lately, Rafayel was having weird dreams.
It wasn’t anything crazy… more like visions belonging to someone else.
He struggled to explain it with words because it felt real, like peeking into someone else’s life, and the images remained so vivid in his mind the morning after each dream.
At first, he didn’t put too much thought into it. But sometimes his pencil moved by itself against the white pages of his sketchbook, and he began drawing those visions.
It was a cappuccino machine stirring milk under the pale hues of the morning light, a pair of old shoes getting tied with careful precision by delicate fingers, a tote-bag with colourful pins and a funny plushies keychain attached to one of its flimsy straps… and so on.
A tall tree with heavy branches hovering above dark wooden fences, a bike leaning against a brick wall, yellow leaves scattered in a backyard, a coffee shop’s display window.
Before Rafayel realised it, he filled his sketchbook with mundane pictures that were strikingly different from his usual artistic imagination.
Sunsets by the beach, blue waves, sea bottoms, statues and architecture of the Lemurian civilisation still surviving in his old memories…
But he couldn’t stop.
Every time he closed his eyes and his own dreams gave space to someone else’s, his curiosity grew.
Whose life he was seeing?
Who was this person?
Sorting through his drawings scattered in a tidy mess over his floor, he tried to find the answer to his questions and somehow he managed to depict a general portrait.
He had sketched various sweaters that looked soft to the touch, big hoodies that could swallow a whole figure in, the same pair of sneakers appeared again and again -worn at the heels but somehow still treasured. He had never seen jewellery beyond a simple watch.
Practicality seemed to win every morning in this woman’s life, and Rafayel concluded that comfort always came first for her.
The office never changed as her laptop showed a report after another being written, beside an half empty cup of coffee. The elevator doors always reflected the same sterile lights, numbers slowly ascending or descending in the smaller screen above the metallic doors.
Every evening, she crossed the same hallway before unlocking the last apartment on the right -an open space with just a bedroom and a bathroom, decorated by minimal furniture and a light aesthetic. He wondered if she found comfort in routine or if she had simply grown used to it.
She led an ordinary life -nothing exciting ever happened- but Rafayel noticed how she gave importance to her environments’ lights.
Because he saw the landscape of a city he didn’t recognise from an open window, orange tones turning purple that tinted everything -her bookshelves, her leather chair with the fuzzy blanket draped over, and the pages of the book she had chosen to read. He found it amusing how he had to watch the words blurring into shadows before her hands closed the book and went to turn on the lights.
And unconsciously, Rafayel began to put a bit more attention to such detail in his paintings too. Not that he hadn’t ever done it before but… water gave another quality to light, while in his vision the mundane things reacted differently from what he was used to seeing.
Her dinner had a more blinding and cool tone than breakfast -a single plate of white ceramic over the marble counter, a shining glass of water with barely visible fingertips’ imprint around it, the catchy colours of the tv commercials going on past an empty stool.
He hadn’t ever caught a glimpse of faces, though. The hands of a man taking a folder from hers, gold bracelets and pretty rings that matched a soft pink nail manicure of another hand reaching from her arm, a stray cat nuzzling against her gentle fingers…
That alimented his curiosity and duplicated his unanswered questions. So Rafayel put a notebook on his bedside table every time he went to sleep with the intention of reaching towards it and capturing his vision before he could miss any particular detail after every awakening.
Her shadow following her steps into the concrete of a park’s way, the condensation on the bus window after her sigh, a soapy sponge running down her bare shoulder, the gentle drapes of silky bedsheets covering her legs…
What did she look like?
He wanted to know, and stopped focusing on the objects he saw and paid more attention to the blurry peek of her figure he could peek.
But she seemed to be a professional in avoiding the inner camera of her phone -the dark screen always faced away from her, in the mirror he could only catch the sight of a brush running down her hair, the moonlight drawing bands over the ceiling in her lonely nights.
And Rafayel wished to be the pillow beside hers, the mug of coffee she picked every morning, the laptop she typed for hours non-stop in, the books she read in the afternoons, the balcony view of her apartment when she got lost in her thoughts.
Because if he could be even one of those things, he could finally see her looking back at him.
It was silly, but he couldn’t shake the thought off his mind.
In his studio, his canvas and sketchbooks portrayed visions that didn’t belong to him but he would’ve liked to.
And that was when he made up his mind.
The only way he could achieve his goal -letting her know that she was seen- was putting all those visions on display.
His agent, Thomas, thought he had gone mad when Rafayel came up to him with the idea but after seeing how many pieces had been created already, he didn’t waste time offering assistance.
Rafayel dedicated himself to plan the exhibition in every detail, because he wanted to recreate the same feeling that had moved him every time he had those visions -quiet steps towards someone’s life you familiarise with and fall for.
Thomas was surprised to witness the artist so invested, especially when Rafayel didn’t put his usual tantrums when it came to deal with the boring parts of preparing an exhibition. There was an inexplicable eagerness shining in those indigo eyes the manager hadn’t ever seen before aimed towards the daily tasks, but he didn’t ask to not test his luck.
The hard part came to choose which drawing could become the masterpiece of the collection.
Rafayel had spent weeks to find the appropriate location and set the paintings in the order he wanted his audience to witness them, adjusting the lights on purpose from the warmer to the cooler tones depending on the series. But he didn’t find the one yet.
He had some visions he had grown fond of, like her shadow cast against the bookshelves tinted in gold by the late afternoon or the very first he had ever seen one -messy bedsheets still warm from a night of sleep, her hand resting on the soft mattress as her legs lazily slipped from under the covers.
But in the end, the perfect vision for this collection was painted a day before the exhibition’s opening, and it changed almost a month of organisation in a night. Thomas had almost had a heart attack but…
How could Rafayel ever not portrait it, after all?
Through her eyes, his fascination for the human world had only grown -the smallest and insignificant quirks he couldn’t really understand before, now they found significance in their ordinary.
She had made him see the world through such simple and gentle lenses that the very first time her world seemed to lose colours, it hit him deep in his soul.
He ignored what had happened.
He had just dozed off on the couch among scattered papers and drawings, when he had seen it.
Condensation cleared up from a foggy mirror, her fingers curled over her chest as if something had caught her by surprise. Long eyelashes glistening fanned over a pair of eyes that looked straight at him -no, past... something far in their own depths- as a light dimmed inside them.
It wasn’t sadness, but something more profound that was cruelly directed to herself.
It had been a fleeting moment.
The vision blurred before Rafayel could register it in his slumber, and wet floor tiles under a pair of feet in flip-flops took over.
He woke up right away, a pain piercing through his chest as he gasped for air and looked around his studio.
Papers flew from his lap and got scattered anywhere on the floor, darkness surrounding him as the candles had long burnt.
“Someone’s Ordinary Days” exhibition was all over the most important art magazines and the tickets went sold out at the pre-order. Among the audience, there were people of all kinds -curious, foreigners, critics, and loyal fans- but Rafayel stayed in a corner of the main room where he had a clear view of the entrance with the hope to see only one person in particular.
For a fleeting second, he thought he had spotted a familiar oversized cardigan sweater but it disappeared behind a large group of visitors in the blink of an eye.
The visitors were guided by the lights, soft and warm hues enticed the “Leisure” series and gradually turned into more harsher and colder tones as the “Efficiency” series began. The paintings were hanging on the walls at different heights, purposely scattered like puzzle pieces that combined memories by being seen from afar.
Praises about the particular installation and comments about the objects portrayed echoed as a low murmur along the hall while groups of people moved forward, curious to find out what the masterpiece of the collection could be. Though, someone paused before the painting of the apartment window, their fingertips tightening around the exhibition guide.
Everybody was attracted toward the end of the hall where there was a black, heavy curtain that the visitors were allowed to draw a small group at a time. Beyond there was the room with mirrors, each one hidden by a dark curtain to draw aside.
Confused expressions, laughter and silly selfies were made as the audience moved the curtains and found their reflections again and again.
Once they grew used to the action, they were presented in front of the last black curtain and invited them to tug this one away too.
Quietness followed right after, eyes widening and surprise settling in as they discovered the masterpiece’s collection.
“Perspective” showed them her gaze looking back at them, a bitterly apologetic expression that was accompanied by a gentle plea from the artist himself: “I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.”
The audience reacted differently to it. Some marvelled at the girl's sad beauty, while others attempted to psychoanalyse his artistic choice.
Rafayel listened in silence, but none of the voices he heard belonged to the one he had been waiting for.
He excused himself for a moment and let Thomas deal with the visitors. Finding a peaceful corner where to hide in the reception, he picked a bottle of water and took some sips to wash away the bad taste on his tongue.
He was consoling himself by remembering that this was only the first day of the exhibition, so he didn’t have to lose hope yet.
Still, the doubts that she might not have found out about his exhibition or, worse, that she might have failed to buy the ticket swirled into his mind.
He cursed himself for giving his manager complete freedom about the promotional and ticket sale.
He should’ve taken it on himself and-
“Professor Qi.”
A soft, quiet voice restrained him from spiralling.
Clearing his throat, he capped the bottle again and took a deep breath to prepare himself to face another nosy visitor.
“I’m aware it may sound weird to hear but… have you been stalking me? Because they were all my stuff.”
Rafayel hesitated a moment.
Tilting his head to the side, he glanced at a woman standing behind him and his heart skipped a couple of beats.
He met the same red-rimmed eyes, pink cheeks flushed from emotion.
But her lips…
She was smiling at him, sheepishly but tenderly so.
“You’re the muse of my vision.” He murmured in awe, recognising her presence right away.
She chuckled, flustered, and shook her head in disbelief.
“Then you’re the man of my dreams.”
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ🐟*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧: *✧: *✧
I read this prompt of @alive-maybe-probably-sure and I immediately felt the potential for a bittersweet oneshot... so there you go!! I hope this is of your liking. 🙈💙
[This oneshot is also published on AO3]
💜 Other works: ✧ “I'll tenderly love even the parts of you that you learned to hide”; ✧ “Loving all of you”; ✧ “Summertime with you”; ⇠🪼work in progress!!🪼 ✧ ...
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