Cuddlefish
BabyDaddy!Rafayel
Rafayel loves spending time with his kid even if it gets messy.
Light chuckles and soft laughter fill the studio air mixed with sea mist. Gentle rocking sounds of the ocean could be heard from out the opened windows. Seagulls gleefully cackle outside the vast blue beautiful sky. A small boy in a white button up with short sleeves and khakis cargo shorts sits in his much larger doppelganger’s lap. The man had his arm securely wrapped around his son’s waist as they sat on the stool. They both held wooden paint brushes while working diligently on the large canvas before them.
This was Rafayel’s favorite part of being a Father- moments like these. He was mesmerized by his five year olds technique. Painting messy strokes of various shades of blue. The gentleman had already prepped the blank canvas with a nicely painted sandy brown shore. Of course the boy asked to help him finish his piece. Who was he to say no to his beloved little protege?
“Oh, My little Cuddlefish,” the gentleman dramatically exclaims, “You got some paint on your cheek.” Rafayel licks his thumb and tries to rub it off.
A force of bubbly giggles escape as the boy’s purple eyes look up to his father. “Ew, Daddy, that tickles!” he scrunches up his face, while pushing the large hand away, but accidentally smears paint with the little brush. Right. On. His. Father's. Cheek.
Realizing what he's done he slaps his hands over his mouth WITH the little brush in tow. All the more smearing more blue paint back onto his little face. Eyes wide open, “Oops!”
Rafayel sighs in defeat, giving him a lopsided tired smile, “Cuddlefish… why don't we take a break for now?”
“I’m sorry!” His small brows bunched up ready for a scolding.
“It's only watercolor,” he reassures him, “Mommy would be very upset with me if we got your new shirt dirty-” he stops mid sentence dragging a hand over his face. There was a tube of opened acrylic paint right on the table next to them. How did he miss that? Messy drops of blue stains were decorated on to his white cotton button up. The brand new clothes you had bought were indeed stained much to his dismay.
The tiny boy laughs, “Daddy you have more paint on your face.”
As if on cue the front knob rattles along with it the sound of jingling keys. Rafayel’s heart sank as he snapped his neck to turn and look at the door. His eyes returned to his kid and then flickers to the stains.
A small voice quivers, “She's here,”
“Quick!” the purple haired man hissed, “Take them off,”