After the meeting, Ryan made his way to the art wing of the university, his footsteps echoing softly against the tile floors. The air inside the building carried the faint, familiar scent of oil paint, turpentine, and old canvas—a comforting mix that always settled his nerves. This was his sanctuary, a place where expectations faded into the background, and all that remained was color, movement, and the quiet rhythm of creation.
His personal studio space was tucked into a far corner of the large, open floor plan, partitioned off from the others by wooden dividers splattered with years of paint residue. He pulled back the heavy curtain that separated his space from the rest of the art wing, stepping inside. A collection of finished and unfinished canvases leaned against the walls while brushes, palettes, and tubes of paint cluttered his worktable.
Ryan exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as he sat down before his easel. Since he didn't have work that evening, he figured he'd put in a few uninterrupted hours on his latest piece—one he intended to include in the upcoming art show that he and Luna were working on. He was sure this particular piece would do well as landscapes were often a crowd pleasure as they allowed the view to step into another world.
Ryan's style had always leaned toward impressionism, favoring soft, dreamlike depictions of landscapes—gardens drenched in golden light, rivers that shimmered with the hues of dusk, woodlands where the trees blurred into mist. He had traveled to many countries, memorized different countrysides across the world, but the feeling he chased remained the same: serenity, untouched beauty, places that seemed to exist outside of time.
This latest piece was no different.
With slow, deliberate strokes, he painted the structure of a secluded gazebo nestled in the heart of an ethereal garden. The brush glided across the canvas, layering color upon color—soft greens, warm golds, deep blues blending into twilight. He lost himself in the familiar trance of creation, his mind quieting, the world narrowing to nothing but the stroke of his brush and the image taking shape before him.
A voice pulled him from his reverie.
"Hey, artist boy."
Ryan turned just as Anna pulled back the curtain and stepped inside, grinning like she was up to something. Which, to be fair, she usually was.
She held out a familiar object in her hand—his phone. "Thought I'd finally return this," she said.
Ryan let out a short laugh, setting down his brush as he took the device. "Wow, how generous of you. What's the catch?"
"No catch," Anna said and then immediately produced another phone from her pocket. "Except, I also got you this."
Ryan raised an eyebrow as he took the second phone, a cheap burner model. "And this is for…?"
"For when you want to just be Ryan," Anna said, her tone suddenly softer, more serious. "No expectations. No complications. Just you."
Ryan stared down at the small, unassuming phone in his hands. It wasn't the first time Anna had gone out of her way to have his back, but it still always caught him off guard—the way she just knew.
"Thanks," he murmured, his voice breaking a little from a build-up of emotions.
She waved him off. "Yeah, yeah, don't get all emotional on me. Just make sure you update your contacts so your various bosses don't panic when they can't reach you."
Ryan smirked, already pulling up his list of contacts. "Yes, ma'am."
As he started updating his information, Anna's attention drifted to the canvas. She tilted her head, taking in the soft, blended edges of the gazebo and the way the light spilled through the painted foliage.
"This is really beautiful," she said. "You know, I wouldn't mind if you painted something similar but with me in one of my custom designs."
Ryan glanced at her, amusement flickering in his expression. "You want me to paint you?"
"Of course. I mean, look at me," she said, striking a playful pose. "I'd make a fantastic muse."
Ryan chuckled, leaning back slightly. "You're not wrong. Actually, that could be great for the exhibition—something cross-disciplinary. Fashion and fine art."
Anna beamed, clearly pleased. "Exactly! I'll go home and pick out the perfect outfit for the painting."
Ryan shook his head, still smiling as he turned back to his canvas. "I look forward to it."
She lingered for a moment longer before clapping her hands together. "Alright, I'll leave you to it. But don't forget to text me once you set up that phone, yeah?"
"Yeah, yeah," Ryan said, waving her off as she disappeared through the curtain.
Once she was gone, he exhaled and rolled his shoulders, refocusing on his work. The world faded again, reduced to the gentle strokes of his brush and the quiet hum of his own thoughts.
Tonight, at least, even though he was dressed up as Rachel, here in his art studio, he was just Ryan.