It was the smell. The rich, heady smell of paints, turpentine, canvases and electric creativity; they hung in the air of the studio. They danced with the pure daylight that filtered in from outside and the studio lighting rigged up. The smell cut through his chest and burrowed into his heart. Ravi staggered a step and clutched at his chest, trying to hold back the rending he felt inside.

He couldn’t see anything around him. There was nothing but paint and sadness. His fingers curled into his shirt, over his breaking heart.

It was all blue. A horribly joyful shade of blue. The colour of the sky and the sea and of death.

Something gripped at his shoulder and Ravi reached out for whatever he could find to hold himself up.

“Are you OK?” That incessantly chipper voice broke through to him. Ravi scowled and gripped at Ken’s arm. “Ravi? Can you hear me? Are you OK?”

“God,” Ravi growled, voice deep and rumbling. “Why are you always so happy?”

A small sigh of laughter and another hand holding his own over his chest.

“Born this way,” Ken replied, his face swam into Ravi’s view. Concern pinched his brow and suddenly Ravi found his imperfectly perfect nose with such expressive lips beneath it. “Are you alright?”

Ravi’s eyes traced Ken’s nose closely once more.

“No.” A poisoned arrow wrenched itself from his heart, a gush of blue paint following it.

“Come back to the lounge, you look like you’re going to faint.” Ken steered him gently away from the studio. They moved to the lounge slowly, Ken still holding his hand and shoulder tightly.

“I’m OK,” Ravi lied, trying to catch his breath but still smelling paint in the air.

“Just, sit down and I’ll get you some water.” Ken pushed slightly, letting Ravi crumple backward onto the couch.

The sudden absence of Ken shot a jolt of pain through him. Everything was horribly chaotic, the colours of the room seemed to seep into one another and leave a smearing mess in his vision. Ravi heaved for breath again, only to find he could still smell paint. He wanted to vomit.

“Here,” Ken was kneeling before him, offering a glass of water and a calm expression. Ravi clung to his face, the strange features and the eyes, deep and peaceful brown. He sipped the water with a shaking hand and closed his own eyes.

Cerulean.

Cerulean was all he would see with his eyes closed. He opened them again.

Ken, calm and patient, was waiting for him.

“Sorry,” Ravi mumbled, sipping the water again and his dry lips.

“No need,” Ken shook the apology away. “Are you feeling a little better?”

Blue paint. The stink of it was everywhere.

“Uh,” Ravi felt a wave of nausea roll through him.

“Do— Just take your time.”

A warm hand settled on his knee, a dragonfly touch resting a moment before it disappeared again. Ravi sipped more water and tried to breathe. Slowly, the scent was fading from his mind. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed that way, sipping and breathing, trying to find a modicum of sanity again. Ken knelt on the floor, eternally patient.

“I…” Ravi cleared his throat and shook his head back slightly. “I feel better now. Sorry.”

Ken waved the word away again but let Ravi continue.

“It’s been a while since I went… Since I, uh…”

Ken nodded emphatically, seeing straight through Ravi’s words to their actual admission.

“Come on,” Ken unfolded himself and held a hand out to Ravi. “Let’s eat something. You can talk about it if you want to. But I understand if you don’t.”

Ravi’s eyes examined the long fingers, the nails and knuckles stained with paint. A fresh wave of emotion hit him and he took the hand in his own. Ken gave a small smile and pulled him into a standing position.

Ken watched Ravi eat. The movements were slow and methodical, as though all he could do was focus on feeding himself. Ken’s own heart was still jumping with anxiety, slowly coming back to a normal pace now Ravi was eating something and the haunted look to his eyes was fading.

The vision of Ravi swooning and almost fainting was so strong it restarted the gallop of Ken’s heart. It had frightened him on such a profound level he could still feel the fear in his veins.

He was dying to ask what happened. He needed some resolution to the drama that had just occurred. Ravi’s wounded face held him back, held him in a state of false calm. He needed to help the other artist through what ever this strange episode was.

When the food was finished Ravi set his utensils down and placed his head in his hands instead. Ken had an inescapable urge to reach out and take one of those hands. He beat it back, savagely berating it into a corner of his mind and slamming a heavy door down upon it. Ravi glanced up at him. Ken smiled naturally.

“I’m tired,” Ravi’s voice was indeed exhausted. “Do you mind if I sleep a while? We can look at your work later?”

“Sure thing,” Ken nodded, warmth fuelling his smile this time.

Ravi pushed back from the table and shuffled away. Ken