Gemotions

The air in the art studio was thick with the smell of turpentine and oil paints, a scent that always calmed Rowan. He was surprised to find Finn there, carefully copying a still life, his brow furrowed in concentration. He turned, and there was a flicker of something in his eyes before he spoke. "Moi, je t'aime," he mumbled, his voice a little husky. Rowan's hand instinctively reached out, touching Finn's arm. He felt a lightness inside, as if a weight had been lifted. He didn't say anything, but the smile that spread across his face spoke volumes.