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As a thank you, to the actor that had brought attention to his books, Rian issued special editions of his back catalog with a printed dedication to the said performer, his husband, and their two children.
In other words, he was pretty successful doing what he did. He loved his job, considering he never saw any of the money he earned. He continued doing the work as a lot of the official proceeds went to charities. He knew that for a fact as he was included as a board member on most of them and he had access to the financial information.
It also served Harris perfectly that Rian generated this type of wholesome publicity around his work, making him look good. His own charity work with veterans had significantly benefited from the publicity Rian’s work garnered.
Back when Ri had believed they had been in love, Harris had “thoughtfully” offered him his company accountant to handle his financials. Ri was perfectly happy to dedicate all of his proceeds to the charities they were both very much involved in. Money wasn’t the motivating factor in his work.
Slowly, all of it had morphed into Rian simply enjoying doing his art, without considering his profits or expenses, or anything of importance.
After all, Harris would always make more money than Rian ever would, he foolishly reasoned. They were above it, and they were simply making each other happy.
Right.
Happy.
What had gotten into him, to imagine any of it was real? This relationship was something Cyril would have never encouraged him to devote himself to. He had been so grief-stricken and lonely, that he simply ignored his brother’s warning, and dove headfirst into something that he should have known, was way too good to be true.
Rian sighs and looks down at the face he longs to touch. If...if he ever has another chance, if Ty would ever come back into his life...he swallows hard... if Ty is still alive.
Rian’s heart skips a beat. His palms are suddenly sweaty rubbing the charcoal over the paper, making a mess. Acid bathes his stomach, forcing him to shift uncomfortably in his seat and forcibly swallow back his fears.
Tayida is alive. My beloved is alive.
Rian focuses on the thought as if casting a spell. It’s naïve, he knows that, but it is all he can do to keep himself from losing all hope.
Rian takes a steadying breath and folds the image of Tayida carefully then goes to his shredder and runs it through the blades mixed with other pages of designs he is meant to get rid of. He has learned early on that nothing is sacred in his office, nor are his personal belongings off-limits.
Harris is perfectly comfortable digging through every insignificant piece of paper Rian has tucked away on his desk. He would rifle through his clothing, monitor his devices distantly, and even investigate his bookshelves.
The thoughtful conversations during the earlier stages of their relationship, which Rian had mistaken for sincere interest in his work and his creative process, now sound like a subtle interrogation. Like Harris was collecting data and analyzing Rian.
Harris was keeping track of his habits and behavior so if anything was ever out of line, he would be very aware of it. Any minuscule change in the way Rian conducted himself would be noted. When he had first picked up on things, little habits Rian had, he had considered it so thoughtful of Harris to notice. To care.
Rian chuckles at his own stupidity. He is so distracted with his musings he almost rubs his face in his hands, while they are still grimy with charcoal, from the pencils he’s been favoring when he draws Tayida’s face.
The natural materials always make him feel this closeness, this strange profound sense of warmth, he simply won’t let go of. He can’t. It’s the only loving touch he shares with the man of his dreams and giving it up is not an option.
Ri walks into the small bathroom in his office and washes his hands thoroughly with the special oil soap he has acquired to remove the stubborn staining from his paints and charcoal pencils.
Harris had commented once that he hated how filthy Rian’s hands looked after work. It had taken forever to find the right cosmetics – a set of soaps and creams with natural oils, to get all the charcoal off his fine fair skin, and from underneath his nails. His husband hadn't gone as far as to ask Rian not to work with those materials anymore, but it was implied he didn’t want Rian to look unkempt or dirty in any way.
Harris had shown his disdain in many other ways. Like picking up his hand and inspecting it with a face full of disgust and grunting something just on the edge of insulting. Rian had been still dazed enough by his incredibly handsome and passionate new husband to take the comments for a playful remark.
Their interactions had begun feeling off right after the wedding. As the months went by, their relationship deteriorated. Every little snide remark Rian had dismissed as Harris being stressed about work, had slowly been re-examined by Rian in a different light. Small tiffs he had considered his fault because he was utterly inexperienced in relationships, suddenly seemed like well-curated traps set up by his husband. Subtle ways to manipulate Rian into doing everything Harris wanted him to, even if Rian wasn’t willing to. At first.
It was a way to apologize for disobeying or disappointing Harris in any way.
Like the naïve needy idiot that Rian had been, he had dutifully begged for forgiveness every single time, feeling extremely guilty and embarrassed for failing at his marriage.
Rian no longer cares if Harris approves of how clean his hands are, but he meticulously follows a routine that consists of him avoiding any and all actions that might trigger Harris, giving him an excuse to be an abusive asshole.
He can’t afford additional conflict when he needs to think of Bran’s safety first. Everything else Harris does to him, Rian will endure. He must. For Bran.
Rian snorts a laugh at himself in the mirror at how stupid he had been back then to believe his life had been magically transformed by the wonderful man Harris Kelly had pretended to be. Rian had tried so hard to please Harris, to prove himself worthy of his affection. It had taken him way too long to realize that his husband could never be satisfied.
Rian had reached the conclusion that the demons ruling Harris Kelly were the same ones fueling the bottomless pit of his insatiable greed for money and unreasonable demands of servitude.
Rian plops in his chair back at his desk and resumes working on his project. For some weird reason, drawing Ty’s face always turns his motivation around. Thinking about Tayida makes him feel hopeful. He allows himself to dream about impossible things and to imagine what his life would have been like had he been brave and honest and told Tayida the truth.
