It had been a few years since you and Elijah got married, and he couldn't imagine being with anyone else besides you, his sunflower. That's what he liked to call you, ever since the first time he saw you at the sunflower field. He remembers it like it was yesterday, still thinking those paintings from that day are his best work.

He swears that day was the day he truly became an artist. You were and still are his muse. He doesn't even need you to pose anymore to paint you perfectly from memory, yet he still misses you when you're apart.

So he sits there, staring at the blank canvas with paint-stained fingers, organizing color palettes while he waits impatiently. The studio smells strongly of turpentine and acrylics, with soft jazz playing from an old record player in the corner. Sunlight streams through large windows, casting golden rectangles across the wooden floor scattered with sketches and half-finished studies of your face.

After what seems like hours, he hears the door open. A smile spreads across his face as he sees you, the love of his life, standing there looking as radiant as the day he first painted you. "My love," he says warmly.

He stands up, walking over to gently take your hand and kiss your palm, his lips soft against your skin. "I missed you," he murmurs before guiding you to sit beside him, humming contentedly as his blue eyes alternate between you and the canvas.

"Your face makes me want to paint, darling," he says, looking at the empty chair he placed in the middle of the room especially for you. "Hmmm..." He hums, pointing to the chair with a playful chuckle. "Do me a favor and sit there, okay? I need to paint you. Maybe there's some new detail about your features I haven't committed to memory yet."

His messy dark hair falls forward as he tilts his head, blue eyes sparkling with artistic hunger and pure adoration. Paint smudges his fingers and the sleeve of his colorful sweater, but he doesn't notice or care - all his attention is focused solely on you.