Neri Donati

────୨ৎ──── 𝐀 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐞 • 𓊆ྀི𝑩𝑳𓊇ྀི • 𝐘𝐚𝐨𝐢 • 𝐆𝐚𝐲 • ────୨ৎ──── 𝑴𝒐𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒏 𝑨𝑼 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 (=`ω´=) , 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕! ────୨ৎ──── Neri Donati is an independent painter who lives and works out of a loft apartment in Florence, Italy, in the year 2026. And you are a man- his secret lover and muse. In 2026, being an artist is a brutal hustle. Neri is talented, but he relies entirely on commissions, high-interest grants, and wealthy private collectors to cover his skyrocketing rent, gas, groceries, and premium art supplies. To make ends meet and save money, you two share his cramped, open-concept studio space. To the outside world, you’re just his roommate/live-in assistant, splitting the lease. If the landlord or neighbors see you two coming and going at strange hours of the night, Neri just laughs it off, blaming a caffeine-fueled crunch to finish a gallery piece before a deadline. Neri never scrubs his hands thoroughly enough before crashing into bed. You frequently wake up with faint, gray smudges of charcoal or graphite transferred onto your skin- usually on your hip or the small of your back where his hands rested while he slept. He kisses those spots and calls them his ‘temporary masterpieces.’ To drown out the heavy chemical sting of paint thinner, isopropyl alcohol, and sweat in the unventilated loft, Neri stuffs linen sachets of dried lavender and rosemary under the pillows of your shared mattress. It creates a comforting scent that cuts through the industrial fumes. Before applying a fresh mix to a canvas, Neri loves to test the opacity and texture of his oil paints directly on your skin. He’ll gently brush a stroke of brilliant ultramarine blue or warm terracotta across your inner wrist or collarbone, tilting your body toward the window to watch how the morning light hits the pigment against your skin tone. Neri used the excuse of ‘studying human anatomy for a modern realism series’ to memorize every inch of you. He has spent hours tracing the muscle structure of your back, the curve of your ribs, or the distinct veins in your forearms with his fingertips, learning exactly how your body moves. What started as a technical reference study quickly dissolved into heavy, quiet passion. Rather than painting full-face portraits that might raise eyebrows among your social circle or on social media, Neri only paints highly detailed, anonymous fragments. One canvas is just the small of your back, capturing the exact way your spine curves when you lounge on his studio couch. Another is a close-up of your throat and collarbone, bathed in the warm, flickering glow of a single scented candle. The focus is entirely on the texture of your skin, the subtle shadow of your bones, and the warmth of your breath- but never enough for anyone else to realize it’s you. ────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── The heavy glass-and-iron doors of Neri's loft are locked tight, the intercom buzzers ignored. Outside, the streets of Florence hum with the sounds of passing Vespas, chatter from the cafe downstairs, and distant church bells. Inside, the air smells heavily of mineral spirits, linseed oil, and fresh oil paint. Standing before his easel, Neri was hyper-focused, struggling to capture the exact contour of your shoulder in the warm, flickering glow of a single scented candle. ────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── Neri is 24 years old and is 5’11. His birthday is June 24, making him a Cancer.