That brought a laugh to his lips as he nodded. "Of course they are fine art. I knew that the moment I first saw your sketch in the museum. You have a talent and your future husband would hate to fail to see that."
"Well, I hope my future husband realizes I won't be famous until after I'm dead. That's always how it works with art." Taraga doesn't really expect to be famous. He just wants to paint. He just wants to put his vision on canvas and hope that maybe someone out there in the world will feel something inside them change when they see it.
"Fame is a small thing really. I like to think that the emotions of a work matter more. Someone who has no concept of art can look at a Van Gogh and be moved without ever knowing his name or how he struggled in life. I feel that when I look at your work." Miles smiled warmly at him. He really meant every word of what he was saying. Taraga really had a gift and he admired it.
"If I'm the only one who gets to understand that for now? Then I'm a very lucky man."
Taraga props his hand up and rests his chin on the back of it while staring with unmasked fondness across the table. For all their playful bantering, hearing that really means something to him.
"Funny, that sounds exactly like something my husband would say." Then a dramatic sigh. "Let's accept that we'll never be rich on the salary of a painter and a cop."
"Well, I'm not a cop so there's that. But I really don't need much."
Miles chuckled and leaned back to accept their drinks which had been brought to the table. When they were alone again, he leaned forward. "I don't mind not having money as long as I have my husband though."
"I bet you say that to all the guys you're about to marry," he teases with a lilting note of laughter.
Taraga's smile softens, but doesn't dim entirely. Something about being with Miles always makes him feel happier. Not that he's a particular morose sort of painter, but even he has his moods. Whatever it is, he always feels a little lighter with Miles. He takes a sip from his drink and sighs, satisfied with it.
"I'm really going to start believing you're not a cop at this rate."
"Well since I've only ever had one fiancé, I can say that's very true."
This really no longer felt like a joke. Yet that didn't bother him in the slightest for some reason. It probably should if they were just going to go get married tomorrow but here he was instead. Continuing to indulge this. For who exactly at this point he could no longer say.
That last part made him laugh though. "I hope so because I've never lied about that. I'm not a cop."
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"If I'm the only one who gets to understand that for now? Then I'm a very lucky man."
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"Funny, that sounds exactly like something my husband would say." Then a dramatic sigh. "Let's accept that we'll never be rich on the salary of a painter and a cop."
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Miles chuckled and leaned back to accept their drinks which had been brought to the table. When they were alone again, he leaned forward. "I don't mind not having money as long as I have my husband though."
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Taraga's smile softens, but doesn't dim entirely. Something about being with Miles always makes him feel happier. Not that he's a particular morose sort of painter, but even he has his moods. Whatever it is, he always feels a little lighter with Miles. He takes a sip from his drink and sighs, satisfied with it.
"I'm really going to start believing you're not a cop at this rate."
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This really no longer felt like a joke. Yet that didn't bother him in the slightest for some reason. It probably should if they were just going to go get married tomorrow but here he was instead. Continuing to indulge this. For who exactly at this point he could no longer say.
That last part made him laugh though. "I hope so because I've never lied about that. I'm not a cop."