Chapter 1: Key of D Minor
Chapter Text
The key of D minor expresses a subdued feeling of melancholy, grief, anxiety, and solemnity.
~ The Elements Of The Beautiful In Music by Ernst Pauer
Raphael was not the lead actor in one of those trashy telenovelas his mother had come to love in recent years. Absolutely not. No matter how much the situation begged to differ.
The situation being: a row of worried looking faces surrounding his bed when he woke up. However, from the five people in the room, he only recognized two – Magnus and Lily. Considering that Raphael was not someone to inspire compassion in others let alone strangers, the worry from the other three vampires was therefore somewhat suspicious. It was the first sign of many that something was wrong. The second, more salient one, was a scrawny kid with tousled brown hair dressed in a shirt with colorful graphics and lose jeans, whose tiredness reflected in his expression was overshadowed by relief and fondness. Raphael had never met him before in his entire life, yet his scent not only mingled with the air and was all over the room, it was also prominent enough to rival the odor of burned wood that Magnus strongly emitted as the only living person in the room. Even more remarkable, the scent was in his bed, on his sheets and on Raphael himself.
If Raphael were the type of person to run from reality, he would have told himself that this wasn’t his bed, or that the kid had had the audacity to sleep in his bed and cuddle with him while he had been sleeping or, considering how Magnus’ relief flooded the room, more likely unconscious. Unfortunately, the logical part of his brain that noticed small details like a second clock on the other side of the bed lead him to belief that they were in some sort of relationship. Possibly physically.
Raphael could barely contain the disgust that notion provoked.
So, gritting his jaw, he snapped, “Magnus and Lily, stay. Everyone else, out!” Glaring directly at the stranger that appeared inexplicably close to him, he reiterated into the disbelieving silence “Everyone,” leaving no doubt that he meant that guy in particular.
The boy lifted his chin, quickly catching himself from surprise and confusion as he was faced with Raphael’s hostility. There was a defiance in his eyes that was neither reflected in his words nor his mannerism when, with a nod to the other unfamiliar vampires, he ordered, “You heard him, let’s go.”
With one hand at the door, he paused looking right back to Raphael. “Camille is dead. You’re the clan leader of the Manhattan Night Children. Lily is your second-in-command, I’m your advisor and assistant, Simon Lewis.” Turning to Lily he added, like an afterthought as he stepped out of the room, “He’s about thirty-five.”
Raphael glared at the door as it closed. Annoyed as he was at the briefing, it proved his suspicion. Either he suddenly found himself stuck in one of those parallel universes, he had lost some memories or someone was playing an elaborate prank on him. Right in that moment, he wouldn’t rule out any of those possibilities, though the revelation of a long lost twin brother or relative would have been preferred.
“Raphael—” Magnus started, but Raphael lifted his hand to silence him, waiting for the last traces of footsteps to disappear. Looking down on himself, he decided to change into something decent in the meantime. He was not going to talk to anyone wearing pajamas and expect to be taken seriously. There were people who could pull this off, Camille for example, who was known to hold talks in nothing but lingerie. Raphael did not nor did he want to belong to that dubiously illustrious group.
Disappearing into the walk-in closet, he threw an irritated look to the left half that was home to clothes certainly not belonging to him. He ignored them and went to retrieve something that suited his taste and wasn’t overly formal like most of the expensive suits lining the garment rods. When he returned to the bedroom Lily was sitting on the bed, staring dejectedly at the door while Magnus stood at the veiled window.
“Anyone who wants to fill me in?” Raphael asked, running one hand over his head and realizing that his hair was also in shameful disarray. It was unacceptable, that he had been seen in this state, though there was nothing he could do to change that now.
“We needed to extract one of your memories,” Magnus explained slowly as he turned away from the window to face him, but only received Raphael’s back as he entered the adjacent bathroom to fix his hair. “It appears that something went wrong.”
“Oh really? Whatever gave you that impression?” Raphael asked with a click of his tongue, assessing Magnus’ behavior when he turned his head back to glare at him through the open door. The warlock held himself smaller than usual, averting his gaze as he spoke uncharacteristically softly. He was reeking of shame, guilt, and anger. “Who was the idiota to mess this up?” The question was a petty attempt at retaliation, only meant to force Magnus to say it aloud.
“I performed the procedure,” Magnus admitted, because he might be a softhearted fool, but he wasn’t a coward. “Everything seemed to be fine, but after we were done you didn’t wake up. We knew that temporary confusion or memory loss were a possible side effect, but you’ve been unresponsive for two weeks until today.”
“And all that time you’ve been sitting around my bed staring at me?” Raphael asked, curling his lips in disdain before looking back at the mirror so he could do something about the atrocity that was his hair.
“Of course not. You woke up two hours ago. Simon called me immediately. You’ve been drifting in and out of consciousness since then, though it appears you don’t remember.”
“There’s a lot more I don’t remember, apparently. The last two hours aren’t even on my radar.”
Lily and Magnus met his obvious and justified anger with silence, giving each other looks that Raphael pretended to go unnoticed on his side. Their elaborate conversation over facial expression and head movement was almost commendable. Scarcely satisfied with his hair, he re-entered the bedroom with raised brows.
Magnus, who must have lost the silent argument, sighed loudly as he rubbed his temple. “What's the last thing you remember?”
“The last thing I remember,” Raphael spit at the inane question, barely keeping from rolling his eyes in annoyance, “is Camille sending me out for some bogus job to get rid of me. Considering that she’s dead now, I guess I’m missing at least that. Ahora, if you’d ask me, what date I last remember, that would be February, 1962. Camille is alive and you’ve been intermittently meeting that insufferable Mundane called James, who has been trying to pressure you into a serious relationship that you do not care for, and you’ve been bringing that up every time we’ve met for about two months now.” The last part was completely redundant, but he wanted to acknowledge it simply to get rid of some leftover annoyance.
Magnus was wrapped in contemplative silence for a long moment, before enlightenment eventually brightened his features. “Oh, James! I barely remember him. It’s been such a long time.”
“60 years, to be precise,” Lily claimed.
Raphael was somewhat incapable of comprehending that number. If he were alone he might have taken a moment to sit done and figure out how he felt about a time span that should have left him an old man if he had still been human. If that was true, he had forgotten twice as much as he had lived to this point.
“Do you really not remember anything beyond 1962?”
Rolling his head back, he glared at Lily sideways. “Seriously? ¿Cómo chingados voy a saberlo?” [How the fuck would I know?]
“Geez, I was just making sure.”
Well, he didn’t know anything, but he felt something. A vague sense of belonging and healed wounds, of familiarity and tranquility even surrounded by strangers. Something he hadn’t felt since leaving his mother’s home, and especially not in the DuMort. It made him believe that some kind of magic must be at play that wanted him to let his guard down. Nothing in the Shadow World surprised him anymore, no matter how absurd it might seem at first glance. After all, the DuMort was the last place he associated with safety.
For now, though, he decided to go along with this charade. Best case, this really was just a botched attempt at magic. Worse case, someone was messing with his head. Frankly, he wasn’t sure which one he preferred.
“What happened to Camille?”
Lily looked briefly at Magnus before answering. “She was killed by a Shadowhunter named Alec Lightwood.”
Raphael huffed at the anticlimactic response. “Disappointing, but it has always been the most likely conclusion to her life.”
Magnus fixed him with an irritated look at his impassive tone, expression grim as he played with one of his many rings, a habit he apparently hadn’t broken even half a century later.Of course, no matter how repulsive his ex-lover had been, he still harbored feelings for her.Instead of commenting on Raphael’s words though, he switched back to the main topic. “I believe I can help you retrieve your memories. I just need—”
“No,” Raphael interrupted him with a scoff.
“Pardon?”
As he honestly hated repeating himself, Raphael refused to reply and instead approached his bedroom door, intent on leaving the room to get familiar with the clan and the hotel. After that, he was going to resume his work – whatever that was by now. Clan leader. Raphael never had any ambitions to become of importance to the Manhattan vampires, but he wasn’t exactly displeased with the outcome. It meant he had power, reach and most importantly, information.
“What do you mean ‘no’?” Magnus asked sharply, putting his full authority behind every word.
Raphael’s head snapped around and he regarded him with a cold glare. “I have been awake for less than an hour and there’s already sufficient evidence that I have gone senile in my old age. The fact alone that I allowed you to perform this procedure despite knowing the consequences confirms as much.” He was curious, but restrained himself from asking what it was, what had been so important that they would have to rely on his memory and this method. “I don’t believe getting those memories back will be worth the hassle. Además, has perdido la cabeza [Furthermore, you are out of your mind] if you think I’ll allow you anywhere near me again.”
Magnus expression fell at the harshness of the words and the fight visibly left his body along with a long-suffering sigh. “I forgot how irritable and stubborn you were in your younger days. Next time I complain, someone please remind me.“
“I’m very well in my rights to be irritable,” Raphael snapped.
Magnus was acting far too haughty for someone who had scrambled his brain in what should have been child’s play for a warlock like him. Losing sixty years of his life, as little as Raphael actually valued those memories right now, wasn’t something to make light of. Even if it was only temporary.
“I apologize. You’re right,” Magnus conceded with a frown. “I think it’s best for me to leave for now.” Turning to Lily he added, “Please watch over him.”
“The only thing I need protection from is you,” Raphael dropped coldly, marching out of the room with long strides, ignoring how much that remark had hit home. With a hint of satisfaction, he picked up on Magnus’ sadness, a mix of pine and charcoal. Warlocks, Raphael had noticed over the years, always had a richer emotional scent than any other race. Even more than Mundanes and Nephilim.
“Where are you going?” Lily asked, as she caught up and followed him. She hadn’t changed much, appearance wise. She was still infatuated with the same dressing style – dark clothes adorned with metal rings and clasps, baggy pants but tight tops to leave enough room for fighting if it should ever come to it. Her hair was blue, but she used to change the color all the time. Her make-up was still bold and black. However, her features have softened and her demeanor appeared brighter. The atmosphere surrounding her used to be intense, confined and dangerous but now it was relaxed, sanguine and casual. She seemed almost carefree.
It was a good look on her.
“Surely there are duties I’m neglecting,” he answered. “It’s best I get back to them.”
“Are you for real?” She exclaimed, but her bafflement quickly dissolved into wry amusement. “I guess that’s the type of person you’ve always been.” They continued to walk as she gathered her thoughts for a moment before reaching a decision, accentuating it with a nod to herself. “Fine. But what do you expect to come out of this?”
“Magnus said this is only temporary,” he said, gesticulating to his head. Walls had ears, and he didn’t know this place well enough to estimate how much he could reveal. “Either they will come back on their own, or they won’t. It doesn’t matter to me. I’ll just learn. Otra vez.” [Again]
How difficult could it be to relearn sixty years worth of Downworlder history anyway? When he had studied it for the first time, it consisted of nameless repetitive schemes and backstabbing, only the actors had differed. He doubted that this had changed, therefore all he had to do was get acquainted with the new players on the field.
“You should take Magnus up on his offer,” Lily tried, foregoing any subtlety. “If you did, this could be solved within minutes.”
Raphael ignored her words as he navigated the halls. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but he figured Camille’s old office was as good a starting point as any other. It had been more or less his office, as she had spent most of her time in that gaudy atrocity she had called her meditation room, lounging on her luxury parlor sofa with a suggestive smile like she was a present from God Himself.
He still felt the skin of his nape prickle just picturing her.
She was dead, he told himself. Yet, the thought was going to take some time getting used to.
Lily let out a noise of pure frustration at his silence. “You always like to do things the hard way, don’t you?”
“It’s the safe way.”
“What ‘safe way’?” Without warning Lily pulled him to a harsh stop. “Fine, if you insist on doing this your way, we’ll have to establish ground rules. A lot has changed and I can’t have you running around without knowing anything. I will take you to the office where we can work on a strategy and everyone I think needs to be there is going to be there.”
Raphael pressed his lips together, annoyed at the tone she was taking with him. However, this was a world he didn’t know anything about. A world that had him living with a lover, a male one at that, where Camille was dead and he was the clan leader – it was too surreal, even without him acknowledging the strange technology popping up everywhere in the building or the lingering stench of wet dog, sweat and food that had assaulted him upon leaving his room. They were signs indicative of something he wasn’t prepared for.
Maybe this was only an illusion. Maybe he was still in whatever state he had fallen into after Magnus’ magic. Maybe he was finally dead and this was his personal hell.
“De acuerdo,” [Very well] Raphael agreed benevolently, pushing all the dreadful possible scenarios to the back of his mind as long as the details of his current situation still eluded him.
“Good,” Lily replied, her voice suggesting that she had been expecting a fight but was pleased that it didn’t come to that. “Then let’s start with Simon.”
“My advisor.”
“He’s more than that and you know it.”
“He’s not.”
Lily frowned, unhappy. “Trust me on this, for your own good, you don’t want to hurt him.”
Raphael scoffed. “Don’t worry. I don’t care enough for him to waste my energy on something petty.” It wasn’t the answer she wanted, but it stopped her from pressing the issue nevertheless.
The first thing Raphael noticed as they made their way further through the hotel was the new interior design. Gone was the tacky gold and old dusty heavy rugs. It was cozy and warm. The atmosphere seemed cheerful even. Living in the DuMort had been depressing and dark. Everything inside the brick walls had emphasized that: from the badly lit hallways, the inefficient lightning from candles in all of the rooms, and the art depicting brutal scenes of war. The vampires had been scared and intimidated, keeping their distance while distrusting everyone. Friendships had been few and far between with betrayal and drive for survival lurking at every corner. The lesson was clear: the first vampire to trust was the one taking the fall in any power struggle.
Now, when he passed other vampires, after a brief moment of confusion they broke into smiles when they saw him – sincere smiles, not the arrogant sneers or fake grins. They seemed genuinely happy and excited to see him. Word that he was awake spread fast, the amount of vampires wanting to greet him growing by the second. However, they kept a respectful distance and only interacted with gestures, expressions and kind words. Nobody came close enough to touch him.
It was downright creepy. It didn’t help that there was a disgustingly lukewarm feeling beginning to settle in his gut. His bond, he realized belatedly. Something that used to be as cold as his body and therefore had gone unnoticed before. He had been aware of it, of course, in the same sense he was aware of love or tea: nothing that concerned him.
There were also werewolves and Mundanes mixed with the groups chatting in the common rooms they passed, something he grudgingly tolerated with heightened mistrust. Mostly because he didn't sense any malevolence from them, though compared to the vampires their enthusiasm was more restrained. Raphael glanced at them, gauging their reaction, but refrained from asking Lily questions.
She was leading him to Camille's old room, he realized belatedly, though it had been changed into an office that was now occupied by Simon. The kid was currently bent over some papers, sometimes glancing at a small TV at his side, and seemed completely oblivious to them until they entered and he finally looked up.
Honestly, this was the last person Raphael wanted to deal with. However if Simon was his advisor, he was bound to hold an important position. It wasn’t a surprise that Lily wanted him to be there.
“This office is warded,” she explained, tapping the door frame, “so nothing we discuss here will leave this room. Give me a moment to catch Elliott, Jacob, and Bernice.” Simon made an expression like he didn’t know if he should smile or scowl, while Lily left with a cheerful “Be right back.”
Raphael lifted his chin, glaring at Simon, whose hint of a smile wavered until it was gone completely a few seconds later. He acted like he wasn’t aware and let his eyes wander the office, taking in the expensive wooden furniture, the impressionists paintings on the wall, and, sticking out like a sour thumb, colorful pictures obviously drawn by children.
Raphael clicked his tongue as he turned away from them. “Your clothes are in my wardrobe,” he stated and met Simon’s eyes. There was no outward question in his words, but Simon knew immediately what he meant and his lips pressed into a thin line. Raphael wanted him to say it. That they were something. That way he could shot him down and shred whatever hope the kid might harbor about any future relationship.
“I'm your plus one for the Downworlder events,” Simon replied, seemingly by-the-way.
“Doesn’t explain why they are in my room.”
“You don’t trust me with expensive clothes.”
Raphael made a noise of consideration as he pushed his hands in his pockets and let his eyes trail over every visible part of Simon, combining the obstructed view with what he remembered when he had stood at the end of his bed, looking paler than was normal even for a vampire. Ragged jeans, too lose shirts, hair all over the place – he looked like a mess.
Simon’s expression tensed even without Raphael voicing his thoughts.
There was no way that Raphael was going out with someone, least of all a man, who was incapable of taking care of himself. Not to mention the fact that Raphael had never felt the urge to inconvenience himself with the presence of another person in his life. It wouldn’t surprise him if he only used Simon, though for what, and why he was willing to go so far as to play pretend, he couldn’t guess.
“What are your duties?”
Simon, albeit suspicious of the sudden change in topic, relaxed minutely as he rattled down a list of his tasks with increasing enthusiasm. It was easy to tell that he liked his work and that he was proud of it, too. “I advise you on inner clan dynamics and matters. I’m your plus one for official outings and provide you with information about the attendees you don’t care to learn about. You are intimidating so people tend to go through me when they have business with you. That goes for clan internal and external parties. Any kind of correspondence goes through me first. I decide whether to relay it to someone else or directly to you. I’m also taking care of the accounting and the paper work for the Clave so they leave us alone. And I do miscellaneous tasks like inventory, general job distribution and so on. We also brain storm loopholes in the Accords.” Simon grinned mischievously. “We’re quite creative doing that.”
“Loopholes?”
“Yeah, just let me...”
Simon didn’t need to search for the folder in the bookcase, that was standing at the wall right behind his chair. He reached for it blindly and presented Raphael with several copies of legal texts, some parts highlighted with notes scribbled at the border. Following every paragraph was a sheet written in Raphael’s hand writing outlining approaches and interpretation. It was somewhat impressive. However, while his other—older self was seemingly well versed in the matter, so far he had only looked at the Accords superficially, dull as they were. It meant that he must have bothered with them again in greater detail without burning everything out of sheer boredom. Hopefully this was something he didn’t need to re-learn.
“Who is the most knowledgeable about the Clave’s legal procedures in the clan?”
“That would be you.” Of course. It was the reply he had dreaded the most. “I’ve studied them ever since my Turning but I’m not nearly as good as you. Besides us, I think Elliott knows a little.” Simon must have seen something in his expression, as he hurried to assure him. “It’s mostly a hobby. We’re in good standing with the Clave and don’t really need to do it. You just like to annoy them.”
Raphael almost snarled at the fondness on Simon’s face as he spoke of him. Instead he closed the folder loudly. It helped rectify the expression, putting the other vampire back on alert. “Your duties, they seem to be a lot,” Raphael pointed out as he placed the folder back into the bookcase. They also sounded like what he was supposed to do as a clan leader. “Explain my duties to me.”
Simon didn’t reply immediately. Raphael almost feared that he had turned into a slacker, who only upheld the front of clan leader while delegating everything to someone else. It would explain the relationship to some degree, though he wanted to believe that he was better than to sell his own body like a cheap prostitute simply to keep the actual person running the hotel happy. He defend himself against Camille for years after all, and Simon didn’t strike him quite as intimidating or cruel.
“You do the networking, mostly, and negotiations, especially with contractors and the Clave. You keep up with all that law stuff and regulations. Your word is usually the final say. You coordinate all the information you receive and device plans. You’re basically the puppeteer that is holding all the threads to move the puppet.”
Raphael had always been good at keeping track of events, at seeing the larger picture and connecting the dots. However, this setup meant that he had to surround himself with trustworthy people to provide him the information he needed. It took a lot off his shoulder, mainly dealing with other vampires, and gave him the time to figure out what was going on in the Shadow World. It also made it possible to look into things personally if needed. It was obvious, in this reality, he trusted Simon and everyone else involved. If he didn’t, he would have to verify every piece of information, which would be more work than conducting his own investigations.
While it grated on his nerves how much power Simon held, even more so if he really was the main line to the clan, it was still going to be very interesting to find out how useful he was willing to be after realizing that Raphael wasn’t going to invite him back into his bed anymore.
Instead of reacting to the explanation of his duties, Raphael read the backs of the folders stored in the bookshelf. Simon watched him, likely not aware that Raphael saw the hint of sadness and disappointment in his expression. It vanished as soon as the Latino stepped away from the bookcase to inspect the well worn couch and the picture above it depicting the mouth of a cave amid a forest of hemlocks and oak trees, before moving on to the heavy dark oak desk that he suspected was his work place. Its surface was spacious and neatly arranged. He run his fingers over the top, finding not a single speck of dust. Someone must have cleaned it in the two weeks he had been unconscious. “Is there anything I need to know before Lily comes back?”
Simon was silent for a moment, wondering what Raphael was aiming at before he pointed with a pen at the desk. “Not really. As you guessed, this is you. You can get familiar with it. She might take a moment because Elliott is having one of his clingy days.” Raphael didn’t know what that was supposed to mean. “If you have specific questions, I’ll try to answer them as good as I can.”
It annoyed him how lost he felt. Being told to sit down like the new boy in school didn’t help with that sentiment, but he faked indifference and busied himself going through the drawers, hoping to find any letters or contact information for Ragnor.
Ragnor was the only person in this world who could make sense of this debacle.
“What are you looking for?” Simon asked after a while, when Raphael came up empty in his search and huffed in annoyance.
He briefly contemplated ignoring the question, but if he trusted Simon enough to keep him updated on internal clan business and practically everything else, he might as well give it a shot. “I want to contact someone.”
“I can pull your address book. Who are you looking for?”
Raphael remained silent.
Simon sighed, then turned the display of the small TV on his desk that was attached to a flat typewriter. Printed on the screen were names, addresses and several telephone numbers. Hesitating briefly, he eventually stood up and approached the machine to see better. “Tap this button to move down the list. This to go up,” Simon explained. “When you press ctrl and f a search window will open. You can type in the name of the person you’re looking for. If you use the icon with the receiver—” Raphael lifted his hand to quiet him. Simon did stop talking, but he appeared amused.
When Raphael pressed the arrow pointing down the list quickly flashed by, too fast even for his eyes, so he let go and began tapping slowly. Frankly, he was quite suspicious of this device.
“That person is not in there,” Raphael declared after going through the list twice. He had found Magnus and Catarina, so he figured that Ragnor was supposed to be there as well.
“That’s not possible. Everyone you know—” Simon stopped abruptly, his eyes widening before turning away and gnawing on his lower lip. “You’re looking for Ragnor.” It wasn’t a question. “Of course you would,” he added, softly, rubbing his temple with one hand, before he spun around on his chair to face Raphael directly. His expression was serious.
Raphael knew he didn’t want to hear whatever it was, but still met the gaze head on, unwavering.
“Ragnor is dead. He died a couple of years ago. If you don’t believe me, you can talk to Magnus, Catarina, or Lily. You kept your message log on a thumbdrive, too. I can show it to you. I think you also have some letters, if you’d like to read up on your correspondence.”
Raphael pulled his lips back in anger at the audacity of that lie. Ragnor was cautious and careful to the point of paranoia. He was not only a gifted warlock, but had also been the High Warlock of London. He wouldn’t just die.
It took him a moment to calm down, as he stood tense and frozen, telling himself that he couldn’t show how much that information affected him.
“I see,” he replied through gritted teeth, coldly, detached.
Ragnor was dead and if he spun this thought further, so was his mother. Otherwise she would have had to be well over a hundred years. His brothers were probably dead, too.
The realization was grounding.
Just a week ago he had passed his mother’s apartment, listened to her scolding her sons and their wives at the dinner table. There were times, weak moments, when he would have given his second life for just one more day with them. Now they were all gone.
His hands were balled into fists. Too late he noticed that his anger was leaking and that Simon had picked up on it.
“How did he die?” Raphael asked, before Simon had the chance to say something compassionate that would only further ignite his anger.
“He was killed by a demon sent by Valentine.”
Simon said the name like it should mean something to him.
It didn’t.
“Valentine Morgenstern,” Simon tried again, furrowing his brow. “Shit. When did that guy show up again?”
It was then that Raphael remembered that Simon knew approximately how much time he had lost. Even if he had been off for a few years, it was still remarkable, despite being aware of the possible side effects, specifically the potential loss of memories.
“1962,” Raphael said. “I don’t remember anything beyond February 1962. How did you know?”
Simon tonelessly repeated the number, suddenly slacking in his chair as he went ahead with his explanation. “The first time you woke up, you asked… you asked for your mother. She was pregnant, you were crossing the border and she needed your help to look after your little brothers. I think you were seven then.”
This wasn’t a memory to be shared. This wasn’t something Simon had any right to hear or know – but it was true. They had left Zacatecas in the middle of the night, the day his father had lifted his hand for the first and last time against his eldest son. His mother had been keeping a hand to her stomach, shielding it from impact throughout their journey, while Raphael had clung to his brothers, pretending to be strong and grown up, when it had been the tiny warm hands of his siblings that had given him the strength to keep the tears and exhaustion at bay.
“You fell asleep again, and when you woke up a little later, you yelled at me that you didn’t have time for silly games and needed to get back to your part time job.” Noticing Raphael’s increasingly annoyed expression, Simon decided to skip spilling his childhood memories and got right to the point. “Anyway, I noticed you were getting older, mentally, so I wanted you to wake up to familiar faces. I thought it would make it easier for you. That’s why I called the others in. When you only wanted Lily and Magnus to stay I figured you were between thirty or forty. Jacob earned your trust a little later, and another decade later, Elliott joined your group. It made it easy to narrow your age down.”
Smart, but only doable if Simon was familiar with Raphael’s past. It seemed he was, more than even Magnus or Lily if he had been the one to point it out. Ridiculous, considering that they had been around ever since his Turning and must be his oldest friends by now.
Simon, on the other hand, hadn’t brought himself up in that enumeration, so either he had appeared in Raphael’s life after that Elliot or had left himself out on purpose. Either way, Raphael was best advised to stay on his guard around the other vampire. The clever ones have always been the most trouble in his experience.
“You seem quite competent,” Raphael praised, watching Simon’s reaction carefully.
“Of course. Being your advisor is a very demanding position and I didn't get it because of my good looks, you know.”
Confident smile, pride posture, joy in his eyes, a hint of cockiness mixed with bashful delight. There was nothing suggestive of ulterior motives, superiority or deviousness but something in the way he looked at Raphael ticked him off again. “Obviously,” he replied dismissively, throwing a pointed look at Simon. If he had picked someone based on their looks they would at least know how to dress up, even if they had been keeping watch over their—even if they had stayed up for long hours. Then again, Simon seemed completely comfortable and natural in his clothes, which suggested that this was his usual attire.
Simon’s expression fell at his reply, then quickly hardened again. The ensuing silence was heavy in the room, but Raphael wasn’t bothered by it. There was still an immediate issue that he needed to resolve.
“Who is Valentine Morgenstern?”
Simon seemed to have forgotten, and didn’t appear happy to have been reminded. “First of all, was, thank God. Let’s just say he was a sick fuck who wanted to get rid of all the Downworlders. He failed the first time, despite taking many lives. Everyone thought he was dead, but about ten years ago it turned out he wasn’t and started attempt two.”
“Of course he wasn’t dead,” Raphael added dryly, “Nothing in this world ever stays dead.” Apart from the people that deserved to be alive. Like Ragnor.
Simon was about to reply, when the door opened and Lily showed up with her entourage of strangers, or mostly strangers, as Raphael did recognize the other woman in the room. Bernice, a backstabbing menace that was willing to sell her soul to anyone if it meant holding more power in her own hand. Her weapon of choice, gossip, rumors, blackmail. As far as he was aware, she was good at her job.
Lily cautiously looked between them when she closed the door. “Is everything alright?”
“Por supuesto,” [Of course] Raphael drawled nonchalantly. “Just a chat about Ragnor.”
Lily’s expression, while softening, wasn’t any less worried now that she glanced over to Simon, like she was wondering if he had told the truth. He must have given a non-verbal reply, because she answered with a nod.
Raphael took in the faces of the other two men in the room, a black man who was anxiously shifting on his feet, and a vaguely familiar tall brunette with zero personality. “I can’t remember anything from about ten years after my Turning,” Raphael opened bluntly. “Let’s skip shock, confusion and pity, and move on to what is important, which, to me and hopefully to you as well, is making this place operate as normal.”
The group shared looks with each other, before Bernice spoke up. “First of all, it is mostly operating like normal. Thanks to Simon. Secondly, I thought this was about getting your memories back.”
“They will return on their own, or they won’t,” Raphael replied dryly. “I prefer the later. Can’t say I’m exactly thrilled with my life choices so far.” He was hinting at his supposed relationship with Simon by looking at him while he spoke, but what he meant was everything, especially the werewolves in the hotel.
Bernice looked up sharply, her eyes on Simon before glaring straight at Raphael in anger. Curious. Raphael had picked up on it too, briefly, the flaring of uneasiness at his words. He shared a bond with Simon, but so did Bernice if she had noticed as well. “I’m sure Magnus has a way of remedying your situation.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Raphael dismissed. “I won’t let anyone close to me again.”
Bernice scowled, meeting Simon’s eyes again, before she continued. “Maybe there are other options we could explore then?”
“I believe,” Simon interjected firmly, “that Raphael has clearly stated his point of view. He’s against it, so let us move on instead of wasting time arguing. Ultimately, it’s his decision.” He stepped around the desk, changing his position so that he was standing next to the group, right in front of Raphael. “There’s a lot to learn if you want to take over your old duties. Some of which we can teach you, like history or technology. Others require skills you have acquired over the years. We can’t help you as much with those. The people gathered in this room are usually the once you consult when you’re forced to make difficult choices. They are also your closest friends.”
“Not me,” Bernice stated petulantly. “I’m Team Simon.”
With a glare at the other woman, Lily stepped forward, one hand on the shoulder of the dark skinned nervous man with colorful dreads. He was still hobbling from one foot to the other, which was beginning to annoy Raphael. “This is Elliott—”
“I’m so glad you’re alive!” he exploded in a wail. “I’ve missed you so much! Please let me hug you!”
Thankfully, Raphael’s reflexes haven’t dulled over the years. With a quick step back he would have avoided the incoming attack, if it weren’t for Lily’s still tight grip on Elliott’s shoulder that was keeping him firmly in place.
Simon sighed heavily, while Elliott was wildly reaching his arms out, begging her to let him go. “You won’t believe this, and I can’t fault you for that, but he’s our tactician.”
Raphael’s eyebrows couldn’t rise high enough to express his blatant doubt at that statement but he was undertaking admirable effort, before looking over to Lily for confirmation. She nodded. Raphael must be a terrible clan leader. He had terrible taste in absolutely everything. Maybe he really had grown desperate.
“Elliott, stop whining and sit down on the couch for heaven’s sake,” Bernice ordered. Like a kicked puppy, the black man plopped down next to her, staring longingly at Raphael. It was partially amusing, but mostly unsettling. “If you need support in devising plans, he’s your man. As outrageous as it sounds right now. I think his genius is on and off, considering that he doesn’t even manage two-timing faes if his life depended on it.”
Raphael couldn’t stop repeating the words ‘terrible failure’ in his head.
“Simon told you already,” Lily spoke up again, “but I’m your second-in-command. I’m responsible for the security, training and the guards. Basically everything I’ve been doing under Camille. While you were playing out sleeping beauty, Simon and I took over your workload, with which I mean, Simon did almost everything. He’s not only your advisor but also your accountant.”
For the next couple of minutes, Lily continued to list Simon’s duties in detail, while Simon watched Raphael with a frown, waiting for him to step in and let Lily know that they had sufficiently discussed his position in the clan already. Yet, Raphael cocked his head slightly to the side, giving Simon an innocent smile that conveyed how it certainly couldn’t hurt to confirm the story.
Simon took his bratty behavior surprisingly well, only huffing in exasperation and slowly rolling his eyes in a show of annoyance while waiting for the end of Lily’s explanation. Something told Raphael that they used to be a potential health hazard to everyone around them.
“Let’s just say that nobody can pay him enough for the things he does for the clan,” Lily ended abruptly after she seemingly got bored with talking.
“Just call him ‘mom’. It sums it up nicely,” Bernice threw in.
“Please don’t call me ‘mom’,” Simon said, looking somewhat pained at the suggestion.
“And this is Jacob,” Lily continued, gesturing at the tall and stoic looking man next to her. “He is handling logistics, infrastructure, and digital infrastructure for the clan.”
“He's our bootlegger,” Simon added with a grin.
Jacob showed no expression and seemed to be the quiet type, appearing indifferent and bland in his stoicism, but his gaze was sharp and assessing. He looked more like a person Raphael preferred to have around if it weren’t for one detail.
“He’s also a former Shadowhunter,” Raphael acknowledged wryly.
“Yes,” Jacob replied, frowning.
The corners of Raphael’s lips twitched as he leaned back in his seat. “You strapped me to holy ground, burned off my skin with acid and made me drink holy water.”
“Yes.” This time the answer took a moment longer. Maybe he had forgotten all about it. After all, for him six decades had passed, whereas for Raphael it had been less than a handful of years.
“Are you torturing for me now?”
Another brief pause, followed by a third “Yes,” before adding with a quick glance to the side, “If the need arises. Which it hasn’t for many years.”
It was remarkable how Simon’s expression hadn’t betrayed a hint of surprise, when it was obvious from the reaction of the other vampires in the room that this must have been news to him. It became obvious when Bernice and Lily threw convert glances at him, when Jacob paused and then avoided eye contact before replying. Considering that the Shadow World had a habit of throwing its victims into the cold water, Simon was likely used to a lot and had learned to roll with the punches, or he had knowledge that the other vampires weren’t aware of.
“Great, so we have a nervous wreck, a Shadowhunter and a gossip.” With a nod at Bernice he added, “Are we trying to spread the information as quickly as possible by letting her participate?”
“The gossip,” Bernice snapped, “is your most important asset. I’m your information broker and you wouldn’t know a third of what’s going on outside these walls if it weren’t for me, so you better not piss me off.”
Raphael raised his eyebrows, then looked at Lily for confirmation again. Bernice scoffed. “Great. I had to go through your douchebag teenage years once. Honestly, this is the sequel nobody asked for.” She forcefully threw herself back against the couch with a scowl. “I respect the old Raphael, but my patience has its limits. And even if ‘you’ are our clan leader, officially, at the moment, I’ll take my orders from Simon or Lily and not you. Don’t let the title get to your head.”
Raphael didn’t remember her being that assertive, but time did change people. Lily was the best example. In the past she had listened to his words without complaint, hadn’t cared much for any of his decisions and followed them without questioning.
“Anyway, now that we have gone through the introduction, let’s focus on how we get Raphael to accept Magnus’ help.”
“Bernice,” Simon warned.
“Oh God, fine.” She huffed, rolling her eyes. “The way I see it, we don’t need to worry about telling the clan. No one’s going to leak it to the outside. Everyone has proven that they know how to keep a secret and it’s not like we could hide it with Raphael being,” she paused, exasperation in her voice, “being Raphael. I don’t exactly see him being all buddy-buddy with Frederick and friends. Outside the clan? I don’t know. Just imagine him meeting Luke or Jace for the first time. Or Elaine? That poor woman will have a heart attack.”
Raphael would have preferred it if someone bothered to explain who the people behind the names were, but nobody did and he would rather bite his tongue off before showing any interest. He figured he was going to find out soon enough.
“Forget about friendlies, I worry about our enemies,” Lily said. “I know that this information will be safe in the clan. It’s not uncommon for Raphael to stay in the hotel for a prolonged time, but he has to return to official business soon. It’s to our advantage that he generally has the reputation of being a hermit. Add to that the whole ‘if you don’t see Raphael Santiago in town, everything is fine’ thing we’ll get by for a while. But even he shows his face some times.”
“Furthermore, it’s dangerous,” Bernice continued. “We have more than enough enemies, because of all those bigoted conservative haters that dislike our inter-species living conditions. Raphael’s protection, more than his skills, has always been his reputation. If words get out about his condition shit is going to hit the fan. And I’m pretty sure the Clave took note that he hadn’t been to his mother’s grave in half a month.”
“They did,” Simon confirmed. “I got a call from Dolores a few days ago. She was offering her condolences because rumor has it Raphael was dead. She didn’t say good riddance, but it was heavily implied.”
Bernice chuckled. “Man, I always thought their hate was an act, but I think she really does hate him.”
“Why would you think it was an act?” Jacob asked, confused. “She’s never even tried to hide it.”
“I think our main problem is the timing,” Elliott said, finally dropping the puppy act and looking serious. “Simon was supposed to stay at his mom’s for Hannukah and the weeks around Christmas are packed with invites to parties.”
Simon shrugged. “I already told her I can’t make it this year.”
“Simon, that means she’ll want to stay here. It’s a bad idea to have him meet anyone in your family. Or seriously, anyone who usually shows up to your celebrations.”
Raphael listened quietly to the ongoing discussion. Unable to contribute more than an opinion, he stemmed down the annoyance at unknown names being thrown around and his habits being laid out. Visiting his mother’s grave, he repeated in his head. Annoyance turned to anger at those words. It was knowledge common for the old Raphael who had enough time to mourn her death, but painful for a Raphael who heard it for the first time. His mother, in his mind, wasn’t even in her fifties – too young to be dead.
Being a clueless spectator in his own life, having to listen to other people talk about a routine he had no recollection of made him feel trapped. In this room, in this building, in his own skin.
Of course Simon picked up on his increasing restlessness.
It was unsurprising that he did, because Raphael felt it, too. The bond they shared, maybe not as strong as it must have been, but still the most prominent, even compared to Lily. He didn’t know why it still existed, why it hadn’t evaporated with his memories, but he had never quite come to understand how bonds worked. So he had kept his relationship with other vampires superficial, because he didn’t want to be influenced by their moods or make himself transparent to anyone. Falsely putting his trust into a person or establishing the wrong rapport was a weakness he couldn’t allow himself to have.
He wondered if he had ever managed to shut it down completely, and if he had, if it was something that was going to come back to him.
They discussed how they wanted to handle Raphael’s ‘selfish, paranoia fueled request’ – as Bernice repeatedly called it – for over an hour, despite Simon’s best effort to hurry the conversation along, while throwing quick assessing glances at Raphael, whose mood worsened with every new idea.
“I guess that’s it then?” Elliott asked with a helpless shrug. “A crash course in history. Last ten years in great detail, everything before that selectively.”
“By locking him in the cinema,” Bernice added. “We didn’t invest in the making of historical videos for nothing. That way we can leave out the whole propaganda bullshit and he can do it whenever he wants. I’ll also make a list of what’s important and provide reading material.”
“For official outings, he’ll have Simon with him,” Lily continued. “Simon can quickly brief him on everyone they meet. It’s common for them anyway and nobody would question it as Raphael has a very selective memory when it comes to people anyway. And if something comes up, Simon can jump in and save the day.”
“If it’s alright with everyone, I’d like to teach him whatever I can concerning the hotel,” Jacob offered.
“Wouldn’t Simon be the better option?” They were the first words Raphael had said for a long while, and they looked at him like they had forgotten him. “Considering that he’s my assistant.”
“He’s too busy for that,” Jacob argued calmly. “If there’s something I can’t help with, of course I’ll refer you to him, but unless it’s necessary, it’s best we leave him alone.”
Raphael rolled his eyes.
Yes, yes, Simon was the savior of the clan, without him everything would fall apart. He had gotten that memo already.
“Second,” Bernice agreed.
Clearly, it wasn’t just about the valuable time Raphael would steal from Simon. It was also meant to spare Simon the ordeal of spending prolonged time with a Raphael Santiago that quite obviously differed from the version he knew, a hostile version that wasn’t pleased with whatever had been going on between them.
Raphael looked at Simon now, wondering if he had an opinion to anything they had decided. Apart from holding the reins throughout the discussions and keeping everyone on track, he had been surprisingly quiet. Acting as a mediator, he had never been the focus or the center of attention. It surprised Raphael, as he had expected his advisor to act more center stage.
More remarkably, though, Simon was also the only one who hadn’t tried to change his mind about rejecting Magnus’ help. Raphael suspected that it was part of a strategy to win him over. Either that, or he figured Raphael was getting even more stubborn with every new attempt.
“You got anything to add?” Raphael asked him directly now.
Simon blinked once. “Good luck?”
Raphael let out a noise expressing his irritation at that reply, but he only vacated his chair to approach the persons that seemingly were his inner circle. “I leave the internal communication to you,” he directed at Bernice, before turning to Jacob, “And you, lead the way.”
Chapter 2: Key of B Flat Minor
Summary:
Raphael is trying to get used to his life, Simon and the clan. Trying. A little bit.
Notes:
Thank you for the support! I'm happy how well received the first chapter was.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
B flat minor, a key full of gloomy and sombre feeling.
~ The Elements Of The Beautiful In Music by Ernst Pauer
Jacob was a surprisingly adequate teacher. He was calm and straightforward, his explanations on point although limited to superficial information only. Thankfully, his teaching also didn’t involve any flirtations which Raphael had unwillingly gotten used to during his time with Camille and whoever she had appointed to instruct him for certain jobs.
As Raphael had always been a quick study Jacob was reaching the end of his rope in three days. Though it was mostly due to the fact that Raphael was self-sufficient enough to explore the hotel on his own and the nature of Jacob’s own work that didn’t need a lot of background knowledge apart from contract partners but relied more on organizational skills, basic concepts of logistics and doing inventory. Furthermore the operations seemed to have been designed by Raphael himself which made them more intuitive and therefore easier for him to internalize. There was also a feeling of déjà-vu after an explanation, times when the handling of objects was suddenly familiar and his understanding of the process clearer than what he had been taught.
As Simon wasn’t ready with his preparations to take over for Jacob yet, Raphael kept himself busy by exploring the hotel and its inhabitants. One of the changes that he took particular notice of, apart from the complete interior overhaul – that a man called Xavier seemed to love telling him about in great detail whenever he caught Raphael looking at something for longer than a few seconds – was the huge magnet wall in the lobby. There were magnets adorned with names for everyone living in the hotel on the far left side that were either moved to the column ‘Staying out’ or ‘At work’. Next to that table was another one listing different tasks like cleaning or guarding the hotel which seemed to follow a certain rotation, and a third table with several open tasks that everyone was able to sign up for.
Apparently, Simon had introduced this to the clan in order to delegate work without having to bother with quarrels himself. It included quite mundane chores like doing laundry, cleaning the kitchens or common rooms, to more strenuous labor such as unclogging the sewer canal beneath the hotel. Raphael had assumed he was the only one who was aware of that evacuation route.
There was also charity work like distributing thermos bottles of hot coffee and tea to homeless people in the vicinity and collecting them again in the morning before sun rise. Raphael wasn’t sure why the clan took it upon itself to care for the Mundanes, as there wasn’t anything to gain from helping them. Apart from that, he was intrigue from the system. It showed how close the clan members were by relying on each other and that the leadership trusted them to figure the distribution out among themselves, which they apparently did. Whenever Raphael took another look at the board, task had either been taken care of and crossed out, or at least had a name attached to it.
Right next to the magnet board was a movable pin board. Written at the top on a paper was ‘Topic of the month’, the word ‘Topic’ crossed out and substituted with ‘Monster’, which was scratched out again to be replaced with ‘Raphael’s headache’. Apparently it was used to collect thoughts and ideas for a certain topic before addressing them at one of their regular meetings. The first time Raphael had witnessed one of those gatherings had been the day after he had woken up. It was used to inform everyone of the new situation.
Another addition to the clan, that he wasn’t sure how he felt about was a sort of shrine in a small room he remembered had been used as a storeroom for all the gifts Camille had received but not cared for. In the back of the room was an abstract statue. Raphael couldn’t make out the design, no matter from what angle. It was made of limestone, intricate in its decoration, vines and blooming flowers twisting around it. Behind the statue was a circle of dark blue ceramics, embellished with white lines and dots that, on closer inspection, were depicting star constellations – he didn’t know which ones exactly. The ground was covered with a colorful mosaic that twisted around the shrine in spirals, and the walls were lined with boards made of redwood.
The room was elegant, expensive and meticulously clean. There was a sign at the door that reminded to take the shoes off before entering. Even if he was unsure about the meaning this place held for him, he could respect that it meant a lot to the rest of the vampires, so he only leaned into the room to get a look at the picture frames on the boards and the trinkets placed before them, probably personal belongings. A vial of dirt was next to every photo.
Camille had ordered everyone who wanted to join the clan to give her a jar of their graveyard dirt. It seemed that this tradition was still standing, though he wondered if the meaning had changed. For Camille it had been a means to mobilize her henchman and if she had been their Sire, to control them. She had never asked Raphael for his graveyard dirt. She had gone to the place of his rebirth and picked it up herself, showing the spoils to him with a gleeful smile. It was an insult, a warning. Nothing happened without her knowledge or her blessing. Even back then, Camille had been cautious of him. Reckless as she had behaved, she had never been a fool.
Raphael doubted that Camille’s reasoning was still the motivation behind the tradition. Even though the room lacked religious symbols – granted, vampires weren’t usually as masochistic as him to endure wearing holy symbols – everything in this room showed that it was a place of mourning, a place to pay respect.
They cherished their dead.
Which meant they cherished the other vampires when they had still been un-dead. They wouldn’t use petty means to control them like Camille did. They probably didn’t manipulate the other clan member at all.
The sentiment was surprisingly human. In the past vampires had died all the time. Camille used them as shields for Shadowhunters, throwing everyone dispensable under the bus. Their deaths had been ignored, despite the grievance it had caused the few acquaintances. Vampires were reduced to ashes and then forgotten. They didn’t leave a corpse. It was like they had never existed in the first place.
Frankly, at times Raphael harbored the feeling that monstrosities like him were meant to be forgotten.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Lily asked.
Raphael had heard her approach a while ago, the footsteps echoing heavy between the halls, brisk and confident. There was no one else in the clan who walked like her, which made it easy to tell. His bond reacting to her nearing presence might have factored into his awareness of her as well. He was still getting used to it.
“Todavía no lo sé,” [I don’t know yet] he replied honestly.
“It was the clan’s idea. They built everything on their own to surprise Simon.”
Raphael arched his eyebrows. Lily kicked her shoes off and walked past him into the room, up to a picture showing one of the few faces that had been familiar to him. Derek, Lily’s ex. A brawler, ready to fight anyone, eager to die but too cowardly to take matters in his own hands. There was a small barbell next to his picture.
“I assumed he had died with Camille,” Raphael said. It wasn’t the first person he had learned had diminished with Camille, either before she had been handed over to the Shadowhunters or after she had fled from Idris. He hadn’t been very aware of Derek in the past, though when he looked at Lily now it felt like something was missing at her side, considering that they had used to be thick as thieves.
“He was loyal to the clan,” she said, smiling at the frame. Her hand reached for her shoulder like she was nursing an old wound. “When he died, it was a terrible day. Month actually. For all of us. Especially for Simon. They were close.”
Pictures and sounds invaded Raphael’s mind. Simon, waking up screaming, reaching for his legs, trying to extinguish an invisible fire. Raphael anchoring his convulsing body to the mattress. The hotel waking up in cries of agony. Simon’s hand clutched to his heart. Sudden deafening silence.
“He died of exposure?” Raphael asked.
Lily hesitated, throwing a questioning glance at him. “Yes. He did.”
Burned to death inch by inch. If Simon had been friends with Derek, he must have felt every excruciating second like it was happening to his own body, therefore transmitting it to Raphael. However, there had been no pain that he remembered through the fog of memories, just a feeling of emptiness spreading through his chest. If what he had seen had been real memories and not just conjunction of his fantasy. He still had trouble figuring out if something was a whisper of a memory or something his brain turned into one by piercing information together.
“It’s not like it was under Camille. Now, almost everyone is somehow connected,” Lily explained. “So it was painful for the whole clan. He mourned a long time, and every single one of us mourned with him. That he influenced us with his grief made it worse for him. To cheer him up, everyone got together. We didn’t know what happened and where Derek had died, so there wasn’t even a place to visit. So we figured it might be nice to give him that place ourselves. Of course it wasn’t just for Simon. We all had our own pain to deal with when Derek died.”
Lily’s grief was palpable as she spoke. Raphael had never been good at dealing with emotions. He was especially terrible with sadness, couldn’t even relate comfort to the way he himself wanted to be treated. Wanting to be left alone wasn’t, in his experience, the way other people prefered to be comforted. Several try and error experiments had also confirmed that he tended to say the wrong thing by sounding callous and uncaring instead of offering support. Maybe this part of him had changed over the years. If it had, it refused to come back as easy as other things seemed to do.
So he simply remained silent, while Lily touched the barbell with another sad smile.
After Raphael was done exploring the hotel, they sent him off to watch movies.
At the beginning, he had thought they were pulling his leg, but Raphael had to find out on several occasions that when he thought those people were joking, they really weren't. Watching movies, documentaries of the Shadow World, honestly, it sounded so preposterous it wasn’t his fault that he had been unable to take them serious. Still, there he was, alone in the cinema, watching movies about Downworlder history.
The movies had Lily and Magnus starring as themselves and Elliott as Camille, complete in drag with a tight cocktail dress and a blond wig. He looked absurdly good.
Thankfully, Raphael’s older self, despite frequent mentioning, didn’t appear in one of those videos apart from one quick shot that must have been taken when he accidentally walked pass the camera and, upon noticing, turned around to glare at the lens. This particular scene was used multiple times in the documentaries, usually with a badly drawn facial reaction appropriate to the situation substituting his real face. It was usually a frown. At one point a black censor bar. When they didn’t use that scene, Raphael appeared as a stick figure, that was only going up to Lily’s hip. Obviously, the clan had a lot of fun finding ways to insert him into the documentary.
The whole thing was ridiculous. Informative but ridiculous.
Truly, this clan was one big joke – and he was the leader of that joke.
He must have gone insane.
“Wow, this really brings back memories,” Simon said, appearing at the door to the cinema, arms crossed in front of his chest. “When I returned to the clan, you made me watch those terrible propaganda videos. I should show them to you one day. They were horrible.”
“More torture than this?” Raphael asked dryly, filing away the word ‘returned’ while turning back to the screen that was showing a dramatic reenactment of Camille alias Elliott and Magnus trying to stop the raid of the hotel by Shadowhunters. Magnus had been remarkable serious in his acting.
Simon chuckled at the scene and sat down a few seat down in the same row. “Definitely. No idea why you made me watch them. Maybe you wanted me to learn critical thinking.”
“Maybe I just wanted to torture you.”
“Well, you had your reasons.” Simon laughed softly and continued to watch the documentation.
They had already reached the new millennium, but there still wasn’t any mentioning of his ‘advisor’. Raphael would have thought that someone that critical for the clan would get at least one special appearance. Especially after Elliott had turned his first meeting with Raphael into a twenty minute long monologue, followed by an explanation how he had joined the clan and how their friendship had blossomed over the years. It took Raphael a second to realize that the animated bat hanging from the ceiling that Elliott was talking to was supposed to be him. The piece ended with an extreme close-up to bat Raphael’s face showing a deadpan expression consisting of only three straight lines.
It was still better than the blushing face with red marks on his cheeks and cutesy large eyes with a colorful bow painted into his hair and a speech bubble above his head reading ‘Notice me, Senpai’, which they had shown exactly once, at the top corner of the screen when they talked about buying suits for his assistant. Raphael suspected that they meant Simon with assistant, though he wasn’t sure if the face was supposed to be for Simon or for the clothes. From conversations with the other vampires it seemed like the later was serious business for him.
At the end of the documentaries, Simon was only directly mentioned once, the voice-over explaining that he had been instrumental in establishing, cementing and maintaining an alliance with Lazar Markov in a very unorthodox manner. There was a story behind that, but the main takeaway for him was that this alliance had started a little over ten years ago, which meant Simon must have been in the clan for at least that long. Maybe Simon had intentionally left out his name and any of his contributions.
On the other hand Raphael had been shown and mentioned several times. He was attributed to a lot of changes and events that were documented in the video, and described as some sort of grumpy hero. Frankly, he couldn’t believe himself doing half of what had been said. Not because he thought himself incapable, but because he couldn’t believe actually caring enough. Helping the clan through an epidemic, bringing Camille down, humbling Natalie Melnik – who was already a big name sixty years ago – establishing several alliances with different groups of Downworlders, introducing a guidance program for abandoned fledgling and starting an unofficial neighborhood help plan – nothing sounded like something he would normally bother with. When did he ever find the time to implement all those things in the first place? Didn’t they have any other problems?
They must have also left out the ugly details as well. While the documentary made sure to include several anecdotes, Raphael doubted that overthrowing Camille had been as smooth as they had described. Still, they had focused mainly on the facts, adding only a couple of reenacted scenes, probably to entertain. Otherwise this would have been 400 years of listing boring dates and historic events.
As soon as the movie ended, Simon stood up from his seat. This must have been the longest break he had taken in the last couple days. It might have been his attempt at bonding, even as unresponsive as Raphael had been. Thankfully he was keeping his distance. Raphael, at the moment, wasn’t the most pleasant person to be around.
“Who is your sire?” Raphael asked, never averting his eyes from the closing credits, but unable to hold back the question. He had hoped to get the information from the video, but they were smart to leave that out.
Simon huffed. Instead of given the answer to the question Raphael had asked, he chose to give the one that he had truly been interested in. “It’s not you, don’t worry. You performed the ritual, but the blood was Camille’s.”
Curious. Raphael had never bothered with Camille’s throwaways. If she really wanted someone for the clan she would have sire them herself, otherwise she left them for Raphael to take care off. Unless he had developed a habit of finishing the Turning over the years, he couldn’t figure out why he had done it in Simon’s case. After all, a corpse meant fewer witnesses for Camille’s crimes.
It was sobering how only ten years into his vampire life, he had gotten accustomed to death to such an extent. Unavoidable, considering the clan he had chosen; the common occurrence of death the very reason he had joined to begin with. If he wanted to protect his mother and siblings, he had to know the whereabouts of a bloodthirsty monster with low morals. At the same time, he was able to grow his power under her lenient protection.
Simon, waiting patiently for a reaction, sighing when there wasn’t one for several seconds. “Tomorrow, I’ll be at the Institute for a meeting and will return around 7 pm. When I come back, we’ll start our training.”
Raphael arched his brows. “Do you have to talk about something important if it takes several hours?”
Simon blinked in confusion.
“Doesn’t the Clave schedule meetings with vampires around noon?”
“Oh, yeah, they used to do that,” Simon laughed. “Man, that’s bad. They’ve been doing it even back then? I thought it had been a more recent development.”
“Their humiliation is traditional, just like their torture,” Raphael replied, finally getting up from the bench, signaling his readiness to leave.
“They changed it to 5 pm after we brought up our concerns.”
“Just like that?”
“We asked them very nicely?” Simon replied with an innocent expression that told him that there was a backstory.
Raphael glanced at him, but kept his thoughts to himself. ‘Asking nicely’ hopefully didn’t have the same meaning it had under Camille.
Simon was punctual, entering his office at 7 pm sharp without giving the impression that he was in a hurry despite arriving at the hotel less than five minutes ago. He didn’t look at Raphael but walked right to his desk, taking folders he must have arranged beforehand and held them out with the instruction to read them, before he sat down and buried himself into his own work.
Raphael had suspected more chatter, maybe that Simon would take advantage of their close proximity, but he was businesslike and efficient. He wasn’t trying for small talk, didn’t hint at their past relationship, nor did he act like he was entitled to Raphael’s attention. Raphael wasn’t going to trust the silence, but he did appreciate it compared to Jacob and everyone else curiously buzzing around him with questions and some subtle attempts to make him reconsider his choice to forego Magnus’ help.
Simon also turned out to be a better teacher than Jacob. He was adequately detailed in his explanations and remembered to include basic information that Jacob seemed to have taken for granted, forgetting that Raphael didn’t remember the digital revolution and didn’t possess any knowledge for various terms.
Frankly, computers, laptops, mobile phones, smart technology – all that was a mystery to him, which seemed to amuse Simon somewhat. Raphael didn't know how to handle his phone either. When Simon offered to show him, he went to ask Lily instead, only to find out that Simon was the only one other than old Raphael who knew the code to unlock it. He decided he didn’t need the phone anyway and dumped it in a drawer in his room. It wasn’t like he really wanted to contact anyone, and there was a land line if he needed to reach Magnus.
If there was one complaint to be had, it was that their on-boarding, as Simon called it, was constantly interrupted whenever some waltzed in for one thing or another. Although it was almost entertaining to watch them lurk around the office door and agonizing over whether or not to approach Simon with their problems. When they did, Simon would take his time listening to them and come up with solutions, referring him to someone else or at least let them know he was going to get back to them.
It wasn’t until Elliott stormed into the room with a rather elaborate question which Simon didn’t have the time to answer, that Raphael found out that their door was usually closed when they didn’t want to be disturbed. However, it had been open for the last couple days, which was apparently highly unusual and explained the heated debates in front of the office. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why Simon left it open with Raphael in the room. Elliott still felt the need to point it out. He had probably done it on purpose. Simon must have thought the same when he threw Elliott out with a snarl, moving to kick the door close but stopping himself.
Annoyed, Raphael did it for him before getting back to studying the dossiers, until Simon had time to show him the proper handling of his laptop, the mail client and the calendar.
When Simon had said that correspondence was going through him first, Raphael had called bullshit, but as he sifted through his e-mail program he realized that it must have been the truth. Most of the mails had been forwarded from Simon’s account and the subject changed to something informative for easier association. Even written correspondence had notes attached with a quick summary. The short abstracts Simon was adding showed his understanding of Raphael’s thought process, summarizing everything he might considered important, while leaving out pleasantries and small talk. In his replies via e-mail Raphael would only write the important passages, while Simon later filled the text out with niceties and greetings and all the social pleasantries that had irritated Raphael even when he had only been a child.
Simon was also annoyingly attentive, perceptive and smart. He would take one look at Raphael's choice of literature and know exactly why he picked it, even when the title was misleading or the main topic related to a different topic. He also seemed to have memorized the whole library and knew exactly where to find better references. Simon never asked, he just left the new material on Raphael’s desk without a word before moving on to his next order of the day. When Raphael was too consumed in his work that he would forget to drink, Simon also always brought him blood without fail.
If it hadn’t been for the almost absentminded way that Simon performed these tasks, efficient and practiced, like it had become second nature, Raphael would have thrown the little pieces of kindness back at him. However, it wouldn’t surprise him if Simon wasn’t even aware that he was doing it, with his mind always preoccupied with something else, never waiting for a reply or lingering around for a word of thanks or a chance to strike up conversation.
It made Raphael wonder if his older self had grown dependent on the other vampire. However, when he noticed that Simon seemed to have the habit of looking after everyone, be it by giving advice or lending an ear, it made him calm down a little. It seemed that Simon had a sixth sense for knowing what others needed and was patient and willing to give it. Maybe he used his bond to guide him as well.
Mom indeed.
Quite frankly, the more time Raphael spent with Simon the more agitating it was getting. The other man seemingly effortlessly handled not only the clan matters but also everything else that was thrown at him, including Raphael’s duties and his petty behavior towards him. He was quick without making glaringly obvious mistakes. Even if he said that it wasn’t his forte, he made his decisions firmly without letting any doubts shine through. As soft as he appeared, he was steadfast in conversations and deals without being swayed by sob stories or excuses. He didn’t look like a leader when he talked to the clan members, when they poked fun at him or tried to twist him around their fingers, but when dealing with people outside the clan he was.
What exactly was Raphael’s purpose?
He obviously didn't have to lift a finger and wasn’t missed in any of those meetings that Simon attended if he could abstain from them without any fuss from the other parties for almost three weeks now. What exactly was he supposed to do? It was evident that everything was working smoothly, even without his input. It was grating on his nerves, that feeling of being redundant, of being useless.
Even as a child he had duties; looking after his brothers, cooking for them when his mother wasn’t coming home until late or cleaning up after everyone. When he had first joined the clan he was focused on establishing his reputation – but that was already built, even if he struggled to fit back in and see himself in that. Furthermore his true worth, the experience and knowledge he had gained over the years, was gone. He was nothing but a dead weight that read books about Mundane history, because he couldn't go out into the world without the knowledge of 9/11 or the Hudson river landing. It was unlikely to come up in conversations, but if it did, according to everyone, it would be a dead give away that something was wrong if he didn’t know of these events.
Raphael hated feeling like a waste of space.
More than that, he hated how considerate, accepting and understanding everyone was. He hated how Simon never tried to talk about their relationship. That he never tried to touch him. That Simon always caught himself at times when he unconsciously reached out, lost in thought, to touch his arm or hand before Raphael had a chance to react. However, it wasn’t only those tiny gestures. There was a meaning behind everything he did or didn’t do; showing how good he was at handling Raphael’s moods and internal troubles. He was so attuned to Raphael’s thoughts and emotions that it went far beyond anything he received through the bond.
Raphael wasn't used to being treated with unconditional kindness unless there was a hidden agenda. The last person was Magnus, though Raphael suspected that the warlock, out of a sense of duty, simply couldn’t let a lone vampire loose on the city and felt an obligation towards Raphael’s mother. Surely Simon was hoping it would endear him to Raphael again, yet it had the opposite effect. Simon, in his consideration, made it worse, made him feel even more on edge so that he was constantly putting his defenses up, lashing out at the smallest transgression into personal territory and ruthlessly squashing any attempt at conciliation with cold cutting words. His behavior affected Simon. Even if those feelings weren’t mirrored in his expression, it was noticeable through the bond, when sadness turned to anger to desperation before it was suddenly cut off.
At the end of the first week, Simon barely talked to him. He had tried to be amicable, then courteous but as everything resulted in snide remarks, he remained silent unless for explanations. Still, as hurt as he was by that behavior, he still gave off the impression that he understood, maybe even more than Raphael himself. Seriously, ten years of Camille’s pettiness hadn’t affected Raphael as much as spending a few hours with Simon did, especially when Raphael wanted to be nice and felt a pang of irritation at his own words. It made his skin crawl. Worse, it confused him.
However, Raphael didn’t want a friend. He didn’t want a lover. Whatever they used to be, it didn’t matter to him. Logically. Yet, some obnoxious subconscious part wanted to apologize, to reach out and touch.
Raphael was repulsed by his own urges.
Simon seemed to go for a strategic retreat after that. Into week two, one of the bass guitars was gone from Raphael’s room. So was casual wear, comics, books, and hygiene articles. The expensive suits remained untouched in the walk-in closet. Apparently even while Simon had mostly lived with Raphael, he had kept his own room which meant that most of his personal belongings had stayed there. Raphael was quite undecided how he felt about someone invading his personal space without permission and removing items, when at the same time he rather didn’t want to bear witness to the unraveling of their domestic life.
Raphael doubted it was easy for Simon, as closely interwoven as their lives used to be, even though he honestly didn’t understand how his older version could invite someone into his life without any boundaries in the first place. After all, Simon knew everything.
When Raphael skipped through his shared calendar in the mail program, he found his whole life planned and laid out. Every meeting was scheduled and visible to anyone with access which as it seemed was only Simon. Meetings with “Jace” every odd week. Dinner with “Elaine” twice a month. Weekly meetings with “Alexander Lightwood” from the Institute. A call to “Eira” every second Monday in the month. There were names upon names of people he had either no recollection of or only knew from paper. He was able to trace back his whereabouts and who he had been with years into the past. It made him transparent, something he had always avoided.
There were also dates with long abbreviations that exclusively seemed to involve Simon. He was somewhat reluctant to find out what they meant, especially as they approached, but when one of those dates passed without Simon mentioning anything, he decided to ignore them as well.
There were also Jewish celebrations. Apparently, Raphael was very close to Simon’s mother. Somehow, that didn’t surprise him, little as he had of his own. Which made him remember that she was dead.
Gritting his teeth and steeling his expression, he decided to bite the bullet for once, and asked Simon for the location of the Santiago family grave.
Simon kept quiet on the way, leading him with purposeful steps through the graves of uptown Trinity before he stopped and pointed at a cherry tree a little further off. He was gone before Raphael had reached the spot. Something shattered together with his childhood memories when he read Guadalupe Santiago, beneath her name the date of her death, and beyond her grave the stones for his brothers. Next to her grave was his own. He was aware that she had put him to rest, even while he had continued to send her money in support, allegedly from her husband. She probably knew the truth.
Taking a step forward, he placed one hand on the cold stone, his fingers gliding along the edges before he knelt in front of the grave, leaning his forehead against the scripture of her name, asking her for forgiveness. For what exactly, he wasn’t certain. For skipping his visits, for not being around when she had died, he didn’t know.
Raphael wasn’t much for emotions, least of all showing them, but he wasn’t a stranger to despair, anger, and hatred. Yet he had never known how painful emptiness was.
All together, dealing with the clan was marginally easier than dealing with Simon. Raphael was used to being an outsider despite his status, the only problem he had was figuring out how the new dynamic worked.
The vampires in the clan were generally happy, apart from some unnecessary drama. It was almost disarming in its banality. The quarrels he witnessed reminded him of his own siblings instead of the infighting for power he had witnessed around Camille. It was comforting, familiar – words he had never associated with the hotel or other vampires.
A few vampires who had known him in his younger years as driven, ruthless and striving for power no matter the means, were wary of him after the announcement of his constitution. However, those traits had been born from his desire to protect his family, and with nothing left he didn’t feel that pressure anymore. The only aim giving him purpose at the moment was to learn as much as he could about this new world. Without that, he would be stranded, just like he had after his Turning, when Magnus had picked him up and sheltered him. Back then he had thrown himself into learning more about his vampirism. Keeping busy made it easier to forget the screams, the taste of blood and tears, the putrid stench of death, and the sense of invincibility after killing his first victims.
Apparently, the universe didn’t want him to catch a breath. He had just begun to move on from one dark spot in his past, only to be thrust into the next. Every time he thought he was about to find some peace and settle into his life – as an immigrant in the USA, as a vampire in the Shadow World – everything changed again.
At least, despite his first impression, he hadn’t changed as much as he had assumed. Given that the handful of vampires who had met him with a certain amount of justified distrust at the beginning only needed a couple days to forget that he was not ‘their’ Raphael, though he was maybe a little less approachable, a little more open, a little less calm, a little more relaxed. They described him in antonyms and contradictions that didn’t make sense, but it didn’t stop them from talking to him about an issue or memory he had no recollection off. On the other hand, there were quite a few who greeted him upon entering a common room with the words “Hey, we were just talking about—” only to interrupt themselves and finish with “Never mind, you wouldn’t understand.” It was annoying, especially when one of the other vampires jumped in for an explanation. Their righteousness usually lost steam when they realized he walked away because he really didn’t care.
There was a group of vampires who liked to engage him in conversations about the newest fads in the fashion world. While Raphael’s interest in clothes had always been more situational than natural, over the years, he had found a certain degree of delight in seeing his own body mature thanks to the fabrics he was wearing. The shoes made him appear taller and the suits older, though it had been a long process to find out which style suited him the best. Considering how those vampires were throwing technical terms around like he was supposed to know what they meant, plus one look in the walk-in closet and trying a few suits on, made him believe that he must have become a master. Ironic that the Raphael he was right now considered them too formal – but that was nothing he couldn’t get used to. Worst case, he would simply buy new clothes.
If he admitted to his lack of knowledge in those matters, which was only when he completely lost the thread of the conversation, everyone in that group, especially a vampire called Frederick, was eager to enlighten him in great detail. Sometimes they used their phones to show what they meant. Nobody seemed annoyed that they had to constantly explain and clarify something. Contrary, they seemed to delight in it.
Raphael was probably a terrible know-it-all.
Overall, apart from a few exceptions, the people in the clan didn’t bother him much. They would greet him when they saw him, but knew to leave him alone unless he was lingering in the common areas. Like an unwritten rule. It wouldn't surprise him if it was. His older self, as he had come to understand, was apparently “very private”. Raphael, even as the clan leader, was still a loner. Unfortunately, as the friction between Simon and him grew, he decided to spend more time outside his office. Despite Raphael’s callous behavior, he could acknowledge that Simon was incremental in running the clan effectively and that he was a distraction solely by being there. He might be a terrible office mate but he wasn’t without reason.
While the friendliness he was treated with testified to a camaraderie and loyalty that continued to bewilder him, it wasn’t unwelcome. In trade, though, it appeared he had lost some of his authority, which, granted, had been based on nothing but fear anyway. Being talked to by an excited crowd was more pleasant than the cautious hate-filled stares he used to be followed by, despite putting him more on guard. At least with open hostility it was only a matter of time to be stabbed in the back; the sense of familiarity made him careless.
As restless as he was around the vampires, though, he was downright antagonistic when it came to the werewolves. Whenever they tried to approach him he made it obvious that he wasn’t interested, be it by leaving while they were talking to him or downright ignoring them. They seemed confused at first but seemed to get the message after the second time they were brushed off.
The only werewolf who wouldn’t stop trying was a lanky mid-thirty guy that oozed selfish naivety, which was already enough to grate on Raphael’s nerves. How people like him survived in this world was beyond him.
“I’m Felix,” he introduced with a crooked smile. The introduction wasn’t the first and Raphael had been forced to remember the name after the third time. It was his own fault, for stopping in the common rooms to exchange a few words with Maria, a vampire that had attempted to take him under her wing which had only made her a target for Camille’s wrath. Raphael had expected her to be dead, as was the case with most of Camille’s playthings, however she was as cheerful as ever, despite being more of an air-head than he remembered. She was easy to converse with, something that actually was familiar as it reminded him of his own time. She hadn’t changed much as well, even if she sometimes forgot what they were talking about.
“It’s good to see you up and around. This is Marceline.” The dog Felix pointed to had light brown shaggy fur, was drooling from its maw and happily wagged its tail. “She’s one of Aphra’s puppies. You probably don’t remember Aphra. She passed away a few years ago. Old age. She was almost 16 years, which is very old for large dog breeds.”
Marceline, compared to her owner, had less restraint and jumped on Raphael’s lap with a bark, acting like she belonged there. Maria chuckled and absentmindedly brushed her hand over the fur on the dogs back. An overgrown, extremely hairy dog was trying to fit on his lap and nobody even bat an eyelash.
This was normal.
“Marcy, be a good girl,” Felix admonished sternly, shooting Raphael an apologetic look while ordering her to get off. The dog huffed, settled her head down on the arm rest and happily whacked her tail against Maria’s legs. Pulling his eyebrows down in a deep frown, Raphael reached out and poked the top of her head, relaxing as he experimentally threaded his fingers through the thick fur around the neck.
It was soft.
Straightening his back, he lifted his chin and looked down on the furry beast with a scowl, while he petted her with increasing delight. Not that he showed it, of course, which was why he narrowed his eyes and pulled the corners of his mouth down, signifying annoyance. He doubted anyone believed him.
“Raphael haughtily petting a dog like a super villain from an 80’s movie will never not be funny,” Arya grinned as she approached them. She was one of the few vampires who had been with the clan before he had joined and was still as loud and flamboyant as ever, though the restlessness that had made him aware of her in the first place was gone. She was also still in a relationship with Bernice and Bernice never stopped hiding how displeased she was with Raphael’s mental rejuvenation.
“Common occurrence, ¿supongo?” [I gather?] he drawled, shifting the dogs head to the side so she would drool down the other side of the arm rest and not on his pants.
“So much, I’m surprised you haven’t adopted your own litter of puppies, yet. I could totally picture Simon—” she stopped herself sharply. It was nothing unusual. Most people did when they were about to mention anything concerning his former relationship with the other vampire. “Anyway, you totally spoiled Aphra. Spoiled her puppies even worse.”
It wasn’t far-fetched. Raphael had always wanted his own dog, but the apartment in East Harlem, their family and financial situations never allowed for it. He used to have a soft spot for animals anyway, but considering the company he kept, he avoided showing it just like his other preferences. Harming an animal was right down Camille’s sadistic lane to control Raphael as much as possible, even if he would have never moved a muscle to show he cared. Camille seemed to delight in his unresponsiveness more than she might have if he would have thrown a tantrum. It spoke volumes that he didn’t hide anymore. Marceline’s pushy behavior confirmed as much, taking the spot on his lap like it was her God given right to nap and drool on his Tom Ford suit pants.
“Aphra was such a well-behaved girl,” Felix spoke up again, but Raphael kept his eyes on Arya. “Then she met you and she was eating designer shoes and begging for treats. You enabled her.”
Arya laughed at his words, unaware of Raphael’s blunt rejection of Felix, or of another werewolf in the room that was huffing in annoyance. For now, they weren’t willing to disturb the peace and instead watched him. Raphael would love to find out what happened if they did complain. Of course he was aware of them, watched their every move, alert and ready to defend himself, but otherwise he hadn’t much concerned himself with them. In his experience, they fought for everyone who offered them money, and made it they favorite past time to kill vampires.
“Oh yeah, I remember,” Arya confirmed, smiling fondly. It was an expression Raphael wasn’t used to from anyone besides his own family. Now he was seeing it everywhere. “It was hilarious.” She seemed stuck in the past, before chuckling lightly and looking back at him. “It’s really good to have you around again, even if you can’t remember anything. We’ve missed you.”
“Thanks,” Raphael replied dryly, already comfortable with the heavy weight on his legs, while Felix continued to stand awkwardly in the room.
“I mean, it’s weird, the whole situation. For all of us, but we were really scared when we heard you weren’t waking up. Everyone was worried. Nobody knew what to do. We really could have needed your ‘keep calm and drink a tea’ attitude at that time.”
“I’m sure Simon handled it,” Raphael drawled, carefully keeping his voice free of irritation.
“Yeah, well. Of course.”
“But he hadn’t gotten much of a break since then, so he’s bound to crash soon,” another vampire, Victoria he thought, piped up.
She wasn’t wrong with her estimation. Simon was beginning to slip up, nothing mayor and as far as Raphael could tell, completely calculated as he was sorting task in priorities and that meant something was intentionally unattended or ignored. To a point that he was unable to hide the fact that he was running on fumes rather than oil. If he didn’t start pacing himself more carefully, he was going to burn out faster than a summer-dry wooden shack. Raphael being bratty obviously didn’t help. It wasn’t that he actively tried to be mean, but a single look from Simon was enough to raise his hackles. Raphael vaguely remembered feeling that way with Lily too, after she had confessed to him, though his resentment and discomfort hadn’t been as pronounced as it was now. Probably because Lily had backed down gracefully and nothing ever happened. However, even if Raphael didn’t remember what they had done together, it didn’t make it any better, because Simon knew. Knew what his body looked like, how and how much they had touched, what he might have allowed solely for relationship’s sake and what he might have initiated himself. What he might have possibly come to like or dislike. Just thinking about it, even while lacking any definite proof or graphic details, pissed him off.
“Remember last time Simon had been this busy?” Charles asked into the room, cracking a cheeky smile. For most clan members, he wasn’t the most pleasant person to have around due to his blunt nature and mean disposition. Raphael honestly didn’t mind his personality, though. “He forgot to send in a document and the Clave raided the hotel. They didn’t even wait an hour!”
“They have always been quick to take us out,” Raphael scoffed, petting the dog behind the ears as he realized nobody paid too much attention. Apart from the mutt, who was staring at him like he wanted to will Raphael to look his way at least once. He ignored it. The reaction of the Clave sounded a bit excessive, though.
“Quite the contrary,” Arya laughed, waving his words off with a laugh. “Simon’s always on time, so they were worried something happened and came to our rescue guns blazing. Dolores threw a fit when she found out that Simon had only been completely over worked. She yelled at you, er… Raphael…? I guess…? For ten minutes straight.”
Raphael had yet to learn who this mysterious Dolores was, as she wasn’t mentioned anywhere in the files and dossiers he had received from Simon. However, he had heard that name in passing at least three times by now. He also wondered why the Clave cared if a vampire lair was wiped out. While he was aware that their relationship to the Shadowhunters wasn’t as icy as it used to be, it didn’t mean that they were best friends either. Maybe they had made themselves indispensable, a resource better kept alive.
“Quite the attitude change,” Raphael drawled, his nails scratching against a spot that made the dog kick her feet. Felix rolled his eyes and finally walked away, sitting down next to Arya with a pout. “I remember Shadowhunters carelessly dragging vampires to their death because they didn’t like the way they looked.”
“Ah, well, Simon and you happened,” Penelope explained with a shrug. She was clingy, touchy, on the younger side as a vampire, liked to hug. Raphael usually stayed clear of her, even though she hadn’t tried to get close to him. “Mostly Simon, but you let him do what he needed to do so I guess it counts.”
Raphael was beginning to get sick hearing Simon’s name, even if he was aware that they weren’t trying to sell him but simply stating facts. “Obviamente, lo dejé hacer demasiado,” [Obviously, I let him do more than was good.] Raphael muttered.
“Oh right,” a woman hidden behind the backrest of the couch exclaimed cheerfully. Only her arms that were holding up a book were visible, until she sat up, smiling cheekily with a curious glint in her eyes. Raphael had seen that look often enough to realize that this would be the best time for a swift exit. “Can’t imagine you, right now, letting Simon do anything. If you had any power at the moment, you would lock him up.”
Raphael scoffed in reply, unwilling to start whatever debate she was aiming for, but her grin just widened at his reaction.
“You’re exaggerating,” Arya said, sounding mildly confused. “Raphael just needs some time to get used to Simon. We all did.”
“Boy, did we,” Frederick chuckled.
“Ah, but Raphael’s older version was old and refined, you know, done breaking its horns, so to speak. This young buck is all about marking his territory and proving himself,” the other disagreed, smirking. “Bit more of a dick, too.”
Raphael finally quirked an eyebrow at the impish vampire. “Who were you again?”
She looked surprised at the question, probably because he was supposed to know her. She had been a vampire for a long time, might have been older than even Camille, but he couldn’t place her. In his memory, she had joined a mere weeks ago, as nothing but one of Camille’s latest infatuations that was going to be either discarded quickly or die like everyone else who decided to share their bed with Camille. “I’m the one who burned your eyebrows off once, remember?”
“When did that happen?” Raphael asked, furrowing his brows.
She turned her eyes sideways, in thought, maybe counting the years in her head, before she looked back at him, the picture of perfect innocence. “Oh! Never! I was joking!” she laughed. Old as she was, she was a terrible liar. “Aaaaanywaaaays, what I was trying to say, older you is more composed. ‘He’ would have certainly handled the information that ‘he’ was dating a man with more grace than ‘you’ do.”
Her words silenced the room, at least until Xavier cried out in exasperation. “Oh my God, Cecilia, again? Why?”
“What do you mean again?” the blonde asked back in confusion.
“I don’t think Simon being a man is the main problem here anyway,” Arya added, flatly.
“That is not the part I’m flipping out over,” Xavier yelled at both of them. He seemed a tad choleric.
“Oh come on, it’s not like he doesn’t know,” Cecilia defended herself impassively. “Otherwise he wouldn’t be such an asshole to Simon. He’s going out of his way for questions instead of just going to the one person who could actually help him. It’s so obvious that Simon makes him uncomfortable. We’ve seen this a dozen times whenever someone showed interest in Raphael. It’s always the same pattern, maybe a bit more aggressive this time, though.”
Raphael wrinkled his nose, annoyed at her blatantly pointing out his habits. It did, however, make him aware that he mustn’t underestimate his fellow clan members. They were repeatedly showing that as insane, crazy and chaotic everything appeared, they certainly had a keen sense of their surroundings. It was good to remember, even if they were strangers to him, they knew him – better than he expected. Scoffing, he replied dismissively, “I merely don’t trust him.”
“Oh please. You never trust anyone you haven’t validated,” Cecilia retorted, rolling her eyes as she fell back, hidden behind the couch rest again.
Validated. At least he did that much.
“True. That hasn’t changed,” Arya agreed with a shudder. Raphael frowned at her, but didn’t pry further. “I believe you strung Jacob around for ten years before you finally accepted him. Learning under Camille didn’t exactly do you favors. Once she was gone, though, things got better.” Quietly she added, like she was out to pick a fight, showing that she might act friendly to him but didn’t approve of his behavior, “Thanks to Simon.”
“It’s the first time someone talks about her.” Apart from when he had asked, Camille barely came up and when she did, most vampires changed the subject. They were likely exaggerating. After all, Raphael had been dealing with Camille for ten years, when she had tried to rile him up, to find a weakness to exploit, when she tried to seduce and demean him. He could still feel her hands on his cheek, the whisper of a touch when her hair fell on his skin as she bent down, her lips twisted in a blood-red smirk – the disgust stirring up his insides, the sheer control of will when he didn’t throw her across the room but met her gaze evenly as she closed in.
“She’s in the past,” Cecilia’s voice was heard again. “We’d like to keep it that way.”
“Might be easier for some than others,” Arya argued, glancing at Raphael, who lifted his brows. “For some, she didn’t spare any effort to break.”
Maria tensed next to him, she seemed almost frightened, her fingers gripping tight into Marcy’s fur until the dog let out a low whine. Remembering herself, Maria instantly withdraw the hand, apologizing profoundly.
“You make it sound like she managed.” Raphael wondered aloud, unsure if he was talking about Maria or himself.
Arya didn’t seem to have the same problem. “You should probably ask—”
“Simon?” Raphael finished, barely keeping from rolling his eyes.
“I actually wanted to say Lily, because she was around, but yeah, Simon probably knows more than we think.”
Raphael replied with a non-committal sound, reaching for Maria’s hovering hand and guiding it back to Marcy. The woman let out a happy sigh as she scratched her nails over the back again, cautiously, like she was afraid to hurt the dog again. It was probably fine to endure the heavy weight in his lap for a few more minutes, Raphael decided, even if an unholy amount of fur stuck to his clothes by now.
It was silent for a moment, Felix watching him with a contemplative gaze but not trying to otherwise interact with him, while conversations started around them again. Xavier and Cecilia bickered over some unimportant topic and Arya swept up a few other vampires from the common room – the life resuming in an uneventful, ordinary fashion.
Raphael didn’t trust the peace.
Notes:
I wanted to kill Derek in MAOL. Had it all planned out and prepared, but then decided I'd rather stick to the fluff. However, I thought it'd be fine to do it here, so... to those that liked him, I'm sorry.
Chapter 3: Key of E Flat Minor
Summary:
Taki's. Music room. Raphael crosses a line.
Notes:
I've completely forgotten to thank my beta, FanaticShipper07, and LilyCipher for their help throughout this story!
Chapter Text
E flat minor is the darkest, most sombre key of all.
~ The Elements Of The Beautiful In Music by Ernst Pauer
“Raphael, do wanna go out for a bit?” Lily asked apropos of nothing when she was coming back from her guard duty. Apart from visiting his mother’s grave, he hadn’t left the hotel, so he figured it would only be a matter of time, until they asked him out. From what he had seen that one time he had neither been impressed nor interested in the city. While Manhattan had changed, it had always been loud, busy, and bright. Over the decades the buildings had grown, the noise pollution had spread, but otherwise it was as obnoxious as always. He agreed anyway, believing that it was time to show his face again.
When they entered Taki’s, Raphael immediately spotted Simon at the bar. He was smiling and talking to a black woman, while she was holding his hand, throwing her head back in a loud laugh.
“Didn’t take him long to find a replacement,” Raphael stated dryly. Lily followed his gaze, humming contemplatively before shrugging in disinterest and turning away to find a table for them. Raphael tilted his head, curiously watching them for another few seconds, trying to assess their interactions. Hopefully this meant that Simon was letting go of his naive infatuation.
Just as Raphael was about to turn away, the woman looked up and caught his gaze with a wide smile. She was another vampire, he noticed when she wormed her way through the tables and other guests with easy self-control and remarkable speed.
“Raphael,” she squealed happily. It looked like she was about to go in for a hug. Thankfully she didn’t. Instead, she kept a firm distance that he very much appreciated, but that also told him she knew he didn’t like it. She did reach her hand out and for a moment Raphael assumed she wanted him to shake it, but then she wiggled her fingers to draw attention to a ring. “Look, look,” she promoted excitedly. Raphael looked at the white gold, a small blue stone in it’s middle. Glancing at Simon who approached them, Raphael decided to act like she would might expect him to if they knew each other.
“Congratulations,” he said with a polite smile. “I’m happy for you.” It was what people usually said in those situation, but Simon wordlessly lifted a hand to his temple like he had just made a grave mistake. It wasn’t like Raphael knew how friendly he was with a vampire that apparently wasn't even part of their clan but seemed very much thrilled to see him. He also hadn’t seen her in any of the portfolios he had read so far, which might have been his own fault, as he had ignored anything personal and instead only read about business partners, or more importantly, enemies.
The woman paused in surprise, staring at him wide-eyed, before she pushed his shoulder with a playful laugh and turned to Simon. “Did you hear that? He said congratulations! I knew he had a soft spot for Connor somewhere!”
“Yes, Maureen, I heard,” Simon said with a forced smile. Maureen. Raphael had come across that name a few times. She was one of Simon’s best friends. They were playing in a band together. Raphael had skipped her dossier after reading the first few lines, didn’t even bother to remember her face.
Picking up on the tension, the woman looked between them with raised eyebrows. “Did you two have a fight? That’s rare.”
“Happens to the best,” Simon replied with a shrug and returned to their spot at the bar.
Maureen followed him with her eyes, before giving Raphael an inquiring look. “Well that’s a first. I can’t remember a time he didn’t look at you like you hung the moon. Whatever happened, you two better apologize to each other.” Raphael looked at her blankly, but she didn’t seem put of. “I hope you are preparing something nice? Maybe tickets for Fuzzy Furby? Hint, buy him tickets for Fuzzy Furby. He’s been going on and on about them for months.” When Raphael remained silent, she gave a heavy sigh. “Alright, I won’t meddle, but if he’s willing to talk to me about it I’ll listen to his complaints and I will side with him even if he’s in the wrong. On principle.”
She flashed him a smile, then left him standing in bewilderment. Raphael didn’t even hide the scowl as he finally sat down across from Lily. She had picked the most secluded spot, out of direct sight from the entrance with a view on all the exits. It would have been the same place he would have chosen.
“So, what kind of person is his new lover?” Lily asked with a bored expression.
Raphael ignored it. “Any particular reason you brought me here?”
“Did you get her name, by any chance?
The waiter placed two drinks on the table and vanished as quickly and inconspicuously as he had appeared. Raphael reached for one glass, but Lily swiftly took it away. “I bet you saw Simon’s name in her file and tossed it. You can’t do that.”
“I have other priorities.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“Did you know they’d be here?”
Lily rolled her eyes. “Maureen Brown. A friend of Simon’s. Got killed by Camille. Simon brought her back. Connor, her boyfriend, was turned into a werewolf. Your relationship to Connor is… complicated ever since then. They were both collateral damage dragged into our war with Camille. You've always treated her well, even when she was still a Mundane. If nothing else, remember that.”
“Fiancé,” Raphael corrected, and at Lily’s confused expression, added. “Connor is her fiancé now. She just told me.”
Lily’s expression morphed into genuine happiness at his words and she finally relinquished the drink to Raphael. “Oh! He did it. I’ve been waiting for months. I have to congratulate her later.” Raphael watched her take a sip from her glass, smiling happily like she honestly considered this good news. Raphael didn’t know why Lily would care. The way he remembered her, she had only cared for herself and to some insignificant degree her partner in crime, Derek. Her ability for compassion seemed to have expanded over the years.
“To answer your question, no, I didn’t know they’d be here. After all, he barely leaves the hotel right now.”
“Me sorprende que lo haga.” [I’m surprised he does at all.]
Lily barked a laugh. “Raphael, he’s not you. He loves spending time away from the hotel. He takes any chance he gets to meet friends outside. Oh, but at the beginning, he used to be so cute and serious. Wouldn’t leave the hotel unless one of us stayed behind to look out for the place. After the clan proved they wouldn’t burn down the building the first twenty times or so, he began to relax. Still had to get him used to it. Slowly. He’s such a worrywart.”
Raphael made a noncommittal sound, turning the glass in his hands and watching the liquid move. The blood didn’t appear to have been tampered with, the viscosity on the higher end of the range, the smell not particularly suspicious. Tapping against the glass, he watched out for ripples or recoloring, before deciding it was probably save to consume.
“Brings me right to the main topic.”
“Simon,” Raphael stated. He would have expected ‘werewolves’ if it hadn’t been for the segue.
“Yes, Simon.”
“I was leading him on,” Raphael suggested, his statement taking Lily by surprise.
“No, you weren’t.”
“I’m going out with him to manipulate the clan.”
“No, Raphael-have-you-always-been-this-dumb-Santiago. You love him.” Raphael wrinkled his nose. “I know your paranoid brain can’t fathom this, but Simon is honestly a very good person. He really, really loves you. He’s so annoying when he talks about you and acts like he’s the luckiest person on earth for being with you. And you genuinely like him, too. As does everyone in the clan. So you have to stop going out of your way to be an ass to him or things are going to get really ugly.”
Raphael huffed derisively. “What are you talking about? I’m not going out of my way to be anything. I’m generally not nice.”
“That’s right, but you aren’t a dick either. You just ignore someone you don't want to deal with.” Raphael bit down on an annoyed sigh and brought the drink to his lips. “What exactly are you so dissatisfied with anyway? We both know it’s not the way he looks even if you keep suggesting that. You only care about your own looks.”
“Yes, and he makes me look weak,” Raphael replied, pulling the first thing from the top of his head. It was only among a few minor details that in itself wouldn’t have bothered him but added to what really made him mad. Which was how well Simon understood him, and how much Raphael was lured into feeling comfortable around him. He had found himself repeatedly letting his guard down around the other vampire, as if his subconscious didn’t perceive Simon as a threat. It made Raphael careless and restless.
Simon didn’t help by constantly acting so right, by knowing when to push and when to pull, when to explain and when to let him figure something out. He despised how perfect Simon was able to handle him while acting like it wasn’t even anything worth acknowledging. Obviously it wasn’t. Not to Simon at least, but it was to Raphael.
“You like that about him, though,” Lily stated carefully. “Everyone underestimates him and they let their guard down. You, too, underestimated him.”
Raphael looked at her dubiously. She was baiting him to ask questions, to show that he was curious. He was, but he wasn’t going to ask for details. Instead, he tried to put the puzzle together with information he filtered from different conversations.
“Yeah,” she drawled with a smirk. “You underestimated him, and he used it against you. Want to hear the story?”
Raphael’s fingers twitched around the glass, picturing himself reaching over the table to drag Lily down on her collar. Her grin widened, and she leaned forward to place her elbows on the surface. He met her gaze impassively as he feigned indifference. “No podría importarme menos.” [I honestly couldn’t care less.]
Lily snorted a laugh through her nose. “Fine. It’s not like you let anyone into your world.” She fell silent, looking through the crowd, before scratching her chin with one hand. “The dynamic between you can make or break the clan. So it’s best you work with him.”
Raphael’s nose twitched at her words. He was the clan leader, but he was nothing without Simon. It was possible that he wasn’t amounting to anything without Lily, too. His standing and reputation had been build on the backs of others. “You’re good together, and I’m not talking about your relationship. Simon’s the carrot to your stick. He’s fun, open-minded, outgoing, always fair in his judgment. Even if someone has a problem with you, they are always willing to talk to him. Your reputation protects the clan, you’re unyielding and harsh. He’s soft where you are hard, and he’s strict where you are lenient. Don’t ruin this by being stubborn.”
Raphael remained silent, working through her words.
“I know it’s difficult,” she started, sounding somewhat softer now. “I shouldn’t be so harsh on you. If I had woken up one day finding out I've joined a monastery I'd probably be just as confused.”
“I wouldn’t mind joining a monastery,” Raphael replied dryly, shooting her a smirk.
“You know what I mean.”
“Confusion is also the least of my problems,” he added. He felt disconnected and estranged from this world, even the simplest acts appeared abnormal and foreign. Raphael had gone through this twice before, when he moved to the USA and when he was thrust into the Shadow World. He hadn’t been alone back then. He had his family, he had Magnus. Now he had people that he didn’t know or trust. With his world turned upside down, the only thing he thought he could rely on was himself, but this time, though, he didn’t even trust himself. The relationship with Simon, something Raphael would have never believed if being told, was the last straw sweeping him off his feet.
The thought of anyone wanting to touch him was revolting in its implications. He wasn't a kid but he looked like one. It had brought a long and wide variety of perverts to the table. Thankfully, Simon himself looked pretty young, too, but even if he could argue that they were close in physical age it didn’t explain how he could let himself be dragged into a relationship that obviously had a certain physical, but even worse, deep emotional aspect. There was someone sharing a room with him, his safe haven, the only place he was allowed to drop his mask and be himself. It was incomprehensible. Then again, six decades had passed, everyone around him had changed. Maybe Simon wasn’t his first relationship, anyway. Maybe at some point in time he had decided that it would be fine to open himself to other people. The thought stirred something uncomfortable in his body, made him feel uneasy in his own skin.
“Did something happen?” Raphael asked, hesitating for a brief moment unsure if he wanted to know. When Lily looked at him in confusion, he chose to switch strategy. “How many partners did I have before him?”
“His name his Simon. He’s not Bloody Mary, you can use his name without him popping up suddenly,” Lily replied in exasperation, rolling her eyes – until she actually caught the meaning behind the words. Sitting up straighter, she struggled to find the right words to express her thoughts. “I don’t think that anything ever happened to you. If it did, you didn’t tell me.” Raphael frowned. “As far as I know,” she continued quietly. “Simon’s your first partner, for everything, relationship wise. If you catch my drift.”
“You mean sex.”
“Yes, well, no. I mean...” Raphael’s eyebrows raised at her reluctance, but then she just shrugged. “I don’t know and I don’t care what you’re doing in your bedroom. You don’t talk about it and neither does Simon. If you really want to know, you have to ask him. Seriously, it’s not like we sit together, braid each other’s hair, and talk about your love life.”
“I’m glad that hasn’t changed,” Raphael muttered, more to himself. Not that there had been anything to talk about before.
“There’s a lot that hasn’t changed.”
“Everything that matters has.”
“Such as?”
“My family.”
Lily looked at her glass. “We are your family now.”
“No, you’re not. I’m your clan leader,” Raphael scoffed. “For whatever it’s worth. It’s not like anyone actually respects me.”
Lily’s confusion as his words helped her get over the hurt and she tilted her head, before narrowing her eyes. “The clan used to fear you. Now they don’t. Just because they don’t stop doing whatever it is they are doing to watch your every move like a hawk, doesn’t mean that they don’t respect you anymore. I can assure you, you’re more respected than ever. “
“No lo parece.” [Doesn’t seem that way.]
“Because they make fun of you sometimes? They pick on you because they know it won’t get them killed. With Camille, you never knew if she was going to laugh along or kill you for a joke. Loyalty is not inspired by fear. It’s inspired by treating them like they are worth something, by making them feel safe. In case you haven’t noticed, Simon’s being made fun of all the time. But you should see them scrambling when he gets angry. Nobody dares to breathe in his direction then. He’s scarier than you on a bad hair day.”
Raphael had a hard time believing that the goof ball he had seen interacting with the other vampires had the ability to get angry. Raphael assumed he had seen him angry once, not even a week ago, and there had been nothing scary about it. Lily seemed to pick up on his doubts. “People take his softness for a weakness, but I’m telling you, he’s not weak. Don’t make the same mistake twice. He’s strong, here,” she pointed at her head, “and here” her finger moved to her heart.
“That’s not enough to survive in this world.”
“That’s exactly why he joined my soldier training. He was falling behind, because we’re older and more experienced, but he caught up quickly after Derek took him under his wing. He taught him everything he knew before he died. Simon’s got good reflexes, a good head, and he thinks fast. Don’t underestimate him,” she repeated. This time it sounded like a warning. “But it’s true that outsiders don’t consider him much of a threat. He’s usually protected by your reputation. They think that makes him careless. It's very unusual for someone to go after you directly, but they target him. They’re so dumb. Like you would chose a partner who can’t protect himself.”
She laughed, like she remembered a joke.
“Simon always kicks their asses. Then he gives them a choice. Their own leaders can decided on the punishment and make sure this doesn’t happen again. If it does, you will take care of it. Works like a charm. Every time.”
“I take care of it,” Raphael repeat. Clan leader but still only there to clean up another person’s mess.
“It’s just a threat. It has never gone so far. I think the worst that happened,” Lily paused in thought, then laughed again. “Oh yeah, that one time with a werewolf clan from Queens. Simon did his thing, dragged the bodies up to the pack leader. They didn’t like his attitude so they sent five werewolves after him. Though luck though, he was with Arya. They had no problem at all. When they were done Arya told them they were lucky you’re at the hotel, because you wouldn’t let them off with a few injuries. They never crossed us again.”
Raphael flattened his lips in disapproval, hypocritical as it was of him to click his tongue and project displeasure, when he himself wasn’t willing to take another person’s life unless provoked. “Foolish, to let them go.”
“Maybe so, but Simon doesn’t kill. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. Unless that fly attacks a clan member or a friend.” Lily spoke with gravitas as she fixed him with her eyes, emphasizing her next words. “Even if that fly is a person he loves.”
Raphael understood her message loud and clear.
Simon might not be as insane and arbitrarily vicious as Camille, but they both wielded the same power over him.
Simon was a workaholic out of necessity, though Raphael doubted it was because there was work that absolutely needed to be done. From experience he knew that keeping busy helped dealing with emotionally stressful situations. The handful of hours he wasn’t working, Simon spent with the other clan members or alone in the music room.
When Raphael followed the sound of Opus 3 No 1 Elegie, a piece he had been struggling with as he had always lacked the emotional translation and never gotten the balance for the voices right, he found out that Simon wasn’t just playing bass and guitar but also the piano.
The first time he had happened upon the room in his explorations, he had been surprised to find it clean instead of covered in dust. The piano was tuned and previously neglected instruments were neatly arranged in the cupboards or hidden beneath a cloth, such as the drums that were standing in one corner.
Raphael had listened to Simon’s bass and guitar a few times by now. That he was also playing a keyboard instrument, even if it wasn’t at the same level as the stringed instruments, was somewhat unexpected. It was still good and what he lacked in technique, he compensated with feelings. He was expressive, passionate and took his time instead of rushing through the piece. They were polar opposites in this regard, just as they were in many other matters. While Raphael used to love playing the piano, especially when his mother had taught him instead of his inept music teacher, he had refused to show himself through his playing. He was good, but it was cold and technical, without any personality or emotion.
“Rachmaninoff,” Raphael said when Simon stopped at the buildup to write notes on his music sheets. “Impressive.”
Simon’s head snapped up in surprise. Something broke in his expression for the fraction of a second before it was hidden behind a polite smile that vanished just as quickly again. As if he was giving up faking his way through their situation. Simon had done admittedly well, if it hadn’t been for the bond betraying him. In that moment, though, he wasn’t able to pull it off, so instead he looked at his fingers.
It wasn’t like Simon generally smiled much around him. He laughed with his friends, he joked with other vampires, but when it was just the two of them, his expression was mostly blank, interrupted by a hint of anger or sadness when Raphael said something more or less intentionally hurtful.
“Any other pieces you’ve been studying from him?”
Simon answered slowly, likely trying to discern the intent behind the question – as innocently as it was this time. “No,” he answered in the end. He was supposed to be a chatter box, at least that was what Raphael had been told by everyone. When talking to him, Simon replied in monosyllables more often than not. It offered the least amount of space for an attack.
“Well, it is generally considered a good piece to get into Rachmaninoff,” he replied, disarmingly conversational as he stepped into the room, moving along the cupboard next to the door, eyeing the list of songs attached at its side with waning interest before spinning around and facing the other vampire again. “How many years have you been playing?”
Simon inclined his head, watching him warily out of the corner’s of his eyes. The contemplation of whether or not to answer was plainly written on his face. “On and off, for about ten years now.” Raphael must have taught him then. There were surprisingly few musical inclined vampires in the clan, at least as far as he could remember. His hunch was backed by the fact that the only other vampire he had seen use the music room so far had been Arya.
“Despite it being pretty straightforward and one of the easiest to play, physically,” Raphael said, “it is annoying to read. The sixths are nothing to scoff at either.” Simon furrowed his brow, waiting for the punch line. “I believe it’s above your level and tackling it now won’t help improving your technique. Have you played Chopin’s Nocturne in E minor?” Simon shook his head ‘no’. “You should work on that.”
“I’ll look it up,” Simon replied tentatively, unsure what to make of this conversation. Returning his hands to the keyboard, he signaled that he was ready to end the conversation, maybe indirectly asking Raphael to leave, but Raphael simply crossed his arms and continued to stare at Simon in contemplation.
More than once had he wondered how they had gotten together, what he must have seen in Simon that he had decided to cross that line and take a lover when he hadn’t for sixty years. On a logical level, Raphael was able to see his good points – intelligent, devoted, hardworking, prudent; and his bad points – naive, caring, weak. There was nothing that made him special, that lifted him above all the other suitors that had thrown themselves at Raphael. He was average in looks and almost bland in personality compared to the other incredibly eccentric people like Magnus and Elliott that surrounded him.
If Raphael had met Simon on the street, he wouldn’t have never noticed him at all.
His staring must have upset Simon, as he eventually looked up in irritation. “Do you need something?”
“No,” he replied dismissively, “Just wondering what I saw in you.”
Albeit not meant as cruel as it appeared, his words didn’t miss the effect on the other vampire. Simon pressed his lips together, hands balling into fist on the keyboard until he took a breath and then, abruptly closed the lid. “I think I’m done for the day. You can have the room if you want.”
Raphael leaned against the cupboard, following Simon’s movements, taking in the slightly trembling hands, the way he pulled his lower lip with his teeth. He tried to act like he was highly concentrating on his task of collecting the sheet music, but his eyes were somewhere in the distance. Simon was visibly dejected. Everything Raphael said or did, even if it was something minor like a poorly worded reply, affected Simon to a degree that it had the potential to hurt him. Raphael didn’t understand how anyone would allow another person to have this kind of power over them.
This imbalance of feelings and circle of mistreatment and pain, he had seen it many times. People falling in love, being abused and taken advantage off. He had seen it with his mother, with Magnus, with Lily – and now with Simon.
When Raphael had been younger his mother used to tell him how much he resembled his father. Even though she had stopped doing it after arriving in Manhattan, he was reminded of it every time he discovered traces of his heritage in his personality. With every passing year he had become more and more aware of their similarities. Simon was unlucky to fall in love with a person like him as Raphael was, just like his father, a man of sins. He was prideful, prone to envy, cold-blooded, opportunistic, and possessed a violent temper. The only thing he that had to offer to a relationship was pain. Simon was well advised to realize that his feelings were better spent on someone else.
“It’s time for you to get over whatever feelings you have for me,” Raphael said when Simon was ready to leave. He lifted his head to catch Simon’s eyes when he spoke. “As you are keeping silent about it for whatever reason, I can only guess the true nature of our relationship, but no matter I’m not inclined to resume it. With or without my memories.”
It looked like Simon was going to leave without giving a reply, but then, briskly taking a few steps forward, he reached for the door handle and pulled it shut. The wards adorning the room connected with the frame and flared up before simmering down to a light gold. A sign that they were active and silenced the room to the outside world.
“Really, you massive prick?” Simon snapped as he spun around. Raphael was more surprised by the sudden change in attitude than annoyed at the insult. “You really can’t guess why I’m not talking about our relationship?”
Raphael huffed. “A ploy to win me over? Maybe you want me to take pity on the poor you for fighting oh-so bravely against your feelings?”
Simon’s chest swelled in anger. “Five seconds,” he growled. “After waking up, it took you five seconds to figure out what we are—were. And you rejected me immediately! You picked me out specifically when you threw us out. The first thing you did was getting rid of my scent in your room. You even threw your bed sheets away. You made it pretty damn clear that you didn't want to know. And you made it clear enough how dissatisfied you are with me and how inadequate I am every chance you got. I know you don't have a high opinion of me but believe it or not, I got the hint. So how exactly did you expect me to bring this up when you’ve been acting like a brat about it from the moment you opened your eyes?”
This was more than Simon had talked to him in the past two weeks. For the first time Raphael caught a glimpse of the person that supposedly talked so much he tended to spiral. “It's not you specifically that I'm dissatisfied with,” Raphael replied calmly. “I simply don't need this distraction in my life. Ever.”
“You could have been less of an asshole about it!”
In reply, Raphael only lifted his eyebrows.
Simon closed his eyes, acting like he was counting in his head as he took a deep breath and pinched the back of his nose. His patience was somewhat remarkable. “I get it. The whole cruel to be kind approach. It has always been your schtik.” He was silent for a few seconds, as if in thought, before he spoke up again. “It’s not like I don’t understand. I do. More than you might believe. I’m a stranger to you, but you’re not a stranger to me. I’ve known you—”
“You don't know me,” Raphael disagreed. “You know a washed-out, pathetic, weak version of me, that—”
Simon’s hand slammed against the cupboard next to Raphael’s head, the instruments rattling on impact. “Shut up. I’ve been dealing with your shit for two weeks now. For once, you’ll listen to me.” The expression on his face was pure fury now, all the suppressed anger finally exploding to the surface. “Raphael is not weak. He’s not pathetic. He didn’t get soft. He grew up! And it's time for you to grow up, too, because you have a whole fucking clan depending on you.”
‘Depending on me?’ Raphael almost spit back.
“It’s fine if you don’t want that burden, I’m not going to push that responsibility on you, but you insisted on picking your old duties up. And I’ve been trying to accommodate you. I did what I thought was best. But you just have to make everything so goddamn difficult, don’t you?”
Realizing how close they were, Simon took a step back again while getting a hold of his anger. “I get it, alright? You’re scared. You’re confused. You feel lost. You feel threatened by me because yes, I know you. I know your strengths, I know your weaknesses. And it pisses you off. But I’m not your enemy, Raphael. I won’t push you in a corner. I won’t take advantage of this situation. I will not abuse the trust you used to put in me, no matter what happens.”
“Quieres ponerlo a prueba?” [Wanna put that to a test?] A smile crept over Raphael’s lips. “Let’s find out how far I can push before you fight back and play dirty.”
Simon appeared remarkably unimpressed with the challenge. Yet, if he knew Raphael as well as he claimed, he must also know that Raphael was willing to test the thesis until one of them broke. “I won’t play this game. Either you trust me or you don’t. It’s up to you.”
Raphael scoffed. “How do you expect me to trust you?”
“Then Lily, or Magnus. You’ve known them for years. Trust them to have your best interest in mind.”
“Lily has turned on Camille,” Raphael replied with arched brows. “Why should I believe she wouldn’t do the same and betray me for someone else? For you? And Magnus? He’s the reason I’m in this mess to begin with. And you act like you only have my best interest in mind, but the truth is, you’re missing your fuck toy and nothing else. Stop acting like there’s any other reason for you to pander to me.”
“You don't know what you're talking about,” Simon stated, physically withdrawing from the conversation by moving even further away.
“¿Ah, no?” [Don't I?] Raphael asked, following him.
“What we... what Raphael and I had was never about sex. I don’t know how you even got that idea.”
Because the world revolved around it. Everywhere he looked, they talked about it, showed it, joked about it. It was the best damn feeling in the world. A life was wasted without sex. The whole damn world was ruled by a species that thought a person’s worth depended on their sexual prowess or attraction.
Because this was what everyone wanted from him – and frankly, it was the only worth he still had now that he was robbed of his power, knowledge, and experience. The person he was now had no place in this clan, so there was no other reason he was kept around.
“Really? Are you telling me we’ve never fucked?”
Simon pressed his lips together, leveling Raphael with a glare. “That’s none of your business.”
Raphael dashed forward and threw Simon against the door, keeping him there with a tight grip on his shirt. “On the contrary, Simon, I think it is.”
This was his body. Something he would never willingly surrendered to anyone. Every heated glance, every seductive touch that was directed his way made his skin crawl. He had never felt anything but aversion when forced to witness the debauchery in the clan.
He had always been somehow aware of it, this strange part that seemed to set him apart from his friends, who looked at pictures of naked women and fantasized about sleeping with them. They used to tease Raphael for his indifference, for his innocence, like he was nothing but a child when in fact he hadn’t been allowed to be one even before they had left Mexico.
A slave to his changing hormones, he had masturbated a handful of times, annoyed and under time pressure because his brothers were bound to storm the bathroom any minute. It had been nothing but a frustrating chore he needed to take care of every once in a while. If anything good had come from being Turned into a vampire, it was that he wasn't a slave to his bodily functions anymore.
When an older girl from the neighborhood had pulled him into an alley, claiming she was going to show him something nice, he had pushed her away the second her lips touched his. She had been pretty. He used to like her. After that, he had held nothing but contempt for her. Cecilia was right. As soon as someone showed sexual interest in him, he kept them away, even felt a sense of betrayal or growing dislike for them.
While he had come to terms with the fact that his cursed body was something that would never mature, and while he had never considered any sort of intercourse which made that aspect easier to ignore, he had never fully reconciled his body with his mental age. There was and likely will forever be a disconnection between becoming an adult mental wise and seeing a prepubescent hairless child staring back at him through a mirror. It bothered him. It bothered him even more that this body was desired.
It was true that time changed people but this was something he had carried around for thirty years and there was absolutely nothing special about Simon that could have changed his mind.
“Your silence speaks volumes,” Raphael drawled, voice laced with disdain.
“You act like I should be ashamed, but I’m not,” Simon replied stubbornly. “If you really want to know, then yes, we had sex. It wasn't uncommon. And I certainly wasn't the only one who enjoyed it, even if we usually did it for my sake. But it was you who seduced me first so don’t give me any shit about coercion.”
There was a flash of pictures. Raphael looking down at Simon. Simon’s eyes closed, mouth open, head thrown back in pleasure, their hands clasped together in a tight grip on Simon's naked chest, right above his heart.
“No me vengas con eso! [Don’t bullshit me.] Why would I ever do that for someone like you?”
Sex was a weapon Camille wielded without a care, but to him it was a last resort. Sex was never something that he was going to choose if he had the chance to avoid it, because this body was the only thing in this rotten forsaken world that he had any control over. Sex would have been forced upon him. He had always been prepared to give it up, when he lost a game and Camille decided it’d be more interesting to see him raped than cornered. Not just Camille. In this world with so many beings more powerful than him, he was cursed with a childish pretty face that easily drew eyes towards him, so he had always expected that one day, he would have to submit if he didn’t want to suffer.
“You told me I could ask for it,” Simon snapped back. “But I never did. And you knew I never would, because I didn’t feel comfortable asking for sex. So you seduced me. Again. And again. Until I learned to take this from you. Until I figured out how to make you enjoy it, too. And we’d always stop if you changed your mind, if you didn’t feel like going on, so don’t act like I forced you. I didn’t. Anything else you want to know? Favorite position? Who usually tops? Favorite role play? Kinks?”
Raphael pressed his lips together, scrunching his nose in disgust. He had Simon in a tight grip against the door, yet it was him who was in a disadvantageous position. Gritting his teeth, he struggled for a reply that didn’t betray his inner thoughts. A moot point. It didn’t matter what he said, though. It was obvious how upset he was.
With a growl, he pushed away.
“We had sex, that’s true,” Simon repeated quietly, as if to taunt Raphael. “But that was never what our relationship was based on. And it’s not what I need, nor what I miss.” Simon looked at him, expression open, raw, vulnerable. “I miss you. I miss our talks. I miss the way you laugh. I miss the way you look at me. I miss us. I lost one of the most important persons in my life, but I have to see and hear him all the time. And he hates me.” Simon’s voice cracked, and his anger morphed to sadness. “I'm not asking you to reciprocate. I'm not asking you to fill the gap left behind. I don’t try to push this on you, but everything I do is wrong. I’m at the end of my rope. I don’t know what to do anymore. Tell me, what am I supposed to do? All I want is for you to stop making this worse than it already is.”
Raphael looked away, a barbed wire coiling around his insides – his subconscious reacting to Simon’s despair. “Just understand that your feelings are going nowhere.”
Simon huffed, dark, sad. “I understood that before you acted like a bastard.”
“Good.”
The silence settled heavy in the room, but then Simon pressed the binder against his chest with one hand, while the other reached for the door handle. The golden light of the wards extinguished as soon as the door opened. Before he left, Simon looked at him, like he was about to say something, but instead, he just slipped out without another word.
Raphael waited until he couldn’t hear the faint footsteps anymore before he approached the piano. There were scores left behind. Gottschalk’s La Savana. A boring, repetitive piece that Magnus loved. It was unbearably difficult to learn, the pacing annoyingly slow. Looking at the paper it must have been one of Raphael’s sheet music. He remembered that he had added notes up to the middle part of his copy two months ago. Now the papers were covered in neat handwriting, remarks in Spanish stating how much he hated everything about this piece.
Simon must have left it on purpose.
Annoyed, Raphael tore the paper, letting the shreds fall to the ground for Simon to find and pick up. Then he left the room, his emotions still in turmoil.
Contrary to popular believe, Raphael didn't hate werewolves. He simply didn't trust them. Among the first lessons he had learned after his Turning was that vampires were fair game to anyone in the Shadow World. The Shadowhunters usually didn't care when a vampire died, unless it was disturbing some convenient agreement. There was no corpse left behind to deal with, only ashes that were blown away with the wind. Just like killing a demon. A dead werewolf was a hassle. It meant paper work and it meant dealing with Mundanes most of the time, so it was something to persecute. People like Magnus, who were able to treasure the cursed life of a vampire, were a minority. Often times vampires themselves, despite living in clans, didn't care much for each other either. However while warlocks and fey folk didn't care much for a vampire’s life, they also didn't have any particular inclination to hunt them down. Werewolves, on the other hand, made it a game.
So it was hard to believe that the inter-species cohabitation was a good idea let alone even remotely working. There had to be a catch: inner workings, schemes, something to gain that Raphael, at the moment, was too blind to see. It made no sense for werewolves to live with vampires, no matter the angle. For the vampires, they were a threat, a reminder of what they used to be and what they will never be again. It was louder during the day, the werewolves high maintenance compared to vampires and the air was filled with the smell of food.
Having them around was simply irritating and insulting to every sense that Raphael possessed.
After half a month, he had still to acknowledge their presence in the hotel even if he was aware of all their movements. They didn’t seem threatening. They did appear friendly with the vampires. Yet Raphael couldn’t shake the feeling that something was lurking in the shadows, waiting to catch him off-guard, so he continued to avoid them as best as he could. He had been surprised that he had gotten away with this behavior as long as he did, even though it was becoming a source of restlessness. More than once had he caught the wolves whispering about him when they thought no one was listening.
At the beginning he had wondered why they always failed to detect him when their senses were sharper than any of the vampires. Then he noticed the bracelets that every werewolf wore. It was designed to weaken their powers, but made for easy removal in case of emergencies. It wasn’t a prerequisite to live with the clan, but something they chose to wear willingly as a sign of trust. To Raphael, it was a hollow gesture. If a shackle was easy to be removed, by the wearer themselves no less, it didn’t mean anything.
“—el’s always felt that way,” a werewolf girl whispered. He recognized her voice easily. As the youngest among them it was childish and petulant. Her name so ordinary it eluded his memory for a moment. Jane. She was easy to manipulate, to anger and scare. The perfect pawn for an altercation. If he were looking for one.
It has only been a few days since his spat with Simon in the music room. They had barely talked ever since then. Simon staying calm, never rising to Raphael’s provocations, harmless as they were. After all, looking for a fight with Simon wasn’t easy. He wasn’t the type of person that reacted to insults thrown his way. It was different when it came to his friends or family. Raphael had noticed when Simon wouldn’t let him talk badly about himself, his lover.
Pausing briefly, instead of taking the stairs to the first level as he had planned, he turned on his heels to approach the library.
If the werewolves so desperately begged for his attention, he was willing to give it to them.
“No, he hasn’t,” Tamara replied calmly. She was some vampire’s lover, and though she didn't live with them, she stayed over more often than not. The werewolves and vampires alike saw her as a voice of reason, a willing mediator, always there to offer a helping hand. Raphael had never expected a stock market broker to possess those skills.
“Maybe Simon has kept him quiet about this,” Jane insisted. “Have you seen the way he looks at us? If he looks at us? I’m scared of him. What if he’ll do something?”
“I know he can be sort of scary, but he’s always been fair,” Felix assured her. His heartbeat remained steady as he spoke, his scent unchanged – he wasn’t lying.
“You can’t know that anymore! Or not yet? I mean, whatever! There’s nothing we can do if he wants to get rid of us!”
“He’s not going to kick us out.”
“I’m not worried about getting kicked out, Felix,” Jane snapped. “I worry about getting killed in my sleep. With this—” She hooked a finger under her bracelet and tugged on it for emphasize “—thing I wouldn’t even know. I was fine wearing this but not with him like this.”
“Jane,” Tamara sighed. “He’s not going to kill you.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Raphael replied, leaning against the door frame, hands leisurely placed in his pockets, eyebrows lifted in mild curiosity. “It wouldn’t be the first werewolf blood tainting my hands, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.” It had always been in defense only. Raphael wasn’t anyone for reckless fighting, especially if he didn’t know his enemies. Still as a human, a naive child, he had learned to survive without spilling blood, but to always be prepared for a fight.
He approached the werewolves sitting around a small table in the children’s section, surrounded by books with colorful backs and curly letters. The library used to be in disarray, there had never been any system to it. Now it was clean, divided by genre, the largest section being classical literature. There was also a computer for indexing with a connection to an online library allowing download of books to another medium. The clan had come a long way from a leader that loved to live in the glory of the past, as so many other old vampires did. Not anymore. The Manhattan Night Children were steadily moving forward, never tired of learning something new and it showed at every turn.
“I was doing you a courtesy ignoring you, but I do believe werewolves don't belong here. There’s no reason for you to choose a vampire clan over a pack, so stay with your kind and leave.”
The werewolves looked at him. Tamara with worry but not fear. Felix was annoyed. Jane was pulling her lips back in a snarl as she pressed out, “My pack was killed.”
“Find a new one.”
“In a war that was waged for your clan.”
“Yeah?” Raphael coldly looked down on her. “Would you like to convince me that your pack mates joined that war out of the goodness of their heart? Out of a sense of friendship? They wouldn’t have taken the risk of death if it didn’t serve them any purpose. They dug their own graves. Quite literally. Their shortcomings don’t make me or anyone else responsible to deal with the mess left behind.”
“Raphael, please stop,” Tamara asked quietly but firmly.
“Yet here you are, hiding away with the very clan that got your pack mates killed in the first place?”
“I was offered to stay.”
“So you did it because it was convenient? Are you going to betray everyone here out of convenience as well?”
“No, that’s not—I’d never,” she sputtered, blindsided, before giving in to her anger. “What the fuck is your problem?”
“You can pretend to be a family,” he replied, twisting halfway to look at the newcomers lured to the library, not only werewolves but also vampires, “but werewolves will never understand what it’s like to be dead, what it’s like to be around the living. The resentment, the jealousy, the desperation it stirs even in the kindest soul. You carelessly and selfishly wander in and out of the hotel, without understanding that you’ve stolen the safety of the vampires you allegedly cherish so much. And you are completely obtuse to the temptation you provide,” Raphael smirked at the werewolf girl who was pressing into Tamara’s side, “with your heartbeat dancing to your fear.”
“Aren’t you the only one who thinks this way?” another werewolf called from the entrance of the library. There were seven werewolves altogether, eight if he counted Tamara, and at that moment they had all gathered in the library, taking their chance to confront him.
Raphael smiled. “Am I?” It was easy to spot the spark of doubt his words lightened in the werewolves who looked at the other vampires, questions burning in their eyes. “Did you ever care to ask, or were you so excited at the prospect of being cared for you never bothered to wonder what the vampires had to give up in exchange?”
“Every werewolf you see here has earned their place in this clan,” Simon said, appearing at the door, a calm influence among the heated tempers. Everyone parted to let him pass and Raphael glanced at him as he made his way through the crowded entrance, his expression stern. “I ask you not to plant any seeds of doubt in them by sprouting baseless nonsense.”
“Werewolves living with vampires are a liability, Simon,” Raphael said with an abrupt lack of harshness in his voice. It was so easy to make Simon’s step falter that way, using his name, something that barely left Raphael’s mouth. If only for a fraction of a second, recognition crossed Simon’s expression, a timid flame of unwanted hope that was destroyed when Raphael continued, dismissively. “Whoever made the decision to let them in has lost their mind.”
“You—”
“We didn’t make it lightly,” Simon cut in, interrupting Felix’ beginning outcry. “It wasn’t a snap decision. We thought about it. We talked about it. It was a decision made by everyone.”
“A decision influenced by their beloved mom?”
The corner of Simon’s mouth pulled back, his eyebrows drawing down into a displeased frown. It was a simple provocation, something that might have not caused a reaction before. However, Simon was tired and restless and whether or not he knew what Raphael was doing, he reacted anyway. “Don’t treat them like children. They can make up their own minds without bias.”
“You really want me to believe, that this clan,” he looked around the room, taking in the expressions and demeanor of every single person, “was able to unanimously decide to take in werewolves?”
“Yes. Everyone,” Simon replied steadfast. “Believe it or don’t. It doesn’t matter. But you have to accept that they are living with us.”
“¿Y si no lo hago?” [And if I don’t?]
There was a pause that spoke volumes of what was to come when Simon continued with a voice barring any emotion. “At first, I’ve overlooked the way you behaved around them. Then I asked them to be patient, because I understand that it’s difficult for you. But now you’re scaring and threatening them. And that’s something I won’t let slide.” Simon swallowed, pausing again for a brief moment, as if he had to gather the resolve to go on. “You’re not a prisoner here. I’m not forcing you to live with us or bend to our rules. You are free to leave, but if you want to live here, you have to learn that not everything goes your way. So that leaves you with the following options: you stay and deal with this like an adult, you leave but return when you’ve changed your mind, or you stay away for good.”
“Eso fue rápido,” [That was quick.] Raphael snorted derisively, amused. “As soon as I make it abundantly clear that I won’t let you fuck me again, I’m disposable to you. Tiene sentido. [Figures.]”
“Don’t twist my words,” Simon snapped with barely contained fury. “I'm not kicking you out. I’m giving you a choice. I’d rather you stay, but this is the family we have built together. My job is to protect them. I won't let anyone harm them. Especially not you.”
“Simon—”
Simon shot Tamara a look to quiet her down, before focusing back on Raphael. The air in the room was getting denser, beginning to fill with heavy restlessness and oppressing anxiety, but the two vampires at the center of the storm were seemingly unaffected.
Raphael knew he was being challenged, and he wasn’t about to back down unless he was willing to turn his back on the clan or continue to live with his pride tarnished. For the first time he realized that Simon was indeed taller than him, which gave him an advantage in reach. Then again, the Latino was used to taking down larger targets. He had always been his deadliest with his mouth, anyway.
“Protect them,” Raphael huffed, the corner of his lips lifting in a smile as he tilted his head to the side, all dark contemplative amusement. “Rich, coming from someone who let a friend die.” Simon’s eyes widened, afraid, sensing what was to come. Unsurprising. Who else, if not his lover, knew how cruel Raphael could be? “How are you going to protect your family, when you couldn’t even protect Derek from burning in the sun, Simon.”
All Raphael had to do was keep his mouth shut and walk away, but the whole situation was getting to him. More than he liked to admit, and while Raphael wasn't one to go for violence, it didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to defend himself. Especially when he was able to finally spot the cracks in Simon’s armor. All he wanted to do was reach for them and tear them open to leave him vulnerable and defenseless.
Raphael barely recognized himself, had never wished to hurt someone as much as he wanted to hurt Simon. It was a low blow, without finesse, but it worked. A painful sensation rippled through his abdomen, residue from the few vampires he was connected to. It wasn’t surprising, after he had seen the shrine, that Derek’s death was still affecting the other vampires. Derek, the dumb brute that he knew, must have become more over the years. However, it wasn’t coming from Simon. Simon had entered the room prepared, with his bond closed. He had known that this wasn’t going to be pretty.
“You were right,” Simon admitted, fighting his emotions, hands trembling, voice tight, “You’re nothing like our Raphael. He would have never said something like that.”
A corner of Raphael’s mouth raised in a croaked smile. “Lie to yourself as much as you want but we both know even my older version would have done the same to someone he doesn’t care about.”
Hissing and growling filled the room as both vampires and werewolves rushed to Simon’s side. Lily was faster, though, suddenly popping up, a lone wall between Raphael and the rest of the clan. She must have reacted on instinct, was still trying to figure out the situation, because she hadn’t been in the hotel until recently, must have sensed the looming danger and hastily made her way to the library. It took one look at Simon’s face for her to make up her mind. “Out,” she snapped, looking directly at Raphael. “I want you out of the hotel, Raphael. Now!”
Her tone didn’t leave room for argument. It wasn't the first time Raphael had heard those words from her, although they used to be accompanied by ‘I'm sorry, Raphael’ whenever Camille had one of her petty days and wanted him gone just for the heck of it.
He had expected as much, had known she would side with Simon if she ever had to make a choice. Even as official clan leader, he was playing the second fiddle to someone else. He had realized that early on. When the vampires around him had talked about Simon, how much he meant to them, how little Raphael seemed to measure up to him, even when he still had his memories. Lily was only driving the point home, making crystal clear that even with Camille gone, only one thing had changed: he wasn’t needed anymore. There was nothing he had to offer. The only reason he had remained in power had been Simon’s infatuation with him.
Still, despite Lily’s warning, Raphael had tested his boundaries and overstepped. Now he had to live with the consequences. It was all very predictable, repetitive, and boring. Raphael glanced at the clan leader. Simon was torn, his lips moving like he wanted to say something but couldn't.
“Once a lap dog, always a lap dog,” Raphael muttered, knowing that his words would be taken the wrong way, that everyone was going to assume he meant Lily, when in fact he spoke of himself. He had always been Camille’s faithful little henchman, sent away and called back whenever he was useful. They wouldn’t call him back like she did, though, not anytime soon, if ever. It was obvious from the role he was filling in the clan. He was good at one thing only, and that was taking the fall. He was a scapegoat, a bogeyman, the person to be thrown under the bus.
“Very well,” he said with a cordial smile. “I’ll take my leave.”
As he walked past the vampires, who seemed more confused and shocked than gleeful at his humiliation, he contemplated if there was anything he needed to pick up from his room. His wallet was in his pocket, enough money to buy blood for a week. If there was anything else worth picking up, he couldn't remember.
With no place to go to, Raphael went to his family’s grave first. He cleaned the stones of his mother and brothers, leaving his own ignored, diligently removing the moss, while contemplating where he was supposed to go.
For ten years, he had lived in the DuMort. It was the longest time he had spent in any place, longer than he had lived with his whole family in Manhattan. It was longer than the time he had with his younger brothers. After all this time it felt unreal that he had to live somewhere else. However, he had gotten used to finding a spot for a day or two, usually in deserted apartment buildings, the sewers, theaters – any place that was shielded from the sun and easy to hide in. Still, he wasn’t surprised to find himself approaching the only place that had always accepted him even at his worst, no matter what had happened, no matter how intolerable he had behaved.
He should have known that he was coming to regret it.
“You are married to a Shadowhunter,” Raphael repeated, standing in the door to the apartment, where Magnus had welcomed him with a very long, very detailed disclaimer that he had to acknowledge before he was allowed further entrance. “And you have two kids. Warlocks.”
“We’re currently discussing to adopt a third.” Magnus sounded excited, albeit cautious. He knew who he was talking to after all. “Didn’t Simon tell you anything about us?”
Among the first files he had received from Simon had been a thick one for Magnus, which Raphael had dismissed instantly. Magnus had been Magnus for 300 years, what could have possibly changed, he had thought and moved on.
Raphael blinked once, at a loss for words, completely unable to comprehend. Magnus had a long history of lovers, weekend lovers mostly. The longest relationship he had witnessed had been a whole week; the longest he had heard about had been Camille, who had thoroughly destroyed any trust Magnus had in relationships, driving him from one fling to another.
Now he was married. With children.
“Raphael,” Magnus said, snapping him out of his musing. “Did something happen?”
It took him a moment to sort his thoughts. “No. I wanted to use your music room.”
Magnus thoughtfully touched his chin, pursing his lips. It wasn’t an unusual request, or at least it didn’t used to be. However, Magnus had to know that the piano at the hotel was in good shape, in fact, all the instruments were well-cared for. Arya’s and Simon’s work, with Arya taking special care of the drums. Raphael had seen her play them once, slow, amateurish. It hadn’t been about the playing but the memory, the atmosphere surrounding her heavy, sad and quiet. Derek used to be in a band with them.
Yeah, Raphael had known how important that man had been to Simon, or some of the other vampires. He had taken a gamble with his boundaries and lost. It was part of his learning process. He was bound to overstep and fall, but there was nothing keeping him from moving on.
Magnus sighed at his silence and eventually took a step to the side, motioning Raphael inside. Now it was his turn to hesitate, unsure if he wanted to meet the family.
“It’s two in the morning, everyone is asleep,” Magnus said, turning his back to him and vanishing further inside until only his voice could be heard. “I’m going back to bed, too. I trust you’ll find your way?”
“Sure.”
He appreciated that Magnus didn’t ask questions. Taking things in stride and working with the limited information he was offered had always been one of his many gifts.
Raphael didn’t plan to play the piano. The music room was serving more as a quiet sanctuary in the loud city, but when he stood in front of the old upright piano, touching the lid, he visualized his mother’s back, her elegant posture as she moved her body with the emotions. The piano had been the only thing of worth in their house, a throw-away from one of the wealthy clients whose houses his mother cleaned. A nice albeit ignorant and latently racist couple that treated her well and didn’t mind if one of the boys tagged along as long as they were quiet. He remembered simpler times, when they were still living in Mexico, his mother and father playing duets on the piano, singing, laughter, happiness. That had been before his father had lost his job, pride, and family to alcohol.
Sitting down, Raphael opened the lid, his fingers moving over the keys on their own violation, playing a melody, unfamiliar but soothing. He didn’t know the song, but his body did. It was refreshing to concentrate on the music, allowing him to push the memories away.
An hour before sunrise he realized that he had lost himself to the music. He was relaxed and having more fun than he ever remembered having ever since his Turning. He used to love music. Then he had died and so had his love for it.
It was the alarm of his wrist watch that made him aware of the night’s passing. It was careless. He only had about half an hour to find a place he could hide from the sun. It should be easy, finding an abandoned building, a spot for a rat or a bat, uncomfortable and stressful as it was to maintain that form for long hours during the day, it was better than getting burned.
As he closed the door to the music room, Magnus was waiting for him in the hall, arms crossed in front of his chest. Magnus had changed, too. The incorrigible flirt with a coquettish smile and a disarming joke on his lips appeared to have grown into his own self. The perpetual underlying scent of sadness seemed long gone, replaced by contentment. It was everywhere around them, in the air and easily picked up in Magnus’ scent.
Time had treated him well, at least, for which Raphael was thankful. Annoying and noisy as he was, Magnus deserved every bit of happiness.
“Lily told me what happened,” he opened as Raphael pushed his hands into his pockets, ready to say his good-byes. “You’re welcome to stay with us for a while.”
Raphael huffed in amusement. “I didn’t ask for charity, I only wanted to use the piano.”
“It’s not charity,” Magnus answered. “You don’t know this world. You can’t tell enemy from friend. It’s for my own conscience.”
Raphael pursed his lips. Looking for a hideout in a city that was alien to him was exhausting, but he was no stranger to mysteries. As much as Magnus had been his savior and a good friend for ten years, he didn’t trust him as much as he used to. Especially not during the day, when he was on his most vulnerable.
When he had been thrown into this world, he had made enemies solely for what he had been reborn as, without even knowing it. Magnus had shown him kindness, had guided him, yes, but even he couldn’t account for every individual out there that wanted to kill a vampire. Even if Raphael didn’t know this time, he knew how the world worked. He knew how to avoid danger, how to stay away from everyone taking too much interest in him, to read expressions, scent, body language and intent. Otherwise he wouldn’t have made it in this long to begin with.
“Are you planing on leaving the clan?”
Raphael shrugged in reply.
He didn’t want to talk about, hadn’t made up his mind yet. The only reason he had looked for a clan was his promise to Magnus, and the reason he had chosen Camille’s clan had been his family. The DuMort was close to Spanish Harlem, immigrants easy prey and people of little interest for law enforcement, making the district one of the preferred hunting grounds. Living with Camille had offered him the chance to be informed of any on-goings, ready to intercept and redirect. Nothing had happened in East Harlem without his knowledge.
However, his family was dead and he felt no lingering attachment to any of the vampires in the clan. There was no reason to stay and deal with them. The other vampires didn’t feel comfortable around him and while that wasn’t anything new to him, it seemed like it was unique to the clan he had built over the years. Furthermore, he was more work than help for Lily or Simon. It didn’t matter if he was there or not. Simon was handling everything thrown at him, the only limiting factor was time. All he had to do was built Jacob up to support him and there was nothing he couldn’t do. That role would fall to Raphael if he decided to stay, and as petty as it was, Raphael detested being a supporting character again. He had been one under Camille, and now that she was gone, he wouldn’t stoop so low as to do someone’s dirty work again.
Yet, there was also no other place for him to go.
He was well-known in the Shadow World. There was no other clan he could join without causing a stir or being used for some new ambitious plan.
Magnus frowned at his unresponsive silence. “Is there something you want to do?”
“No,” Raphael answered. There was no goal, no drive, nothing. Not yet, anyway. “I’m leaving now. Thank you for letting me use your piano.”
“At least take some blood with you,” Magnus sighed, vanishing in the direction of the kitchen.
Raphael was gone before he had a chance to return to the hallway.
Chapter 4: Key of D Sharp Minor
Summary:
Raphael broods. Simon tries to be strong. It's all fun, really.
Notes:
I'm sort of unhappy with the chapter. It feels rushed, and I don't think I quite captured Raphael's dilemma/problem/thoughts. Anyway, have fun!
Chapter Text
Feelings of the anxiety of the soul’s deepest distress, of brooding despair, of blackest depression, of the most gloomy condition of the soul. Every fear, every hesitation of the shuddering heart, breathes out of horrible D sharp minor. If ghosts could speak, their speech would approximate this key.
~ Ideas of Aesthetics in Musical Arts by Christian Schubart
Raphael decided to spend the day as a bat hanging on the high-ceiling chandelier in the performance hall of a theater in Downtown Manhattan. The room didn’t have any windows that would let sunlight in, so he was safe enough. The quiet of the morning was sporadically disturbed by preparations for the evening shows, but by noon he had to suffer through rehearsals for a terribly unoriginal musical. Thankfully he already had a few hours of rest in complete darkness in the morning, so it wasn’t a complete nightmare. There was a Spanish play planned for the evening, so he decided to stick around even after sundown to watch it before making his way to Taki’s for a meal, using the way to the dinner to get familiar with Manhattan again.
Everything had gotten bigger, taller, and louder over the years. Skyscrapers and luxury apartments were built where open pit train tracks and cockroach infested tenement buildings had been. It was unimaginable that immigrants and refugees who used to live in traditional bedroom communities would still be able to afford the rent in the bustling neighborhoods that Alphabet City, Lower East Side, or Greenwich Village had become. Gone were the seedy bars on Time Square. Instead of hookers, tourists and families roamed the streets. The wanton moans of pleasure were replaced by speakers blaring advertisements, and chain stores popped up around every corner. Areas known for their rampant crime had become hot spots for classy bars, restaurants or shopping.
Despite that, Manhattan was emptier than it used to be.
While the sounds of music and entertainment had increased to higher levels, the heartbeat of the town had faded to a low drum.
This city wasn’t his Manhattan, not the one he had grown up in, but it was something that was bound to change with time. It was interesting enough to see once, but unable to keep his attention for more than a superficial glance. With his curiosity for the night sated, he took his time drinking the blood before showing up at Magnus’ place again when he figured the children were asleep. Raphael wasn’t exactly thrilled to meet them. Furthermore, they knew a different Raphael, someone that maybe cherished them to a degree, so he’d rather wanted to spare them the trauma of meeting him.
Upon arrival, he was met by a tall man holding a binder out for him. Alexander – Alec – as he introduced himself. It took Raphael a second to remember why he had heard that name before. Honestly, there was a certain kind of poetic irony that Magnus’ husband was the one who had killed Camille.
Raphael watched him suspiciously when he accepted the offering and flipped through the sheet music inside the binder.
“It’s from Simon,” Alec explained, rather superfluously. It was something that belonged to Raphael, though, evident by his hand writing on the margins. Songs and pieces he used to play and learn that he had no recollection off. “This too.” Alec pointed to a stack of folders on a side board. At the top was a paper with the word ‘enemies’. “Though he doubts you’ll need it.”
Obviously. Enemies had been ranking highest in his research list which was why he had looked at them first. They were surprisingly few.
“Magnus is currently away, but he told me to let you use the music room in case you showed up. So feel free to stay.”
The Latino didn’t know what to make of Alec’s behavior, couldn’t guess whether or not Magnus had told him of the situation, if he knew what it meant that Simon was leaving documents in their apartment. If he knew, he didn’t seem to care.
Following the Shadowhunter into the apartment, Raphael closed the door, carefully watching the other man’s movements. Reading a Shadowhunter was always difficult, the runes on their bodies diffusing the senses, so all he had to go by was manner and expression. However, Alec was unexpectedly stoic. Not the type of person Raphael would have thought Magnus to bed, let alone marry.
Then again Raphael knew nothing about him. All he knew was that Magnus was an affectionate person, someone who needed a lot of attention and skin-ship and Alec didn’t particularly strike him like the type to provide it. At first glance, they seemed mismatched, but as he knew, appearance meant little.
Nevertheless, Magnus had been hurt before; most of all by himself. Inherently a hopelessly optimistic and romantic person, that rather got burned than shied away, because to his experiences he was afraid to let himself feel too much. The fact that he had opened himself to another person after what had happened with Camille made him even more vulnerable to deception and abuse.
Therefore Raphael would prefer to make sure that his longest friend had found himself the partner he deserved instead of settling for the next best person. As he had never seen them interact before, he could only pry with questions instead of reading their body language. Alec knowing about Raphael’s circumstances would make that significantly easier.
“Do you know?” Raphael asked, before Alec had a chance to disappear further into the apartment.
“You had a fight with Simon,” Alec replied, a question swinging in his voice.
“So you don’t?”
“You’ve lost your memory, if that’s what you’re talking about.”
Raphael scrutinized the Shadowhunter for a long moment, watching him dither on the spot under his gaze before he turned towards the kitchen, inclining his head like he was inviting the vampire to follow him.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” Raphael said, “how long have Magnus and you been together?”
“Around ten years, thirteen I think.”
Raphael snorted. Was there anything that didn’t happen ‘around ten years ago’? It seemed like someone had tipped the world upside down to randomly rearrange anew. Magnus who only had flings suddenly had a boyfriend. A mass murdering psychopath on the loose. Camille was overthrown. Ragnor died. Around ten years ago, the world had gone crazy.
“How did you meet?”
The Shadowhunter was silent for a moment, before a small smile graced his lips. He looked even younger that way, immediately appeared more open in his expressions as his body relaxed. “I’ve already passed your test once, you don’t have to do it a second time,” Alec said, chuckling. “I still love Magnus and I’ll give him the world if he asks for it.”
It was surprising that Alec was so quick to pick up on his intentions. Most people, even those that knew him, assumed he didn’t care enough for others to worry about their life choices. “I’m glad that my old self bothered to check,” Raphael replied. “But considering how lenient he has been on other matters I’d rather make sure of that myself.”
Alec’s smiled widened and he crossed his arms in front of his chest. He was already big, appearing even more imposing that way, but he was still giving of a friendly feeling. “I’ve been told that you’re more of a brat than you used to be when I first met you. But I guess deep down you’re still a good kid. Magnus will cry tears of joy when I tell him you worried about him.”
Raphael grimaced, mildly disgusted to be called a kid by someone who wasn’t that much older than him. “I’m going to the music room now,” he said, aloof in his annoyance. “Don’t bother me.”
Amused chuckling followed him through the maze of hallways until he opened the door to the music room and closed it again, barely keeping from childishly throwing it. Alexander really wasn’t what he had expected as Magnus’ boyfriend, but he did seem acceptable at the moment.
Raphael passed the next couple days in the same manner, hiding in the Theater District during the day and deciding his next sleeping place based on the play that they were going to perform. After leaving with the applause, he headed to Taki’s for blood. He never accepted the blood Magnus left for him. He knew he was being petty. He knew that he was punishing Magnus for his mistake, but Raphael had always been unable to forgive easily.
He changed up the time and behavioral pattern, trying to be less predictable, even though he hadn’t felt any malevolence directed his way. He was catching eyes, had felt the vague curious glances he received from the other customers ever since the first time he had entered the diner alone, but those weren’t what kept his guard up. It was the attention he received from a certain human, a man that kept staring at him ever since he had first seen him the night before.
Now he was circling the vampire, like he was preparing to take down prey. Raphael made sure to keep him in the corner of his eyes, and decided to drink the blood quickly and get out. Unlucky, as he had hoped to sit in a corner until the rain fizzed out. Before Raphael had a chance to take the glass in hand, a shadow fell on his table. The scent of the Mundane, desperate and willing, filled his nostrils. Raphael pulled his lips back in the beginning of a snarl, when the man started to speak.
“Why, hello there, Raphael,” he said with a winning smile. He was handsome, in a classical sense, the muscles barely concealed by the tailored suit he was wearing. If it weren’t for the way he reeked of perpetual arousal, he might have made a more likable first impression. “Are you alone? Where’s your hubby?” Raphael glared at him in hopes the man was getting the message and left him alone, but he ignored it while throwing a curious look around. “Not here? Too bad. Would have loved a glance at that everlasting cute ass.”
Realizing that he wasn’t going to get another quiet minute with the guy around, ignoring the drink, Raphael moved to get up.
“Geez, I know we didn't start out good, what with you wanting to drown me in the Hudson, but I thought we have left that behind. Even if you still won’t let me take Simon’s measurements.” Raphael lifted one brow at the words. He couldn’t remember the face from any of the files he had read. One of Simon’s friends maybe. “Also what’s wrong? You usually threaten me subtly every time I make a move on him.”
“You’re welcome to take him,” Raphael muttered, pushing past the other man. To his surprise, the guy stopped him with a hand to his shoulder, staring intently at him, like he was searching for something. If Raphael had realized how much he was apparently interconnected with Simon’s circle of friends, he might have made more of an effort to learn about them.
“Did you fight? That’s unusual,” the man said with something akin to concern, pushing Raphael back on the chair and sitting down across from him. He looked frivolous, reeking of haunted amusement, but underneath that layer of debauchery, he seemed genuinely concerned. Raphael had no idea who this guy was and the last thing he wanted to do was talk about Simon. “So even you fight. Kind of a relief to find out. You give me hope for my future.”
Raphael scoffed, annoyed. “Right. We’re so fucking perfect, we’re an aspiration.” As little as everyone actually talked about details to their relationship, they insisted they were some form of relationship goal. It was grating on his nerves.
The man’s eyes widened in surprise. Raphael couldn’t tell what made him react that way, until he remembered that he barely swore, let alone in English. Or maybe it was the fact that they exchanged words in the first place. Raphael honestly couldn’t see himself getting along with this sort of person. Then again, he would have never thought he’d get along with someone like Magnus, either.
The man looked at him, the smile slowly fading into genuine worry. “This is the third time I’ve seen you here,” he said quietly, looking uncomfortable now, “wearing the same suit in a row. What’s going on? Did something happen?”
“Same color, different suit.”
“I feel almost insulted in my pride as a tailor that you think this lie works on me. Especially when I am the one who makes your suits. Or you know, mostly me. Manuel can’t see shit anymore and his hands shake worse than a bobble-head in a car with a threesome, but he’s still good at yelling advice from the sidelines about your peculiarities. The rest is all me, though.”
Tailor. That might explain why he hadn’t read about him yet. Raphael let out a non-committal noise, wondering how good it was to ignore the person responsible for his wardrobe. On the other hand, the man had claimed that they weren’t getting along very well and insinuating interest in Raphael’s boyfriend wasn’t that respectful either.
He was beginning to regret not reading up on his personal relations, but he hadn’t expected to be so… social. People actually seemed to like him instead of merely tolerating him even though everyone described him as a grumpy, bad tempered old man.
“Uh listen, Raphael. I know I’m not your most favorite person, but if you need someone to hear you out, I mean, I’m your fairy godmother, right? I might be able to help.”
“I highly doubt that,” Raphael scoffed. “Just leave me alone.”
The man moved to get up, hesitating, glancing at Raphael before leaning over the table and catching his gaze. Tilting his head, squinted eyes traced Raphael’s face like he was looking for something.
“Now,” Raphael snapped, concerned the guy knew him well enough to notice something, if he hadn’t already stirred some suspicion. The man continued to look at him for a second longer, unfazed by the aggression, but then he pulled away to desert the chair. “See you around, I guess.”
Raphael followed him with his eyes, and when he was out of sight, traced his surprisingly steady heartbeat. Before he had any chance to return, Raphael left the dinner through the backdoor. It was still raining, just a trickle, but enough to irritate him when he didn’t know where he was heading.
As if the encounter with the weirdo hadn’t been bad enough, Magnus decided to keep him company in the music room that night. Raphael wasn’t in the mood for talking, he never was. Talking didn’t solve problems. Talking never helped. It was a waste of time, even if he didn’t have much to do at the moment.
“I really wish you’d stay with us instead of going out during the day,” Magnus said, sitting down on the couch that was next to the piano. The room was one of the few things frozen in time, something that hadn’t changed since he had been in there - approximately sixty years ago. The wall was still lined with string instruments. There were golden plates on the wall next to the door, presents from musicians Magnus had inspired over the years. There might be more than he remembered. “I’m worried about you.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“You can’t account for bad luck!”
Raphael didn’t reply. Every response on his tongue would have been a slap in Magnus’ face and no matter how vindictive he was, he wasn’t going to bite off the hand that had always reached out to him.
“Why are you even coming here, when you won’t stay during the day?”
“If you don’t want me here I’ll go somewhere else.”
“That’s not what I’m saying and you know that.” When there was no further reply, Magnus watched him for a very long moment, his expression serious. “You shouldn’t try to play mind games with someone who knows you as well as Simon does. He probably knows what you’re doing,” he said, proving that he was indeed one of the smartest people Raphael knew.
“It doesn’t matter if he does.” Raphael shrugged, flipping the binder open. The sheet music wasn’t sorted by name or composer, the newest piece he had learned seemingly stuck at the top. While going through the pieces he had noticed that he had progressed from easy to difficult, back to easy to medium, a few duets thrown in, but the amount of duets growing in number with the difficulty of the other pieces. This was his musical history with Simon and it was clear that Simon wanted him to know that. “The outcome won’t change.”
“You’re at a disadvantage. You don’t know him very well.”
That was true, but he knew that Simon loved Raphael. And people in love were usually desperate to please. Also, he would never give up on Raphael in case he could get his boyfriend back. It was a weakness, easy to exploit.
“This won’t go the way you expect.”
“Let’s find out, shall we?” Raphael replied with a disinterested shrug.
“Trust me Raphael, you will lose. You just don’t know it yet.” Magnus sighed again, when Raphael ignored his words. “Honestly, I don’t know what to do with you. I wish Ragnor were here. He’d know how to talk to you.”
“Yeah, well, Ragnor is dead,” Raphael hissed, the comment catching him off guard and instantly stirring the anger in him. He didn’t intend to press the topic further, though, until he picked up on Magnus’ scent. Sad. Annoyed. Weaved in-between – guilt. It wasn’t the superficial guilt at not being there, or being unable to help a friend in need, no, it was deeper, darker and heavier. “And as I’ve heard,” he continued, unable to stop himself, “I have you to thank for that.”
The smell of pain, of a wound freshly ripped open filled the air. Raphael balled his hands to fists, knuckles turning white as he stared at Magnus.
“So Simon told you what happened.”
No, he had not. Simon had told him that Ragnor had been killed by a demon. There had been no word about Magnus’ involvement or anyone’s involvement. Was Raphael at fault, too?
“I didn’t know we were being followed. If I had, I wouldn’t have looked for him,” Magnus muttered, quiet, and Raphael was a vampire but he remembered the feeling of blood rushing to his head in anger, of the almost deafening sound of a pounding heartbeat in his ears. Now there was nothing.
A growl left his throat, angry and threatening. “Tell me everything.”
Magnus looked confused, then he understood. After a moment’s hesitation, he began to tell the story how one of his oldest friends had died, and through follow-up questions, about the Book of White and what role Simon had played when Camille had fled the hotel. Magnus was filling all the blanks that had been conveniently left after watching the sugar coated documentation in the movie theater of the DuMort. When he was done talking, after Camille had been sent to Idris, silence settled into the room – long and heavy.
“Raphael—” Magnus started, when the silence became unbearable for him. He wanted to reach out, but was too afraid to be brushed off.
“No,” Raphael snapped, moving away from a touch that was never coming, unable to hold back his restlessness. For once, he didn’t know what expression he was showing, if it was contempt or rage or grief that made Magnus recoil and look away from him in shame.
Pressing his lips together, Raphael turned around and left.
Raphael wanted to be alone with his thoughts, didn’t even go to Taki’s for blood, unable to bear the prying eyes on him. However, if he didn’t want to lose control, he had to go out sooner rather than later, so after two days he grudgingly left the empty luxury apartment with the soundproofed walls and a view over Central Park, which he had gained access to by sliding beneath the door in a cloud of dust.
He ordered his blood to-go and left for the cemetery, cleaning the graves of his mother and siblings, scaring away some teenagers who were drinking beer, playing loud music, and fooling around.
Frankly, Raphael was sick of struggling with his anger, of the hows and whys and of spinning theories in his mind of events that were too late to right anyway. Either he decided to ask Magnus for help and get his memories back to remember why he did what he had done, or he was going to live without those memories, yet had to accept that his past wasn’t his past, that some matters weren’t as he would have handled them.
Raphael, never one to drown in past wrongs for long, chose to go forward. When the sunrise threatened to spill, he decided it was time to forgive and forget no matter how raw the wound of Ragnor’s dead still was for him.
After all, Magnus, that softhearted fool, had chosen Raphael’s safety and life over Camille, the woman he had loved even after they had been apart, even after everything she had done to him. He had picked the side of a selfish, spoiled, arrogant brat that barely had a kind word to utter over his former lover.
Raphael might be unable to relate, as to him, Camille was among the most disgusting creatures he had ever met, but he understood the sacrifice, understood the struggle Magnus had gone through at that time when he had summoned her into a trap. And on a different note, Raphael also knew what it felt like when an error in judgment led to the death of a dear friend. No one would be able to punish Magnus more than Magnus was punishing himself every time the dark memories caught up to him, when they hunted him into his nightmares to drive him crazy.
“If you come in,” Magnus said, his voice firm, resolute, when Raphael showed up at his doorstep. “I won’t let you leave.”
Raphael replied with a crooked grin, throwing a look at the sky before entering the apartment without a word. Magnus seemed happy enough with that response, but walked behind Raphael as if he was expecting him to flee in a matter of seconds, while also steering him in the direction of the kitchen.
“It’s good to see you’re still alive,” Alec greeted, in the middle of preparing breakfast. “Magnus was afraid you’d died.”
“I’m not that easy to kill.”
“I know,” Alec said, sounding like he had tried but failed. Raphael filed it away for another day. “I’ll give you a head’s up. The kids are going to get up soon. If you don’t want to meet them, you better hide.”
Raphael looked back and forth between them, then shrugged. “Do they know?”
“No, they don’t,” Magnus replied, but didn’t seem concerned with that issue.
“Shouldn’t we spare them the shock of meeting me then?”
Alec snorted a laugh. “They’ve already been plenty traumatized by you. A bit more doesn’t matter.” Muttering lowly under his breath, he added, as if Raphael couldn’t hear, “besides, you’d be more shocked.”
As if on cue, a teenager walked in. He looked around the same age as Raphael, with dark skin and black hair. With one look of surprise at Raphael, he sat down with a moody, “Qué onda rucos?” [What’s up, old men?]
“Rafael, manners,” Magnus admonished.
The boy rolled his eyes in annoyance, before turning to Raphael, who was busy internally processing that Magnus’ son had the same name as him. “Es bien pinche fastidioso a veces, ¿Verdad?” [He’s fucking annoying sometimes, isn’t he?]
“Language!” The teenager let out a disgruntled noise, that Magnus mirrored before complaining, “I swear that’s your influence, Raphael. He used to be so cute. He was so attached to me. Adored me. Now he’s…. a teenager. I hate teenagers.”
“That’s alright,” Raphael said. “It seems like they hate you, too.”
Rafael turned to him with a big grin, lifting his hand like he expected Raphael to do… something, but he only pulled the corners of his mouth tight and ignored the gesture.
“And that’s why you’re un ruco, too,” Rafael exclaimed, then ditched the chair and vanished through a door that could lead to a bathroom or a ball park. Everything was possible in this apartment.
“The same name?” he whispered forcefully as soon as the teenager was gone. “You gave him the same name?”
“It’s Rafael, with f, not ph. Difference. And no, we didn’t name him.” Magnus smiled. “Though we did add the name Santiago. You are his godfather after all.”
“¿Me estás jodiendo?” [Are you shitting me?]
Alec chuckled, and began to serve breakfast: orange juice, toast and an assortment of fruits. Raphael couldn’t remember the last time he had been part of something so mundane.
“Good morning.” Another boy walked in, his nose twitching at the scents in the room. He was younger than Rafael and the blue hair and blue skin left no doubt about his race. He was barefoot, still wearing pajamas and reminded Raphael so much of his youngest brother that he felt a pang of sympathy. The boy’s eyes brightened as soon as they landed on the vampire, before he approached him with quick steps.
Raphael had about a split second to decide how he was going to react in case the boy was going to hug him. He had almost, sort of, convinced himself to just endure it, when the little warlock stopped a foot away, glanced around the room like he was looking for something and then peered up to him with large, confused eyes. “Where’s Simon?”
“At the hotel,” Raphael replied, after a short pause.
The boy pouted. “Then why are you here? I want Simon,” he sulked, before plopping down on a chair opposite Raphael and levitating a peach across the table into his hand. Until that moment, Raphael hadn’t known he could get this offended for being glossed over by a child. At the same time, he was relieved that Magnus’ kids didn’t seem very interested in him.
“Don’t worry about it,” Alec said, leaning over Raphael’s shoulder and offering him a glass of blood like it was normal. “Magnus cries himself to sleep because Max loves Simon the most.”
“I do not,” Magnus objected emphatically. “And he does not. Max!” With a dramatic flair he turned to his son, who looked up still chewing the fruit, his mouth sticky with juices. Raphael’s mother used to wipe his brother’s mouths with the end of her apron or a spit-wetted thumb when they had been eating sloppily. Seeing it had always disgusted him, so he would usually throw a wet towel at them to get cleaned up before his mother noticed. He wondered if he could get away with that now, too. “Who is your most favorite person?”
“Simon.” Max didn’t even miss a beat. “I’m going to marry him when I’m older.”
Raphael huffed, faintly amused.
“It hurts a little,” Alexander muttered, sounding somewhat resigned, finally joining them at the table while Magnus opened his mouth, about to reply. With a quick glance at Raphael, he stopped abruptly and dropped his forehead in his hand. “I thought you wanted to marry Eliza.”
“Didn’t you know? Max saw her holding hands with another boy,” Rafael said, reentering the room looking like a different person. His black hair was styled back, revealing a right-sided undercut and piercings at the helix. He was wearing a fancy black leather jacket with red and orange embroideries over a blood red shirt. It was almost embarrassing how the kid didn’t even try to hide who had influenced him in his choice of wardrobe. As if reading his thoughts, Rafael smirked, then turned around his own axis. “Your jacket looks amazing on me, doesn’t it?”
“Puta madre,” [For fuck’s sake.] Raphael muttered, exasperated. Incapable of handling the family dynamic, he left the kitchen with his drink.
His exit was followed by Rafael’s astonished laugh, Magnus indignant outcry, a very confused Max wanting to know what he had said, and Alec’s corresponding lie that it meant he was going to bed. Despite his reaction, however, Raphael couldn’t help smiling to himself after he closed the door to the music room.
He was glad that Magnus was living the life he had always longed for but never dared to desire.
After everyone had finally left, Raphael spent the day exploring the parts of the apartment he had access to before eventually settling down in the library. It had always been one of the most interesting rooms, the books holding unimaginable secrets and spells, a rare fountain of knowledge that always came with a price. It was a privilege alone to be allowed in there without supervision, even more so when he realized the wards didn’t try to keep him from touching any of the books that he wanted to read.
Early afternoon, Rafael returned home from school and found him almost immediately.
“You’ve been here surprisingly often this week,” Rafael said, leaning against the door frame. Raphael must be his role model, or he had picked up quite the mannerisms being surrounded by people like Alec or him. “Are you fighting with Simon?”
The boy approached him, sitting down atop the table with his feet dangling in the air. Raphael watched as he leaned to the side with a wide cheeky grin. He was a handful and the similarities between them, that didn’t stop at their name, were uncanny. Raphael hoped the boy didn’t turn out the same way he did: bitter.
“Yes,” he answered, hoping it would shut him up. There was no teenager in the world that actually wanted to listen to relationship problems.
Rafael furrowed his brows, looking down at him in confusion. He opened his mouth, closed it again, then shrugged. “Yeah, I know.” So he had wanted to hear it from Raphael himself. “I asked Jane if something happened and she said, wait a sec.” He was holding his phone out. On the display was a picture of the werewolf girl living in the DuMort, Jane, in a one-armed hug with Rafael and another girl that was wearing far too many piercings and sprouted blue hair. Next to it was a speech bubble with the message ‘I won't go into details but R was a real jerk to S and deserves whatever's coming to him’. There were a few more messages beneath that had come about an hour later. ‘I'm lying, he doesn't deserve it’, ‘He's going through a rough time rn’, ‘Keep that asshole safe for us’.
“Everyone agrees that you’re a real pelotudo [dick] most of the time,” Rafael said, pushing the phone back into his pants. “But usually not to Simon. And you don’t just flip without a reason so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and say it’s not entirely your fault.” The teenager glanced at the book Raphael was reading. It was about memory spells, use cases, side effects and their reversals. It was also in Latin so he hoped the boy couldn’t read it.
“A kid shouldn’t worry about that,” Raphael replied dismissively.
“You don’t have many redeeming qualities, you know,” he snarled. “But even when I was a brat, you never treated me like one. Nunca.” [Never] Kicking his legs forward he jumped from the table. Raphael had expected him to storm out, instead he stopped, then turned around with a sneer. “I guess it’s not your fault. It’s not like you remember me.”
So he knew, Raphael thought.
“If you did, you’d know that I grew up in the streets of Buenos Aires. Kids like us, we’ll never change, even if we get a good home and nice parents. I still picture how I’d go about stealing something even though I can just buy it. I still look for shortcuts in the city and memorize the layouts for a quick get away. I still eat too much and too fast because I can’t forget how it felt to starve. And I still rely more on my senses, keep my eyes and ears open.”
“So you eavesdropped,” Raphael summarized the rant, devoid of empathy. The boy wasn’t the only person in the world having a rough start into life
“No, I merely overheard Magnus and Alec talking.”
“While stuck in the vents?”
At that, Rafael grinned. “That’s a trade secret.”
Raphael watched the boy, could see how his anger made way for worry and forced cheerfulness. He probably felt like he should have known, that he was old enough to be told when something happened to whatever Raphael was to him – a friend, uncle, godfather; was probably annoyed at being left out. It didn’t seem like it was out of childish entitlement either, but out of care. He liked Raphael. At least he had liked the old Raphael, because the worry he was spotting wasn’t mere concern, but also caution.
“Do you want me to leave?” Raphael asked, surprising the boy with his words. Magnus’ apartment had always been good for a surprise or two, and it was likely there was a passage he could use even with the sun high in the sky.
“No sé,” [I don’t know] he admitted. “Our parents don’t seem terribly concerned with letting you stay, so I guess it’s fine? But I have my eyes on you, hombre. You do anything weird and I’ll lock you up. Somewhere. En cualquier lugar. Tengo mis maneras.” [Anywhere. I have my ways.]
“Good luck with that,” the vampire drawled, more humored than threatened.
“I’m strong.”
“Of course.”
Rafael scowled at the vampire’s teasing, pushing his hands into his jacket. “Some day I’ll be stronger than you. And taller. And then I’ll rub it in your face all the time.” He seemed ashamed almost as soon as he had said those last words, like he was suddenly reminded that genetics weren’t the reason for Raphael’s size.
“You’re, what?” Raphael asked, steering the teenager’s attention away from the guilt, “Seventeen? Don’t you think you’d’ve reached your full height and outgrown me already if you were meant to?”
“I’m sixteen!” The boy exclaimed, incredulous. “And look at my hands!” Pushing one hand almost in Raphael’s face, he showed his palms, fingers spread. “They are huge. I’ll grow even more. Another two years and I can spit on your head.”
“For that,” Raphael muttered, catching the hand around the wrist, his fangs showing with the dangerous smile, “you’ll have to catch me first, brat.”
Rafael tried to pull his arm away, but couldn’t until the older took pity on him and let him go. “Pelotudo,” he muttered under his breath, sulking.
“What was that?”
“Nothing! Como sea, vamos,” [Anyway, let’s go] Rafael said, quickly changing the topic. “Max’s been waiting for you to come out of hiding. You usually help him train whenever you’re here. And he kinda missed you.”
Recalling the morning, Raphael snorted in disbelief.
“Don’t be like that. The kid adores you. But you’re usually with Simon unless shit hits the fan. So he was disappointed that he didn’t get to see his love of the month and thought you were going to steal his parents away for some mission.” As if answering to the doubts Raphael still harbored, he added, “Honestly. You’re the best babysitter we could ask for. Mostly because you don’t give a shit. Like you let him eat all the ice cream he wants and don’t care if he climbs the walls or uses his magic. Abuela is always close to a heart attack and worries too much. Not you, you just do the bare minimum of making sure we don’t die.”
In short, he was treating Magnus’ kids the same way he had treated his brother.
“By the way,” Rafael continued, sudden eagerness and giddiness in his voice already betraying that whatever was about to come out was a white lie at best. “You promised you’d let me ride your bike. So like, if you want to do that tonight, I’d be game.”
The cheekiness, Raphael thought, rolling his eyes. “I don’t care. I’m not the one who has to deal with Magnus’ wrath.”
Already beginning to say something, Rafael seemed to reevaluate, then grimaced. “Whatever. But it’s true that you help with Max’s Shadowhunter training. Did I mention that training means playing futbol as bats?”
Raphael, surprising himself, let out a low chuckle. Rafael really was so much like his younger brother: forceful, shameless and spoiled. Admittedly, if it was the truth, he was somewhat intrigued. He used to play it all the time as a kid, might still harbor some fondness for it to some degree, but couldn’t imagine how they would do it transformed into animals. Max was also quite the warlock if he managed that at such a young age.
“Knew I could get you with that,” Rafael laughed, already on his way out without waiting for confirmation.
Magnus was less than impressed when he came home that night and had to find out that his two sons managed to get into more trouble with the supervision of someone he would call an adult than they would have without. Not only did they break one of the living room lights while playing a game of chase in the air, with Rafael's feet being charmed by Max to stick to the ceiling, but they also accidentally shot the ball into a cupboard with expensive silver ware. Raphael might have been able to stop the ball, if he hadn’t been occupied catching Rafael mid-fall, when Max lost his grip on the magic because of a sudden stomach ache he got from eating too much candy. Franky, he could have done both, stop the ball and catch the boy, but he had been busy teasing Rafael who clung to him like he was afraid he would die.
Magnus glared at Raphael, who only shrugged in response, explaining that he was trying to teach the children how to figure out their own limitations, be it with games or sweets. After all, he had taught his brothers that way, too. The children seemed surprised to find out that he even had brothers. Apparently he barely talked about them, which might have to do with Raphael being closer to them now than his older version was.
Raphael was still listening to Magnus’ complains at the dinner table, when the warlock retold everything to his husband, who seemed to be more relaxed, arguing that Magnus could fix everything with a little magic anyway, which obviously wasn’t the point.
When it was time for bed and Max was sent off to bed, the boy happily shouted ‘Puta madre’ through the apartment. Raphael was still smirking at the look of adjacent horror on Magnus’ face, before he turned a withering glare at Alec and then Raphael who were standing at the sink, cleaning the dishes and ignoring him by discussing current Downworlder politics. Raphael was sure the little rascal had done it on purpose anyway, fully aware that what he had said didn't mean 'I'm going to bed' as Alec had wanted him to believe.
Simon showed up a few hours later. It had been the sixth day of Raphael’s more or less self imposed exile, which didn’t even come remotely close to Camille’s record of a month. Raphael had been almost impressed that she had managed to stay out of trouble for such a long time until he had found out that she had merely been infatuated with a new lover. It was a romance that ended, as most of her relationships did, with his death. Incidentally the time, or more accurately, precisely the reason he was called back in.
Raphael was busy sorting through the binder, trying to figure out the names of the unknown pieces and songs his body was playing on its. Flipping through the binder, he played the melody of a song with one hand and scanned the pages for the notes. While his playing was by no means flawless, it still gave of the impression that he must have put innumerable hours into learning them.
The song, as Raphael learned around the same time Simon entered the room, was written in the 70’s by a band sounding like an insect. From Simon’s reaction, it meant something to him, which was hardly surprising. There was barely anything that didn't mean something.
Simon looked tired and untidy, even more of a mess than he usually did. It was ironic considering that Raphael was the one currently – metaphorically speaking – sleeping in the streets and he didn’t look half as haggard.
“I didn’t know you knew this song,” Simon said carefully as he fully entered the room, leaving the door ajar.
“I don’t,” Raphael replied. “Muscle memory.”
“I see.”
Simon continued to stand there for a moment, seemingly lost. He was obviously there to talk, but Raphael certainly wasn’t going to help him get it started by engaging him with questions or playing a more proactive role. Simon sighed a few seconds later, motioning to the couch in a wordless question. Raphael rolled his eyes and left it at that, which Simon took as a sign of agreement. After sitting down, he was nervously playing with his fingers and fidgeting around in his seat. If Raphael hadn’t been busy with the piano, he might have gotten impatient.
“I’m sorry,” Simon started, after giving up an inner debate, then cringed at his own words, like this wasn’t what he had intended to say.
Raphael furrowed his brows, somewhat annoyed. He didn’t want to hear apologies, never did. They meant nothing. Their only purpose was to make the person apologizing feel a sense of accomplishment, as if ‘I’m sorry’ was a magic phrase that cleaned them from all their sins. Quite frankly, they were as redundant as his digestive system. On another note, there was nothing for Simon to apologize for in the first place.
“Don't ruin it, Lewis,” Raphael said coolly, “I actually respect you for kicking me out.”
“I didn’t kick you out.”
“For making Lily kick me out,” he corrected, rolling his eyes.
“Nobody kicked you out!” Simon exclaimed before reeling his voice back in. “I gave you a choice! But I didn’t tell you to decide on the spot. And Lily was trying to protect you. We both know that you know that, so don’t act like an offended child.” In a sense he did know. It was easier to remove the disturbance than the whole clan. Lily didn’t know what had happened, she had only noticed that everyone had been upset with Raphael. “No one said you couldn’t return as soon as things had calmed down, at the latest when the sun came out!”
That misunderstanding was probably on him. He was so used to being thrown out until called back he hadn’t even considered that he could have returned in the morning. He used to anyway, most of the time. Through the sewer system, staying in the cellars, because Camille hadn’t know about them and even if she had, she wouldn’t be caught dead in that place. Simon was different, and the clan members were different too. While they used to ignore his presence, they were likely to tattle on him if they caught him there.
“I was glad when Magnus told me that you were here. I mean, we sort of expected you to come here. Then he told me you left right at the break of dawn, and it made me so angry, because I knew you were doing it on purpose, to get back at me, to make me worry about your safety. And I knew you’d pull that shit until I showed up. I hate it when you’re playing these fucking games. Just thinking about it makes me angry again. You’re so infuriating.” Simon clawed his hands in his hair, making it more of a mess than it already was. Then he took a deep breath, muttering something like ‘I’m zen’, before he composed himself again. Or as much as he was able to, being him. “I wasn’t even talking about that. I’m sorry for what happened in the music room.”
Raphael lifted one eyebrow. He had mostly forgotten that encounter and wasn’t sure why Simon was bringing this up when there was an even bigger topic looming in the room.
“Not what I said, but for the way I did it. Raising my voice, telling you to shut up, interrupting you, that’s not the way we talk to each other. You were pushing all my buttons on purpose and I was tired, sad, and angry, but that doesn't excuse anything.”
Raphael huffed, but didn't tell Simon that he was exaggerating. If their roles had been reversed, Raphael would have snapped not even an hour into the situation. Simon had been remarkably patient, considering everything and especially Raphael’s behavior, that he could admit was anything but mature. “So you don’t usually yell at me when I act like an asshole?”
Simon smiled dolefully. “I always call you out on your bullshit. But not like this. It’s not who we were and it’s not what I want us to become, no matter our relationship. I was losing my control.” His eyes gazed into nothing for a brief moment, before he continued, softer, “We’ve always had that problem, even before we started going out. I’d always let you get away with something until it's too late and things are about to break. We’ve never gotten rid of that bad habit.”
If that were true, it was probably one of the reasons they worked. Raphael didn’t like being pushed, but he also knew that at times, when faced with something he really, honestly didn’t want to take care of, he needed that nudge in the right direction. He himself never knew when the timing was right for it until the moment had passed and he realized he had missed a chance. However, with the walls he had built and the way he interacted with everyone around him, there were only Lily, who would try once as soon as a problem arose but never cared about the problem enough to try again, or Magnus, who overdid it to a point of annoyance, practically bullying him into drawing it out even more.
Raphael watched Simon rub the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact, like he honestly was ashamed about the way they had interacted when Raphael himself didn’t see much of a problem. He had dealt with worse, and Simon had gotten angry for good reasons, but Raphael also didn’t know how they usually talked to each other.
“Whatever,” he said, shrugging. “No es como que me importe.” [It’s not like I care.]
“Never thought I’d ever hear you say that.” Simon lifted his head, finally meeting his gaze. He was smiling. “You sound like such a petulant child.” Raphael gave him an offended look. “Even your Spanish. Never heard you use it that much when talking to anyone in the clan.”
“It’s my native language. Why wouldn’t I use it?”
“It’s an inclusion thing. There aren’t many vamps who speak it in the clan.”
“Do you?” Raphael furrowed his brow, trying to remember if he had ever used the language around Simon without adding English for clarification. Lily and Magnus were rather proficient in it, so he talked however he felt like, freely switching back and forth between the languages. With everyone else, if he wanted them to understand, he’d switch to English. He’d probably had done that with Simon, too, because he can’t remember ever getting a question for clarification. “Genial, probablemente no. No tengo nada de respeto propio.” [Great, you probably don’t. I don’t have any self respect.]
Simon lifted his brows, curiously cocking his head, mildly amused. “Eres tan irritante,” [You’re so annoying] he answered with a drawl, sounding a lot like Raphael even up to the lilt in his speech. “De cualquier manera, ¿Qué tiene que ver mi habilidad para hablar Español con tu respeto propio?” [What does my ability to speak Spanish have to do with your self respect anyway?]
The corner of Raphael’s mouth lifted into a crooked smile. “Perdiste una oportunidad. Debiste haberme dejado en la ignorancia. Podrías haberte aprovechado de todo lo que dijera.” [You missed a chance. Should have kept me in the dark. You could have used everything I said to your advantage.]
“No es como si me hubieras creído de haber dicho que no.” [It’s not like you would you have believed me if I had said ‘no’.] Simon almost sounded amused, giving of the impression that he might have a darker side to himself. A side that appeared to lean into Raphael’s wickedness. “And I told you,” he continued, more serious now. “I’m not going to take advantage of this in any way. I want you to trust me, and that won’t happen if I play games with you.” Raphael tilted his head, assessing the way Simon never once averted his gaze as he spoke, but the moment passed, when Simon leaned back with a sigh. “Anyway, living conditions.”
“Living conditions?” Raphael repeated, confused.
“Yeah, for living outside the clan. It’s the reason I’m here.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s… well, I wouldn’t say it’s fine but I guess it is what it is. You don’t want to come back, but that doesn’t mean we’ll drop you just like that. We’ll help you out with everything you need, money, blood, an apartment, you just need to let us know and we'll take care of it. I could also talk to Lazar, explain the situation to him. He’ll—”
“I don’t need anything you can give me.”
“We are still offering,” Simon said undeterred, like he had expected that reaction.
Raphael watched him, his mind speeding through every possible scenario he could be blackmailed or taken advantage of as soon as he was dependent on them for every important need. Frankly, he had expected two things to happen: to be ignored, which meant that he would have to find some place for himself, or to be asked to come back as soon as something terrible happened. He had never assumed they wanted to provide for a throw-away.
“What do you expect to come out of this?”
“What do I—I don’t expect anything!” Simon sounded close to desperate. “I want you to be safe. I want you to understand that we’ll be there to support you. I want you to live your life the way you want! I—” He stopped again, seemingly looking for words that would finally make it through Raphael’s defenses. “Raphael… you always had to be who you needed to be in order to survive. You never had the chance to become who you want to be. So this… you forgetting everything, maybe it’s a good thing. So the clan, we’ve talked. We agree that you deserve, for once, to do whatever you want without being shackled down by responsibility, tyranny or… or relationships.”
Simon stumbled over the last word, pressing it out like it physically hurt him, but he never looked away, trying to make Raphael understand just how much he meant it. “When I was taken in by the clan, I was a mess. I made so many mistakes and treated you guys like air. I was lost, didn’t accept myself, but you took me under your wing. Twice. You gave me chances and opportunities. And I’m not the only one you did that for. Even if you don’t remember, we want to return that favor, we want to give you the opportunity to grow into yourself. Just like you did for us. You can do that by staying in the clan… or you can do it on your own, without having to figure out how to provide for yourself. And yes, we want you to come back, but if that’s not what you want, then we’ll have to accept that.”
He must have seen the distrust in Raphael’s expression, and while it invoked a mixture of annoyance and sorrow, which seemed to become the default reaction to anything he did or said, Simon still continued to talk with a soft voice.
“I’ve always disliked how you only ever saw the bad in everything, including yourself, but I could never get angry at you for that. Because I know that your stubbornness, your paranoia, your callousness and indifference to everyone outside your focus, and the fact that you always expected the worst from any person or given situation has kept us safe for all those years. Unfortunately, it’s also what makes this situation, you trusting us, trusting me so goddamn difficult.”
Raphael had to agree. His personality was hard and unyielding, fighting with him was tiring, and draining every last ounce of energy, so everyone who attempted it was wont to give up. They knew their time was better spent anywhere else. He honestly didn’t know where Simon was taking that energy from.
“From what you once told me, in the past, back with Camille and before that, a simple mistake could lead to death, or a fate worse than that.” Like waking up as a blood sucking monster, Raphael added in his mind. “So it was important for you to keep the reins tight, know everything you need to know. We fought about it. We as in the clan. In response, you gave everyone their graveyard dirt. And they, in return, threw them right back at you again. Not literally, but you get the idea.” Simon chuckled, like he remembered something nice, before his expression soured again.
“I don’t know how different the you from then and the you now are in this regard, but allowing yourself to see the good in people is something you had to learn. I know you think you’re weak, pathetic, dumb, gullible, or whatever, but it’s not true. You’re strong. You’re strong enough to show kindness and lenience, to make decisions that have the potential of blowing up in your face. You were willing to take chances, because mistakes, even grave ones, don’t necessarily mean death anymore. Because even if something bad happened, you could make it right again. And you didn’t have to do it alone. You have Lily, who will punch everyone into next week for you, you have Magnus, who will fight tooth and nail to protect you, you have me, you have Elliott, you have fifty people back at the clan willing to help you out however they can.”
He looked up, gaze meeting Raphael’s again, something that seemed to be a habit whenever he was trying to convey his sincerity. “Raphael, you are the toughest, meanest, kindest, strongest person I have ever known. That won’t change, with or without your memories. And it’s honestly heartbreaking that you don't realize how important you are for this clan. I could try to tell you in a million different ways, but you wouldn’t allow yourself to believe me.
“Still, let me say this clearly, just once: you’re not anyone’s lap dog. You are not kept as a sacrificial lamb. You’re not just here to clean up our messes. Given your history, I think I know why you believe that, but you’re so much more than that. You’re invaluable to us. We would be dust without you, wouldn’t even be able to stand on our own two feet. You are the backbone of this clan. You’re our safety net. You are our strength. Our resilience. Our beacon, showing us the right direction. Without you we’d be nothing but confused puppies chasing butterflies. You’re the back that carries every burden and the shoulder to lean on. Only figuratively, because nobody is allowed to get that close to you.” Raphael snorted an involuntary laugh, which seemed to encourage Simon a little. “It’s a shitty position, with a lot of responsibility and pressure. You’ll always have a target on your back. You’ll always be the bad guy. This was a position you once choose for yourself, but that doesn’t have to be anymore. You can be whatever you want to be.”
It was ridiculous, the length they were willing to go to accommodate his selfishness, in such stark contrast to everything Camille had ever offered, trying to chain him to her side with promises, threats, money and power games. Listening to Simon, Raphael sounded so different from Camille. The him right now was much closer to her than his older version and it made him feel ashamed for it.
“Who is going to take that place then, when I won't do it?”
Simon seemed surprised by the question, answering slowly, like he was expecting backlash. “It has always been the plan that Lily will be next in line for clan leader, if something ever happens to you.”
“Lily?” Raphael repeated. He would have expected Simon. Honestly, he couldn’t picture her, or at least he couldn’t do it with the version he knew. The current Lily was a different matter.
“Who else? I’m shit at being the clan leader. I can’t say ‘no’ to anyone. At least anyone in real distress.”
Raphael had seen him refusing the vampires left and right when it came to outrageous requests, and while Simon seemed to have a good handle on them, it was also true that he usually carved as soon as something appeared mildly important. Contrary to that, Raphael wouldn’t care for anything if the risks for the clan outweighed the rewards, even if it meant that he had to watch a whole town get annihilated.
“The situation with the werewolves is a good example, to be honest. You, personally, can’t stand them, and what they represent to you. But you got over it, you saw the potential. When we voted on them staying, you’ve always withheld your own vote. But you were the one to decide who was getting a vote in the first place.”
Raphael’s eyebrows jumped to his hairline in surprise.
“Sometimes we were angry with you, when you’d sent someone off. You were never big on sharing your thoughts, so you wouldn’t explain why you’d kick a mother with a three year old child out. Maybe you couldn’t explain. Maybe it was only a gut feeling. Maybe it was experience that allowed you to see beyond pretty faces or sob stories. You see things that people like me will never see, because I assume that other people aren’t inherently bad. Sometimes we argued with you, but even when we threw a temper tantrum, you never caved in. It’s impossible to tell if your choice was right or wrong. Maybe we missed out on some truly good people that managed to rub you the wrong way. What is important, though, is that we never, not once, regretted the ones we did allow into the clan.
“So to answer your question, no one will be able to fill your shoes. I’m too soft. Lily is too much of a hot-head. She never thinks clearly when she gets angry. Elliott will turn us into his harem within a week. But that doesn’t mean that you have to put them on again. We’ll make do. One way or another.”
“I don’t understand you,” Raphael heard himself say after letting the words soak in, “why don’t you just hit me over the head and force me to undertake the reversal?”
Simon huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Because I’ve always respected your choices. That won’t change just because you forgot.”
“Even after threatening your pets?”
“The werewolves bother you,” Simon said, “but we both know that you were picking a fight with me, not them. Your problem is with me and I’d rather it stays between us.”
“If I return to the clan,” Raphael said, emphasizing the condition, “it doesn’t mean we’d ever get back together. It won’t be easy for you.”
“It won’t.” Simon agreed. “But my place has been decided a long time ago. It’s right next to you, no matter our relationship. You gave eleven years of your life to me. That’s not something to get over quickly, but it’s more than either of us expected this relationship to last. If given a choice, I’d do it all over again, and I’d add another decade. And another. You were worth every headache I ever had because of you.”
Raphael could barely keep from repeating the number aloud. He had thought they had been dating for a few months at most. When everyone had talked about years, he had assumed they meant the time they’ve known each other. He had never assumed that this had been more than an infatuation or a worthless fling to pass some time. After all, he knew the kind of person he was.
There was nothing lovable about him. He was harsh, he was cranky, arrogant, dismissive, cold, stubborn, opportunistic, emotionally and verbally violent. He spoke his mind without a care and had limited resources for his affections. Even though he had loved his brothers, he had been incapable of cherishing them. Instead he had been a bully. But most of all, he was his father’s son.
He had the looks, but nothing else to offer.
His personality was something someone might be willing to overlook for a short amount of time, but not for over a decade. Nobody wasted ten years of their life knowing they could get laid more easily somewhere else, no matter how pretty the person. If he didn’t know better, he would have assumed that he must have blackmailed Simon into the relationship. He was almost worried that Simon had a problem, or was used to abusive relationships and happily interpreted what little kindness Raphael had to offer as true love.
“But that was never my choice alone,” Simon said, interrupting Raphael’s thoughts.
Steeling his expression, Simon took a breath, paused. Then he reached for a leather strap around his neck that was leading into his shirt and pulled out a small vial. One hand tightened around the pendant, a flicker of resignation in his eyes as he visibly gave up the inner struggle. Then he moved his hands upwards to snap the clasp of the necklace open.
“I should have done this from the start,” he said, his voice wavering. “You were right. Not mentioning our relationship because you knew was an excuse at best. I didn't want to give you the chance to deny this, us. I hoped, if I didn’t bring it up, I could pretend that we were just fighting. It’s time that I face the truth. The you right now doesn’t love me. And you might never love me again.” With one lingering look at the pendant, he held his hand out to Raphael. It was trembling, fingers curled like they weren’t willing to let go yet. “You gave this to me once. A long time ago. But it doesn't belong to me anymore.”
Raphael took the necklace without meaning to, without thinking, overwhelmed with the situation. It looked expensive and important, and he felt the magic seeping out. Tiny tendrils reaching out like they were drawn to him. When his fingers touched the glass there was a tug at his conscious, something that stirred a sense of contentment. It felt almost like all the times Camille had messed with his ashes.
It took him a moment to realize what it was.
A protection charm, fueled by his own powers. Something he must have given to Simon, voluntarily, because those charms wouldn’t work if taken by force.
Raphael closed his hand into a fist around the pendant, wanting to deny it, but he felt the truth. The blood was vibrating, alive and excited. It was his own personal dark magic that would be given to any vampire he would have sired. It was everything someone needed to control him. Simon had this pendant all this time, could have used it at any given moment to force him back to the clan, to lock him up.
Instead he returned it.
“I know our relationship is a problem, but I didn’t realize how much you’d be against it. I’ve never been part of your thought process when it came to most things in our relationship. I can only guess how much you’ve struggled with some aspects of it. But every time I was scared, you were there for me. You took the initiative when you knew I wouldn’t. You’ve always, always made things easy for me. So for once, let me try to return the favor.”
Simon didn’t say the words, tried to, but couldn’t, mouth working around it before giving up, but the gesture was enough. Simon was breaking up with him. Officially. Whatever claim he had on Raphael, he was giving it up, and it looked like this time it was too much for him. Raphael almost wavered in face of Simon’s sincerity, in the fact that his hostility was met with so much love.
“Think about it, the clan I mean,” Simon muttered, eyes cast away, as if one look at Raphael’s face was going to break the dam. “No matter what you decide, we’ll be there to support you. Let me know what you need, when you’re ready.”
Simon stood up and approached the door, but didn’t leave right away, needing a few seconds to compose himself, likely in case he was running into Magnus or Alec. When he closed the door behind himself, Raphael stared at the pendant for a long time, determined to destroy it. The potential of someone getting their hands on it posed too much of a threat.
The leather strap was worn, chips in the glass of the vial speaking of the fights it must have seen over the years.
With a curse on his lips, he dropped the chain in his jacket pocket.
Raphael approached the DuMort a few days later. It had always been ‘home’ to him, in the broader sense of the word. Something that was, despite its flaws under Camille, still safer than the streets of Manhattan. Frankly, Camille herself had also been far more dangerous than any werewolf could ever be. He had simply thrown a tantrum to see if he could get away with it and he didn’t.
Truthfully, though, he hadn’t made up his mind until he closed in on the hotel and felt the tug of excitement growing stronger through his bond. It gave him pause, watching the building from a far, listening to a couple chatting under the stairs. It was lively, it was vivid. Everything was brighter now, happier. He didn't know how his own darkness would fit into this comfortable world.
More than the werewolves, he was the one who didn’t belong, who should stick to his own kind, to the twisted vampires who celebrated drowning in their misery.
The person he was, that he had become under Camille, no, that he had been ever since he had left Mexico, scared and scarred, it shouldn’t be there, tainting what they had built.
If he had any shame, he would turn around and leave them be. Instead he was going to ask for a loan, move out, find something to get money and pay it all back until the last cent. Resolutely, he squared his shoulders, leaving the alley way.
The guards greeted him like he had never left. There was no uproar when he entered, only remnant echos of what he assumed had been calls of ‘Raphael is back!’. The lobby was packed, though everyone shuffled around awkwardly in the shadows, giving off the impression that they wanted to pretend they weren’t there for his return, when everything in his bond told him the truth. It was strange that he still had this connection to them despite his refusal to acknowledge the vampires as more than mere acquaintances.
“Don’t forget the magnet wall,” Charles cheerfully called after him, genuine humor and an uncalled amount of impudence in his voice. Raphael rolled his eyes at the sticker of the weird cartoon vampire attached to his magnet, then moved it to the next column anyway.
A few other vampires greeted him as he walked up the stairs along the corridor to the office. It was exactly the same as when he had woken up. Restrained but unmistakable happiness, like he hadn’t insulted and spat poison at them. They were too forgiving. Too kind. Too trusting. Too soft. Too unguarded. No matter what Raphael had done in the past, it was unacceptable how easy they were willing to let it slide, welcoming him like nothing had happened, like they assumed he was still that person he used to be a month ago.
Honestly, wasn’t there one person with an ounce of self preservation in this clan to keep them safe from their own foolishness? What was Lily doing? He knew she was in the building, just a few rooms over. She could have stopped him ages ago. Instead she continued whatever conversation she was having, seemingly with no care in the world.
Raphael could barely keep from slamming the door closed when he entered the office, his level of aggression rising with every smile thrown his way. Simon was sitting at his desk, typing on his laptop. It took him an unusually long time to lift his head and meet Raphael’s gaze with an unreadable expression. His bond was closed.
“¿En serio?” [Seriously?] Raphael exclaimed, aggravated at the complete lack of suspicion this clan was showing. “The guards didn’t even try to stop me. Nobody said anything to me besides ‘welcome back’. What is wrong with you? Where is my supervision?”
Simon frowned at that, obviously confused. “Why would you need that?”
“Because I threatened you.” Raphael was getting the feeling that Simon wasn’t as smart as he had previously assumed. “What if I came back here to make good on my threats?” If it were him, he would have made sure to flag himself with guards a few blocks away, before he could even lay eyes on the DuMort. He would have demanded a search for weapons before letting him enter and he certainly wouldn’t have let himself further than the lobby, no matter who he was.
“Does that mean you’re not?”
Raphael rolled his eyes. “Honestamente, ¿Cómo han sobrevivido por tanto tiempo?” [Honestly, how did you survive for so long?]
“I told you.” Simon smiled, slowly. “We had you.”
Raphael wrapped his arms in front of his chest, assessing Simon for a long time, before he spoke up. “I’ll do things my way. At my pace. And I’ll reserve the right to call that annoying Felix ‘mutt’ whenever I feel like it. In exchange, I’ll make sure you won’t get killed by your own idiocy.”
“So you’ll come back?”
Raphael flattened his lips, before growling out a ‘Yes’.
“As the clan leader?”
“That a problem for you?”
“No,” Simon replied quickly, as if to assure him. “Not if that’s what you want.”
Raphael hummed in contemplation, before admitting with a shrug, “It's a good thing that I enjoy being the bad guy. And I’m good at it. Evidently.” A smile played around the corner of Simon's mouth, and he lowered his head, like he was trying to hide it. They both knew it was the truth anyway. “But don’t expect me to become like him.”
“I’m not. I won’t.”
Raphael was almost annoyed at how willingly Simon was letting him go, or at least made it seem that way, when it was obvious how much he struggled with those words, like he wanted to take them back, like he wanted to scream at Raphael to finally ask Magnus for advice.
“However,” Simon said, firmly, “that means we have an understanding concerning the weres. You won’t pick a fight with them anymore.”
“I still don’t understand what they gain from staying with us.”
Simon shrugged. “To find that out, you’ll have to talk to them. They have their reasons.”
Raphael clicked his tongue, had hoped that he was going to meet him half way and at least try to explain.
When neither of them spoke, Simon gestured at his laptop. “Now if that’s all, I need to get back to this.” It was a lie, one that Raphael was willing to overlook. Simon needed him to leave, but he understood why. The reason heavy in the pocked of his jacket, something he couldn’t convince himself to destroy.
Raphael was already turning around to leave to room, when a soft, “Welcome home.” reached him. There was something in Simon’s voice that he didn’t want to analyze, but it was pulling at his gut and tugging on his brain. He ignored it, only gave a nod in acknowledgment before leaving the room, Magnus’ warning following him to the kitchen, where he picked up a blood pack.
You will lose. You just don’t know it yet.
Chapter 5: Key of G Minor
Summary:
Raphael talks to the werewolves. Simon and Raphael learn to get along. Memories.
Notes:
Again, thanks to everyone for the support, and as always, to my beta, FanaticShipper07, and LilyCipher for the translations/input!
Chapter Text
G minor expresses sometimes sadness, sometimes, on the other hand, quiet and sedate joy a gentle grace with a slight touch of dreamy melancholy and occasionally it rises to a romantic elevation. It effectively portrays the sentimental; and when used for expressing passionate feelings the sweetness of its character will deprive the passion of all harshness and fierceness.
~ The Elements Of The Beautiful In Music by Ernst Pauer
The first thing Raphael did when he deemed it appropriate to return to the office a day later was to look at the folder with information on his and Simon’s friends. Simon watched him curiously out of the corner of his eyes while Raphael flipped through the papers in his search for the weird guy he had met at the diner. When Simon eventually decided to speak up, he acted like it was just a starter for idle conversation. “By the way, Kirk told me that he met you at Taki’s.”
Raphael paused, then opened the index for the folder, quickly finding the name with a few facts added next to it.
Kirk Duplesse – Mundane. Personal tailor. Knows about SW. Complicated history. Usual behavioral pattern: annoyance/dislike.
“He called me right after talking to you, thinking you’ve been possessed by a ghost. Or that a shapeshifter or alien had taken your form and was planning to attack us or something equally nefarious.” Simon chuckled, but he didn’t point out that this could have been avoided if Raphael had taken a look at the prepared material. “He's difficult, isn’t he?”
“That’s a generous way of phrasing it,” Raphael commented dryly, skimming the page of Kirk’s background, eyes narrowing as he caught the words ‘high school bully’ and ‘helped the clan’.
“Kirk was Manuel’s apprentice and took over his shop a few years ago. Do you remember Manuel? You used to go to school together.”
Raphael knitted his brows in thought. There was a Manuel he had been acquainted with, distantly though. Manuel had been a year younger, meek, shy, a tag-along. After his Turning, Raphael had seen him around Manhattan from time to time, had read about his marriage in the paper and had passed his business once or twice, but he had never engaged.
“I avoided him like everyone else who used to know me.” Raphael couldn’t come up with a reason to change that. Simon must have caught his underlining meaning, though didn’t react immediately, like he wasn’t certain if he was allowed to pick up on his confusion without Raphael acting like a total brat again.
“You saved his wife from a vampire attack,” he explained carefully, seemingly ready to drop the topic as soon as he detected a hint of annoyance. “The vamps used to be part of this clan and you were with them when they saw her leave his shop. It was some twenty years later and you thought he wouldn’t recognize you. He invited you to his shop, as thanks, and fitted a suit for you. When you talked, he let slip that he knew who you were, but he never asked questions. You came back every time you needed something, and no matter how many years passed, he never asked. And then you put Bernadette at his side.”
“I don’t know a Bernadette.”
“Maybe Bernarda?”
“No.”
“She’s Kirk’s assistant now. A warlock. She made... She made that pendant for you.”
Raphael would have thought it had been done by Magnus, believing he wouldn’t ever trust anyone else with his ashes and blood. He probably didn’t want the noisy warlock to pester him about it. Considering that this relationship was apparently a first and that Magnus had always subtly hinted that Raphael should open up to other people. To Magnus forsaking intimacy, no matter how superficial, was plain incomprehensible. Of course, he accepted that Raphael didn’t show an interest in anything romantic or sexual, but he had trouble understanding that his helpful advice that this was something Raphael had to correct or work on wasn’t very helpful.
“I don’t know her story,” Simon added quickly. “She asked you to never tell anyone, and when I asked her directly she made it clear that she doesn’t want to talk about it. Magnus or Catarina might know more, but I never asked them.”
Raphael’s fingers played with the edge of the papers, lips pressed together as he wondered if he should just accept the help Simon offered. Expression hard, he looked up another name in the index before flipping to that page. “Maureen,” he started, scanning her profile. “Lily said I’ve always treated her well.”
“Yes,” Simon replied, obviously confused at the jump in conversation.
“I don’t particularly care for her, ¿o sí?” [do I?]
Simon was quiet, before answering. “You don’t, but the reason for that isn’t important to you anymore.” It was the second time he said something that could have been left out to make this conversation less painful for him. Maybe Simon was a masochist or he needed the reminder that even if Raphael was acting civil, it didn’t mean anything. “I never even noticed until you told me, though.”
Something prickled at the back of his mind, emotions slowly surfacing. He had had this happen before, flashes of memories, muted but sharp, but this time there weren’t any pictures, just an abstract collection of thoughts and feelings: frustration, resignation, relief, confusion.
He had been hurt.
Resignation when he realized that he had been right all those years, that even if someone liked him as much as Simon did, they wouldn’t want a relationship with him. Frustration that he wasn’t enough, that he would never be enough, because he was lacking something important. It wouldn’t have bothered him if he hadn’t decided to act on it by trying to give more even at his own discomfort. Instead Simon had chosen someone else and was going to flaunt their relationship in his face, so he wouldn’t have to reject him, so he would understand without being told. Relief that he could go back to how things used to be, that he could retreat into his comfort zone and forget that he had ever done something so foolish, while the damage was still manageable, while he still had been at a point where it couldn’t affect him more than he was able to hide.
Confusion, when Maureen introduced her boyfriend.
“You used to go out with her?” Raphael hazarded a guess, frowning. Something felt wrong. He didn’t think that he was the type to chase someone who was already taken. Then again, there was a lot he didn’t used to be.
“No, I didn’t. You thought I did, though.”
So it was jealousy? That didn’t surprise him.
His father had been a jealous man, too, angered by every man that got too friendly with his wife. Even just talking had thrown him into a fit and Raphael had to watch, helpless, as his mother endured his punishments. She had taken his abuse without a whimper, had acted like it never happened, until his father chose the wrong person to vent his anger on.
In that regard, Simon and her were the same. Simon was willing to take everything Raphael threw at him, but wouldn't let it happen to the people he considered his family, meaning everyone in the clan and probably his friends. Maybe this was what Raphael had seen in him: a glimpse of his mother.
The thought was mildly disturbing.
He had loved his mother, still loved his mother. He wanted to make her proud, had wanted to lessen her burden and give her everything she had deserved. That didn’t mean he wanted a copy of her by his side. Not just because a person that kind and generous deserved someone better, but also because with them around, Raphael would feel inadequate, his flaws sticking out even worse. Also, he would probably get annoyed over time if they kept being too good.
It was at that point that Raphael had to acknowledge that talking about their former relationship like this was fine. Simon breaking up with him, admitting that he didn’t have a claim to Raphael, even if he might still have some lingering hope, made it easier to stomach and pretend that this was about someone else, that there was nothing expected of him.
He was silent for a while, wondering if he could ask all the questions that had been on his mind, that kept nagging at his brain. He wondered how far he could take this conversation before he would drive Simon away again.
Eliminating any hint of doubt before speaking, otherwise running into the risk of hesitating and stumbling over his own words, he looked at Simon again. “When we fought in the music room, you mentioned certain inclinations.” Simon frowned, and Raphael elaborated, the word rolling over his tongue in distaste, “Kinks.”
Simon’s eyes widened abruptly, a deer caught in the headlights expression on his face. “I hoped you didn’t know what that meant.”
Raphael rolled his eyes. A list of his sexual preferences was among the first things Elliott had used to introduce himself. “Did you mean yours or mine?”
“Neither…?” It was one of the worst lies the Latino had ever been subjected to.
“What are mine?”
“I don't think we should talk about this.”
“Quisiera saber,” [I’d like to know] Raphael pressed, keeping his voice flat.
Simon sighed, sounding tired. “What does it matter? You might not even have the same interests anyway.”
“¿Por qué crees eso?” [Why do you believe that?]
Raphael had assumed that sexual preferences were inherent, that even if they might have to be discovered first, they weren’t learned or acquired. Given his constitution and considering that there had never been anything remotely tantalizing in what he had seen and heard before, he had also been led to believe that there wasn’t something that could potentially stimulate him, which was why Simon’s comment had caught him by surprise.
“I mean like... you know... how you… you used to value the clan?” Simon stuttered, without saying anything meaningful or shocking. “How this was your family?”
“Does that have anything to do with my question?”
Before Simon had the chance to justify his train of thought, there was a sudden crash in the hallway that turned into a drawn out curse. A few seconds later, Elliott stood in the doorway, eyes wide, whipping on his heels in excitement. “God Simon, don’t tell me it’s a breeding kink!”
“What?” Simon exclaimed, shocked. “No!”
“Is it a daddy kink? Oh, please, please let it be a daddy kink.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Simon snapped, more panic than authority in his voice. “It’s not!”
“Ohhhh, daddy, I’ll be so good for you,” Elliott moaned, completely ignoring Simon’s objection. One hand to his temple, pressing his body against the door frame as he sensually threw his head back, half-lidded eyes directly on Raphael, his tone lowered as he dragged out the syllabels, every important word punctuated. “I’ll be your good little boy, daddy. I’ll do everything you want. Come on, fuck your dirty little boy. Breed my slutty hole. Pump it full—”
“Elliott, shut the fuck up!”
Simon looked as horrified as Raphael felt at the display. Despite that, he still tried to assess if Elliott’s act did something for him, stirred some sort of feeling that didn’t come close to repulsion.
It did not.
Simon must have interpreted his inquisitive gaze wrongly, when he turned to him to say something, because he suddenly began to vehemently stutter in order to deny the theories. “They are not your kinks. I swear! It’s just something very specific—”
“Never mind, forget I asked,” Raphael said, hoping to keep Simon from full out panicking. He didn’t even want to know anymore. Honestly, he could live with no answer for now. It was too soon for this type of conversation anyway. Maybe Simon was right and he could just skip this whole thing entirely.
“Is it age play then?” Elliott continued, proving that he never knew when to stop. “I do like—”
“Stop it! It's not,” Simon snapped. “And everyone knows what you like, you maniac!”
Raphael watched them bicker a moment longer, weakly amused. Elliott was still throwing in wild suggestions that Simon had stopped negating, in favor of a different approach by making him understand that this was absolutely none of his business. Another couple minutes in, though, he was getting irritated.
He should have closed the door.
During the time Raphael had been gone from the hotel, Simon had continued to work the same way as he did before. He left summaries for the letters and E-Mails, managed his calendar and rescheduled dates. As if he had expected Raphael to return. It might have also been habit. Upon Raphael’s return and declaration that he would resume his place as clan leader, he wasn’t sure how much was going to change after their break-up, but all in all, Simon was mostly the same: quiet when he was working and patiently answering every question.
The only obvious change was that he didn’t see much of him during the day and almost never ran into him outside the office. Simon was always there, somewhere, but it was in passing, like he purposefully avoided staying in one place too long. He probably avoided staying in the same place with Raphael.
Another, more curious change, was that the fountain pens vanished from his desk, replaced by standard throw away pens. He was unexpectedly annoyed at that and surprised to find out how picky he could be about using a specific utensil, but he had really taken a liking to them. In comparison, the light plastic pens were a sheer imposition. However apart from the one that had his name engraved on the cap, he doubted he had any claim to them.
Simon must have noticed him cursing, though, because the fountain pens returned to his desk the next day. Raphael looked at them, then over to Simon, who avoided his gaze, so he decided to keep quiet about it.
If Raphael would have to sum it up in one word, he would say it was ‘quiet’.
Contrary to his expectations even the werewolves left him alone. He had assumed they would ambush him as soon as possible to get an apology. Frankly, he was surprised that it hadn’t been part of his deal with Simon to begin with. However the first day had passed with a few awkward nods in acknowledgment on both sides. The third day had been less awkward, but that might have been because Raphael was in the office continuing the Q&A about acquaintances that they had postponed because of obvious reason. The first reason being that Simon was unable to look at Raphael after Elliott had finally left. The second, that Raphael helped him in avoiding eye contact by staying the hell away from either of them.
On a side note, he honestly hated how social Simon was. The list of his acquaintances was thrice as long as Raphael’s and that one actually included business relations.
On the fifth day, Jane sat down next to him on the couch that he was currently sharing with Maria, who was chatting happily about a plant on her windowsill that was getting too much sun and stood a little too hot between the glass of the window and the thick fabric of her sun-reflecting drapes.
“I’m not going to apologize, because you were a real jackass,” she said, like they were in the middle of a conversation instead of at the beginning. “But I am sort of sorry that Simon got into a fight with you because of us, so I hope we can make some peace.”
Raphael pursed his lips.
He had his hands in front of him, palms about a foot apart, green yarn wound around them, while Maria was knitting a sweater that she was going to give someone for Christmas. As far as he knew, it was the sixth or seventh one she was making, each one more cheery and gaudy than the one before. It wasn’t exactly the most authoritarian position to be in, but he had dealt with worse, so he feigned indifference and clicked his tongue. “Don’t flatter yourself. I would have found a different way to start a fight with Simon. You just made it easy.”
Jane glared at him in anger. “Fuck you. You really don’t know when to stop, do you?”
She was simple, took words at face value, subtlety was lost on her, and reading between the lines didn’t exist in her world. Raphael didn’t necessarily hate those types of people as they usually were refreshingly direct and earnest, albeit somewhat crude and explosive. He did, however dislike having to spell intentions out for them. Rolling his eyes, he tilting his head back. “Meaning, you were only an excuse.”
She had been about to storm off in anger, but stopped abruptly, finally catching on. Then she sat back down, confused. “So you don’t want us gone?”
“Those are two different things.” Raphael felt a needle poking his sides, but when he glanced over to Maria she looked like she was absorbed in her own thoughts. Raphael doubted that it was sheer coincidence, so he added, “But I don’t intend to harm any of you.” Which was what Jane had been worried about in the first place.
The girl thoughtfully furrowed her brow.
It took her a moment to gather her thoughts and come up with a reply, and if Raphael had to guess what it was going to be, he would have been wrong. “After you left, we sat together with some of the vamps and talked about what you said. It’s true. We never asked what they had to give up for us to be here. We never thought you guys had to give up something. They explained to us how things used to be in the sixties between weres and vamps, too. It sort of reminded us of what we dealt with, why we are here in the first place. Your accusations got us started, and I think we wouldn’t have talked about it if it weren’t for you. So I guess thanks?”
Jane was leaning forward, staring into space, her elbows resting on her knees, chin propped on her hands. Her slouch was the opposite to Raphael’s straight posture, as he tried to gain every inch. She was young, but her expression in that moment was that of an adult, of someone who had seen more than they should have.
He wasn’t forced to interact with her, it wasn’t part of his deal. He didn’t need to understand their motive, didn’t need to talk to them, but there was a lot in this world that he didn’t understand and that he wouldn’t unless he asked.
“You said your pack was killed,” Raphael said, surprising her either with the response or the information that he had listened to her before.
“Yeah.” Jane stuttered the word. Her scent was flavored with confusion and sadness. She let her eyes wander, maybe contemplating how much she wanted to tell, how much she could bear to recall. It was obviously still painful for her. “I was twelve and my… my sister was killed by Camille’s vamps. They Turned her. As punishment. Because my pack joined your fight against her. Then my pack was killed in that last clash, and my sister, she was ten, and I were alone. I didn’t want to live apart, but I couldn’t take care of her either. You guys were already living with three other weres, and you offered us to stay, so we did.”
Raphael tried to remember if there was a vampire that young, but he figured he would have noticed immediately. “Where is your sister now?”
Jane tensed, then shrugged. “She killed herself a few years ago. She never got used to being a vamp, couldn’t deal with it, couldn’t stand seeing me grow older and leaving her behind. One day, she told me that everything was alright and that she loved me, and then walked through the front door into the sun.” Tears were prickling at the corner of her eyes and she wiped them harshly away before they could fall. “I didn’t know how unhappy she was, how much she hated it. We talked. She seemed fine. We joked. Went out. And the next day she was gone.”
Maria made a noise of distress as she dropped her knitting needles and pulled Jane into a hug over Raphael’s lap, whispering words of comfort. He felt somewhat awkward between them, frozen solid, and was glad that Jane gently but firmly pushed the other woman away. “I know it’s not my fault.” She chuckled, wetly. With one look at Raphael, she added, “I stayed after that, because this was my new home. I guess it can be said that I also stayed because it was convenient. Still, I always planed to move out as soon as I made my own money but you, I mean Raphael, he always told to me concentrate on studying. I could always repay you later.”
Raphael looked at her, giving a sharp nod as a sign that he was listening, but then started to unwind the yarn from his hands, feeling the need to leave her emotions behind.
“Last year, they turned my boyfriend into a vamp,” another woman suddenly shimmed in. The werewolves had trickled in after Jane had started talking to him, joined by a few vampires that were finding a space to sit in the common room as well. “To take revenge. My pack wanted me to break up with him, but it was my fault it happened and I loved him, so I couldn’t. Your clan was the only one who would let me be with him.”
“My father was an asshole,” a third werewolf started, surely encouraged by Raphael’s silence and the fact that he hadn’t left yet. The yarn had gotten tangled and he knew Maria would look at him in disappointment if he simply ripped it apart to break free. “He wanted werewolf children, had married another werewolf because he thought it meant he would get them, that dumb fucker. He thought I was an abomination for being human, but when my sister was born a human as well, he decided to take matters into his own hands. So he bit me. I begged him to wait with my sister until she was older, and he did. But then vampires abducted her.”
The man was silent for a moment, glancing at a woman further off, sitting between two vampires who had their arms slung around her shoulder. “I searched everywhere. When I finally found her, and realized what happened, I knew our dad would kill her if we showed up. We weren’t welcomed anywhere. I didn’t know how to get her blood. Then we heard about a vampire clan accepting weres, so we came here all the way from Missouri.”
“Quite a feat with a newborn,” Raphael admitted, shaking the rest of the yarn off.
The man’s expression brightened at the praise.
“Same for me,” another man spoke up. “I was too young and too stupid to take care of myself, let alone a newborn vampire. I was a child myself, never part of any pack. Unlucky to be the child of a Shadowhunter who angered the wrong werewolf. Then my father was Turned. We were afraid to be a target of one group or another. This is the only vampire clan that would give us the chance to live as a family.”
“They all have similar stories,” Felix summarized, making his way through the room and sitting down across from Raphael. “Friends, family, lovers. They wanted to live as a family but werewolf packs wouldn’t let them join for the same reason clans didn’t accept them. The vamps were too young to know anything, mostly still traumatized. You took them in, you trained them. In the most cases, the werewolf leaves after a few years, either because they break up, or because they go to college or want to live on their own. They join Luke’s pack, and can visit their family members here.”
“But that’s not your story,” Raphael stated, confidently.
Felix smiled. “No. I was the first. I was chased by vamps. You saved my life, called in Magnus to patch me up. At first, I only wanted to repay my debt, but I really came to like you guys. And as destiny kinda wanted,” he flushed lightly red, ignoring the snickers from everyone around them, “I fell in love with someone in this clan. But he rarely left the hotel. I knew I would never get a chance if I left this place. You were the only one knew, at that time, but I don’t believe you ever thought they would let me live here.”
“That really doesn’t raise my confidence in the ability of the vampires here,” Raphael said, wondering how everyone could miss a love-sick werewolf, that was as expressive and annoying as Felix.
“Excuse me,” Victoria called over, insulted. “His heart-beat is constantly in overdrive. He’s sweating all the time because he’s nervous all the time. He’s really jumpy. It was really difficult to notice! You’re just a freak, that’s all.”
Lifting his brow hopefully conveyed how little he bought her arguments. She only huffed in reply, reiterating ‘freak’ under her breath.
“Anyway, it wasn’t like an instant ‘yes’. They told me I couldn’t stay with the clan, but I was allowed to visit so I was really shameless. I kept coming back like a boomerang. Only took almost dying to be allowed to live here.”
“And because you were crap at fighting you finally left an impression on Arthur, too,” Bernice added with a low chuckle. “Double win.”
“I helped him a little,” Felix growled back.
“You were standing in his way and almost got him killed,” Charles corrected.
Raphael didn’t remember an Arthur in the clan, but it didn’t sound like he was gone. “I don’t remember meeting him yet.”
“Who? Arthur?” Bernice asked. “That’s because he’s with Lazar at the moment. You know, the vampire exchange? He’s there every year for the whole November.”
“Yeah, he’ll be back in a couple days.” Felix expression softened, as he added under his breath, “Finally.”
Raphael left out a non-descriptive sound. So they were still together, it seemed.
“Well?” Lily asked, stepping into his field of vision. Same as Simon, she had been around, but staying out of his sight. Raphael hadn’t been sure if she had avoided him while still doing her job or if she hadn’t known how to approach him. Now she positioned herself in front of him, arms crossed. “Is this good enough for you?”
Raphael pursed his lips, titling his head, hating to be on display.
It wasn’t enough.
Raphael understood the reasoning of the werewolves, but why the clan had suddenly decided to do this was still a mystery to him. He figured it wasn’t something that they could explain, that even if they tried, he wouldn't get – his world view too dark, skewed and bitter.
His moment of silence must have been too long, because Felix picked it up. “Even if you don’t approve, we hope that you realize that we are grateful. And that we are loyal to this clan.”
“And it’s not like we expect you to apologize or anything if that’s why you won’t say anything,” Jane added. “It’s like, we all agree that it’s physically impossible for you. Like, nobody wants you to puke blood or get sick or something just because you had to say ‘I’m sorry’. So you can stop looking at us like we’re asking you to swallow needles or whatever.”
Raphael huffed, barely keeping from rolling his eyes again. “It will do,” he replied in the end, earning himself a scoff from Lily, while Jane pumped both her fists in victory and Maria smiled at him happily. A few other vampires cheered somewhat sarcastically. Felix gave a low whistle, and as if she had only been waiting for a sign, paws thundered on the wood of the floor and then Raphael’s lap was completely covered in a blanket of excited dog, a powerful tail whacking against his thigh.
Marceline barked once, then licked a long wet stripe over Raphael’s face.
The Latino grimaced in disgust before pushing the dog from his lap. Hair he could deal with, but dog fluids were unacceptable. Marceline didn’t seem bothered by his reaction, but everyone in the room laughed at him. Deciding that it was still too early for this kind of bonding, he got up, gave one last withering look at Felix who seemed to shrink under his glare, and left.
His exit was ruined by an excited dog following on his heel, intensively staring at him like she wanted to hypnotize him into giving her a snack.
Raphael just knew: he was going to regret everything.
Over the next days Raphael became more and more comfortable with Simon. He didn’t feel like constantly making sure that they didn’t have a relationship and didn’t feel the urge to bite back and push him away. With the tension between them easing, Raphael caught a glimpse of the person Simon was when he wasn’t struggling to stay in control of a situation that was impossible to get a grip on. Instead, Simon was smiling more often now and talked a lot more about meaningless topics.
Simon had always felt wrong, that ever serious, composed expression unfitting. The person he was beginning to show now felt far more more authentic in comparison.
It didn’t go unnoticed that they got along better either, but the only one who approached him about it was Lily. She slapped a hand against his shoulder with a wide grin, claiming how proud she was that he finally managed to get his act together and asking what had incited that change, maybe hoping that it was an internal motivation. When Raphael told her, she only looked sad.
However, sometimes situations between them still had the tendency to become plain awkward. Not necessarily Raphael’s fault. Most of the time he didn’t understand why Simon was flustered or clumsy around him, when he didn’t do or say anything special. The latter seemed to be a more natural part of Simon’s personality, something that he had hidden well under grief and willpower. The former was likely just his inability to cope with the differences, minor as they were, at least in Raphael’s opinion.
“You are…,” Simon started, tensing in his chair and wetting his lips after Raphael had walked up to him with a question. Raphael raised his eyebrows, waiting for the end of that sentence. “...too close.”
The Latino threw a pointed look at the space between them. Simon didn't seem to have a very large personal bubble, going by the way he had no problem around strangers and friends alike. Still, with a frown, he took a step back nevertheless, adding another step after a look at Simon’s face.
Simon raked one hand through his hair, unhappy with his own reaction. “You usually don’t,” he started, but then dropped it. “Never mind. It’s fine. You do you. I’ll get used to it.”
Simon wanted to explain himself, but he was walking a thin rope between justification and steering Raphael in the direction of his usual behaviors and pattern. Raphael was supposed to find himself, to become himself, that was what Simon had told him, but it wasn’t easy when there were expectations that he kept missing.
Still, over time they learned to keep their interactions light and superficial, sometimes even slipping into banter that came to an abrupt stop when Simon wanted to say something before reminding himself that he probably shouldn’t. Half the time, though, Raphael had no idea what Simon was talking about but that seemed completely normal, and oftentimes, Raphael would ask for clarification.
When his questions bordered too much on personal, though, Simon would deflect or change the topic. Just like when Raphael wanted to know how they had gotten together and Simon dismissed it by saying that it wasn’t their story anymore.
Raphael knew that he had absolutely no right to press for answers. He understood that Simon didn’t want to talk about it after being forced to leave it behind. Therefore Raphael would only ever ask once, never a second time. It didn’t change the fact that their previously shared life had a habit of showing its head.
A week after his return, they were cleaning up his desk, sorting through notes he had kept in his desk, when he found a speech. Judging by the handwriting it had been written by Simon. The paper was crumbled, like it had been bunched into a ball and thrown away. The content was debating the merits of having emotions, explaining why showing them wasn’t a weakness. The arguments were connected by arrows, some crossed out, whole paragraphs underlined and marked with exclamation points.
Simon was surprised to see it, taking it out of his hands, eyes skimming over the lines, teeth biting into his lower lip, expression switching back and forth between amusement and sorrow. Raphael wanted to know the backstory, but he could guess by the way Simon had talked to him before, figuring that the conversation in the music room about Raphael’s alleged weakness wasn’t the first of that kind. Maybe a lot of the things Simon had told him in the past weeks hadn’t been a first time for him.
Eleven years, Raphael repeated in his head, watching Simon’s profile as he continued to read the text, face muscles ever changing. Simon had been by Raphael’s side for many years, probably fighting the same wars repeatedly, patiently, and tenaciously, while learning when he had to back off to come back even stronger, to give Raphael time to think before demanding answers.
If Raphael had a person like Simon in his earlier years, what type of person would he have become? What type was he going to become now?
Raphael didn’t understand what made Simon fight for him and their relationship so much that he was writing down speeches. He honestly couldn’t see it, even though Simon had tried to explain. Giving him opportunities, being there for him – how could it be that simple to capture someone’s heart and keep it locked away? There must be more to it than simply offering some support.
“¿Qué te gusta de mí?” [What do you like about me?] Raphael heard himself ask, keeping his face straight despite wanting to grimace at the stupid question.
Simon looked at him in surprise before he shrugged, replying with a grin, “Your face.”
“Nobody sticks around that long for a face.”
“It’s a very pretty face,” Simon added with a laugh, dodging the question again, like he did all the time. “And I’m immortal. Years don’t mean shit to me.”
Simon wanted to throw the paper away, but Raphael stopped him. It was so unlike him, to keep something that only had sentimental value, but he might have known why his older version had tucked it away in a drawer, what it meant to look at it in his moments of doubts.
Raphael had many of those, brooding in silence, alone, trying to make sense of this crazy world, trying to justify his decisions, telling himself that he was right, that he could have done worse. He wondered if he still had those, or if he was done questioning himself and wallowing in deaths his words had demanded.
The other vampire watched him with pursed lips, but didn’t say anything when Raphael put the paper in the desktop organizer marked with the label ‘personal’. He probably didn’t like that Raphael kept something that didn’t belong to him, that wasn’t written for him, but he also didn’t object, likely as conflicted about it as Raphael was about many issues.
“My face. You are rather low maintenance,” Raphael decided, startling Simon out of his reverie. “Supongo que eso puede ser encantador.” [I guess that can be charming.]
“Do you think you’re different?” Simon replied, amused. “Well, you’re not, unless it comes to your clothes and bikes.”
Rafael had mentioned his bike as well before. It was true that Raphael used to own one, an old shabby thing he had appropriated from a vampire who had died. Nothing about it was even remotely special enough to be the considered high maintenance, but he likely had switched the models over the years. “I agree on the suits,” he said, adding a subtle hint he hoped Simon would pick up, “but I haven’t seen my bike yet, so I can’t possibly give an opinion.”
Simon frowned. Then grinned. “Oh, you’re in for a real treat.”
With those words, he was led to the garage. Turning on the lights revealed several cars with blended windows and two sections with bikes. Simon added light to the one furthest in the back.
Raphael approached the ten bikes parked there, cautiously excited, letting his eyes wander over every single one, each in impeccable shape, cleaned to shine. They didn’t have a single scratch, as if they had never been driven before but the magic they gave off, more than demonic power, made it clear that they were protected. “Which one is mine?”
“Take a guess.” Simon’s amused smirk only left one answer.
“Todas.” [All of them.]
“Ding, ding, ding.”
Raphael was almost embarrassed at the decadence he allowed himself. It wasn’t like he needed more than one bike to get around, let alone ten. A part of him struggled to accept it. This extravagance was something he knew far too well from Camille, who surrounded herself by expensive goods she didn’t need, nor wanted, at times, but had to own because they garnered envy. Another part, though, was more than pleased with himself.
Driving was the only pleasure he didn’t need to hide, because Camille couldn’t care less for something so dirty, boring and mundane. However, to Raphael it was his only escape. When he was alone in the sky, away from prying eyes waiting for him to slip and fall, he could be, do, show whatever he wanted. Belatedly, Raphael realized that this was what Simon was offering him; to be as free as he was when he was up in the sky.
He hadn’t comprehended, not really, when Simon had told him, the thought too abstract for him. Turning around, his words died on his lips when he realized that Simon had already left. He didn’t stop to analyze his disappointment, his interest captured by the machines again.
Almost reverently, Raphael touched the back of the bike closest to him. He knew from the logo who the manufacturer was, but couldn’t tell what he was looking at; type, model, worth. It didn’t matter. It was beautiful, with its black base color, fairings and tank of a flashy gold, the frame blending into a light gray, accentuated by the red spring of the rear suspension and red wheels.
When Raphael had entered the garage he had no knowledge about the bikes, but thanks to the magazines and technical sheets stashed in a sideboard, he knew everything he ever needed to know and more. Even though the technical details were a formality for demonic bikes, as everything could be powered and adjusted with a demon engine, Raphael had loved the hybrid version he once used to own. Looking at the bikes now, that still held true. It made the motorcycles less powerful compared to full demonic bikes, but they also didn’t dissolve in daylight.
Raphael checked the time for the fourth time, annoyed that he still had to wait another hour for sundown, when he remembered that he had been doing something before coming to the garage. He also realizing that Simon had managed to masterfully divert his attention away from their conversation.
Raphael let it slide in favor of checking the information of the sixth bike in his collection, a black adventure in naked streetfighter design with yellow accents emphasizing the hard lines and angles of the motorcycle.
He could deal waiting for another hour.
Even though he had made tentative peace with the werewolves and the vampires, Raphael was still mostly keeping to himself. There were only a few vampires he regularly engaged with. Unfortunately, one of them was Elliott, who seemed quite adamant to get on his nerves in all kinds of manners. He was constantly seeking him out and completely ignoring his moods. At the height of this insolence, he dragged Raphael into a common room, connected the large TV to a laptop and started a slideshow of different videos and photos from their normal, everyday clan life.
Raphael thought about objecting, before his curiosity won him over.
The first handful of pictures showed groups of vampires, all of them members presently in the clan, followed by a rather unflattering picture of Simon. It showed him with crooked glasses, disheveled hair and messy clothes. He looked like he had just come from an exhausting fight, but Raphael was more distracted by the glasses. Then there was a picture of Lily, depicting her in her element, triumphant expression as she stood above someone lying on the ground. On closer look, it seemed to be Raphael.
Elliott showed material of the clan engaging in different kinds of free time activities. Flower arrangement. Knitting. Woodwork. Dance lessons. He explained that the summers were long and boring. The vampires used to get antsy around that time so they had decided to pick an activity that helped to divert from the fact that they were basically stuck in the hotel for twenty hours a day.
Raphael hated summers in the DuMort, hated that lingering stench of boredom and death and piss, when vampires wasted away during the day and captured humans in the few hours of the night to keep them around for entertainment.
This didn’t seem the case anymore. The vampires seemed lively; happy, annoyed, angry, excited. There was Derek, unlike the emotionless man he knew, dancing tango with Arya, using knitting needles as swords in a fight with Simon and proudly presenting a phallus shaped wood figurine. There was Lily grinning widely next to a huge flower bouquet. Then a video of her, embarrassed, when she showed a log of wood she claimed was supposed to depict a dolphin while the person behind the camera – from the voice he figured Arya, the owner of most of the videos – made fun of her.
When he suddenly saw himself in the next video, Raphael wanted to reach out and close the laptop. He was dancing salsa with Lily. Her movements were fluid and graceful even when she opted for more acrobatic moves that Raphael confidently guided and helped her through. She danced the way she lived, dangerous and true to herself. She didn’t wear a fancy dress or heels, but baggy pants and flat sneakers. At one point in their performance, to surprised cheers and enthusiastic clapping, they switched roles with Lily leading Raphael through a series of quick-paced spins and twirls. They probably only managed to still look elegant because they were about the same height. Despite being in the unsuited role of follower, Raphael never stopped, slowed or showed any self-consciousness, even added flourishes to his movements, while throwing a cocky almost flirtatious grin at her. Throughout their performance they continued to fluidly switch between lead and follow but when they stopped it was Raphael who was held in Lily’s open embrace.
It looked like he had fun.
Raphael didn’t know he could dance.
The next video showed Simon in the middle of doing weird impressions, looking directly at the lens. He was whipping his head around in dramatic fashion, hands on his face, puckering his lips and trying to look seductive but utterly failing. When Raphael walked into the room, he did a double take, then stared at Simon with eyebrows high. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Sexily introducing myself like one of the characters in a telenovela.’
The camera turned from Raphael to Simon’s smirking face and then to Bernice and Derek, who were sitting on the couch next to the person holding the camera, probably Arya again. They were still laughing at Simon’s antics, Bernice making wheezing noises, before the camera swung back to Raphael.
‘It looks like you’re spasming,’ Raphael said. ‘Wouldn’t it be something like—’
‘Nope!’ Simon called out immediately, waving his hands frantically to hide Raphael from the camera. ‘You’re not allowed to do a sexy introduction. You know how it goes in the shows! Bright lights, slowmo, seductive music. And everyone will immediately fall in love with you and then I’ll have to fight them to protect your virtue. Do you really think I stand a chance against Derek? Or Arya?’
‘Nobody will fall in love with him.’ Derek was heard off-screen.
‘Why do you have to throw him a challenge?’ Simon asked in faked indignation. ‘You know he doesn't resist them.’
‘Also, you make it sound like Arya is stronger than me.’
‘But she is,’ Bernice said, pride in her girlfriend swinging in her voice, while Arya made a cooing noise. ‘She constantly kicks your ass.’
‘Anyway!’ Simon interrupted with a chuckle, looking at Raphael. ‘I was trying to explain why telenovelas are so hilarious. And then I thought, damn, shooting one must be so much fun.’
‘Sarcascm?’ Raphael asked off-screen.
‘No, no,’ Simon objected, ‘Seriously. All those exaggerated facial expressions are simply hilarious without a close-up and sound effects and stuff. And the evil monologuing in front of a mirror? So ridiculous. Then all those dramatic fights over nothing. Like seriously, the actors must have a blast on set. And I wonder, are they making it up on the spot? Do they see some random object and think, hey let’s fight over that?’
‘Baby’s a big fan, I gather,’ Bernice stated.
‘Occasionally,’ Simon replied with a shrug. ‘Mostly because I think Raphael took some inspiration from them for his dramatic bad boy vamp acting.’ Raphael gave Simon credit that he didn't even blink when on-screen Raphael suddenly appeared right in front of him, both hands on the arm rests of the armchair, effectively boxing him in. Simon only looked at him, quite unimpressed, then replied cheekily, ‘I hope you know how cliché you’re being right now.’
Raphael huffed. ‘I liked you better when you were still scared of me.’
‘You said I never was.’
‘And you said you were.’
Dropping forward with a grin, Simon loosely wrapped his arms around the other's neck, their faces only inches apart. ‘That train has long left the station.’
Those expressions right there made the Raphael watching the video almost uncomfortable. Simon’s face was so open in its affection. There was nothing hidden behind that gaze, there was no doubt of his feelings, no fear of rejection, just tenderness. What worried him more, however, was his own expression, subtle as it was.
Raphael didn’t know that kind of face. He had studied, practiced, and perfected all of his expressions in front of a mirror until he knew how to twist his lips in disdain, how to shape his mouth into a seductive smile, how to lift his chin in contempt, how to lower his eyebrows in doubt. He knew how to move, and was charming, handsome, and twisted enough to manipulate at his will to get what he wanted.
Yet, he had never seen this expression on himself.
The camera turned, showing Arya’s face for the first time, her hand in front of her mouth. It was as wide as her eyes in feigned shock. When Derek spoke up, she moved her head out of the way. ‘I’m hallucinating,’ he said, ogling Simon and Raphael with something akin to trauma. ‘Have we reached the point were you flirt in—’
The display switched abruptly to a blue screen in the middle of Derek’s sentence. Raphael, too transfixed on the on-goings on screen to pay attention, almost flinched, when he realized that Simon stood next to the laptop, his finger still on the power button for a hard shut down. He looked unexpectedly pissed, but one look at Elliott, who definitely knew he had done something wrong and tried to hide behind a throw pillow, was explanation enough. He probably wasn’t allowed to show them together.
“I thought it would help him remember,” Elliott started to explain. “You know how they say it’s best to tell the person what happened and show pictures and—”
“Not about us,” Simon cut in, his voice cold in anger.
“It doesn’t look like he minds, though?” Elliott tried, pointing at Raphael.
No. Raphael was mostly confused. It was odd to see a version of himself acting in a way he never thought he would.
“I mind,” Simon said with one non-descriptive look at Raphael. Maybe he had expected him to object himself. “Show him whatever you want,” Simon added with a click of his tongue as he walked away. “But leave us out of it.”
Elliott watched Simon, then Raphael. In the past couple weeks the Latino had learned that Elliott was, despite his behavior and appearance, somewhat sharp but decided to show it only for about one minute of a normal day. This seemed to be that one minute. When he reached for his laptop to reboot, he didn’t even take a second to pretend that he had to resort his images or delete some. This video was probably the only one with Simon and Raphael together, but Raphael had seen what Elliott had wanted him to see. Simon could protest all he wanted, but he couldn’t make it unseen.
Even if Simon wasn’t in the following pictures or videos, Raphael could tell when he was close by or was the one holding the camera. He had seen his own face and that expression was burned into his memory, attention drawn to the background as soon as he spotted it.
While Elliott continued his slide show, clan members returning from their outings began to join them. It soon became a loud and chaotic get-together, with everyone giving their two cents to what they remembered about the day a picture or video was taken, sometimes adding detail by explaining what happened in the background of the shot.
In took them hours to get through the folder, but nobody seemed bored. They were arguing, discussing, laughing and for one memorable moment, resorted to arm wrestling to settle an argument.
There was a video of Lily and Raphael fighting, likely the prelude to the picture he had seen at the beginning, because they were wearing the same clothes. A memento of their first vampire exchange, someone said. Raphael was impressed, because he used to easily lose against Lily.
There was a picture with Raphael wearing a bulletproof vest, bedraggled with all kinds of colored paints, even some splatters on his face. He still looked rather aloof, but the sharpness of his lips and eyes showed how annoyed he was. Everyone cheered when the picture came up.
“Best. Paintball. Ever,” someone shouted.
“It was so super annoying how nobody ever managed to get a hit on you,” Victoria explained from somewhere in the common room. Too many people to locate her with his eyes. “So we all ganged up on you. Even you couldn’t escape!”
Raphael felt a little proud to hear that. There was no shame to be brought down by fifty vampires on a mission. He was also somewhat pleased to find out that this disorganized bunch managed to work together to achieve a goal.
It was reassuring to see these memories, to learn that there was a life without Simon, that they weren’t huddled together 24/7. It was good to hear all the silly things they used to get up to, to see that the clan truly liked each other and him, his older self. He wasn’t like Camille, wasn’t there just to rule with an iron grip and fear.
They should have done this sooner, but he knew that he wouldn’t have let them, that he was pushing his older version away out of principle, out of dislike, out of disappointment. Despite the fact that the person he envisioned himself to become was dislikable, harsh and a copy of Camille sans the insanity. Then again, Camille had been sane once, too. Maybe he would have turned into her, misguided confidence, blinded by his own power, surrounded by people who only told him what he wanted to hear because they were too scared to do otherwise.
He would have become worse than Camille.
In comparison, the person that he did become was maybe harsh, rude, and manipulative, but had never lost his humanity. He obviously wasn’t afraid of being back-stabbed by someone in his own clan. He could relax and have fun and occasionally enjoy himself surrounded with everyone – even if that wasn’t often by the commentary he picked up. Still, he wasn’t excluded, feared, or avoided. Despite being the apparently rather unpleasant person that he was, he still belonged and was part of this clan and life.
Just like Simon had said.
If he hadn’t been so obstinate he would have noticed it from the beginning, from the way everyone had reacted to his presence. Raphael didn’t exactly believe his mistrust was misguided and while the two weeks of tension that he had brought to this clan weren’t great, it was still manageable.
For some reason though, he felt like he had to make up for it somehow, not with words even if that would be enough, but Raphael honestly wasn’t good at apologizing. His older version wasn’t any better in that regard, a relief as he appeared to have quite a few advantages to his younger version.
However, there was one thing he was better at: flexibility.
He wasn’t yet set in his ways, wasn’t as hung up on his appearance and his pride, which was saying a lot because he already felt like he was very particular about that. However, he had seen the surprise when he walked around in casual clothing, something that his wardrobe wasn’t exactly full of. That and Simon’s expression was all he needed to know that probably nobody got to see him in jeans and shirts most of the time. He also wasn’t as particular about wearing his hair lose as long as it was tamed. And he didn’t need to stay three feet away from other people, and wasn’t as tight lipped about his past.
In sum, he carried far less baggage than his older version did. Older Raphael always had a haunted look in his expression and seemed more guarded even though it appeared like he had far less reason to do so. Like he couldn’t shake it off, like he couldn’t trust the calm and expected a storm.
The confusing descriptions were beginning to make sense.
A little less approachable by being more hostile, by having to keep his act up, but a little more open by allowing more expressions. A little less calm in his youthful and ignorant aggravation, a little more relaxed when it came to certain matters like sharing information or his past. He was more and less in some regards, minor derivations that to most wouldn't be very noticeable.
He was beginning to understand that his older version was a prisoner to his own emotions. He had gotten good at hiding them, had erected walls around himself that he couldn’t or wouldn’t destroy. It probably wasn’t easy tear them down. Younger Raphael didn’t have all those walls yet, but honestly couldn’t tell if that made him better or worse, if those walls and the fact that he never truly seemed to show himself to anyone else apart from Simon maybe, were the reason the clan had come to accept him, if they were more likely to dislike the person he really was, now in his thirties, self-conscious beneath all that air of confidence that he projected and had perfected over the years.
Raphael didn’t know what had happened between Camille and him, what this world had turned him into, broken down and haphazardly put back together in his stubbornness to keep going, to live more lifetimes than he was worth, to redeem himself for something that wasn’t redeemable. He didn’t know how often he had been beaten to the ground, how often he had stood a winner. There was so much he didn’t know, and maybe it was true. Maybe it was a blessing that he didn’t know.
The man he saw on the large display, the man that they were talking about so happily, aware that it was only showing the good times through rose colored glass, was someone he wasn’t averse to becoming. That man appeared bolder and livelier. He was graceful, strong, smart and resourceful. He was the man that helped build and protect this haven. However it was a version of himself that had been shaped by hardships and victories he would never experience again, that had learned and thrived in situations that were impossible to recreate, that maybe shouldn’t be repeated, because he was still affected and haunted by them. Yet without those experiences, he doubted he was going to become this person again – and he wasn’t sure if that was alright.
After getting a taste of his past, Raphael decided to use his phone for the first time. He knew he had thrown it in one of the drawers in his room but couldn’t find it anywhere. So he went to ask Simon who confirmed that he had taken it. Raphael was regularly keeping in contact with people through his phone and they would have asked questions if it had been turned off for too long. Furthermore, it wasn’t unusual for Simon to use Raphael’s phone to reply for him anyway.
Raphael realized again how much leeway Simon had in his life. There were barely any boundaries and he wondered if it was like that for Raphael too, if there were things he could do easily in Simon’s life that other’s were barred from. Did he have access to Simon’s phone, room, and other personal belongings or would he ask for permissions first? Did he even care?
Raphael was tempted to ask, but he kept it to himself this time, considering how angry Simon had been the day before.
Simon was somewhat reluctant to give him the phone, going so far as to offer buying a new one so he could keep the old one for work. It wasn’t until Raphael insisted that it had to be his phone that he realized what he wanted to do. Either Simon didn’t come up with a good excuse or he didn’t feel like he should keep it to himself, so he finally handed it over.
After returning to his room, Raphael weighted his options, knowing that his phone would provided more intimate and personal information. So he decided to check his messages first. Scrolling back in the history of his messaging app, he started with Magnus, who send lengthy messages about his sons, husband, and work that Raphael hardly ever bothered replying to. He must have read them though, because the few times he did send something back was for contextual clarification or questions. Raphael probably simply didn’t bother writing something like ‘ok’ all the time.
After Magnus, he switched to Lily’s messages that seemed to be a mix of Japanese, English and Spanish. Status reports about the safety of the hotel, summaries of suspicious behavior throughout her rounds. She would always end her messages with a question regarding Simon, Raphael’s feelings about a particular matter, or inquiring on his mood. Raphael didn’t know what this was about, but he replied as expected: short and without substance. However, a few times his answer was a single question back: ‘Taki’s at 10?’
Lily said they didn’t talk much about what bothered him, and Raphael didn’t doubt that. He was probably still as closed-lipped as ever concerning his problems, but it seemed like Lily was his partner of choice when it came to venting or complaining. It could also be code for something else entirely. He wouldn’t put it past them.
Everything was quite boring, his replies only ever a few words, and at times unapologetically rude. Raphael didn’t seem to like texting. At least that was what he had assumed until he found the backup from his history with Ragnor.
They talked about everything, Raphael sending him messages out of sheer boredom when he had to attend a party, insulting the guests, their fashion sense and their companions. The messages were of different length, some short, some long, and included unimportant updates as much as serious talks about the Shadow World. Raphael spent hours reading them, absorbed into his past for so long that he was bewildered when Simon came knocking on his door to check on him. Simon looked worried, nervous even, when he chewed on his lower lip and held out a glass of blood like a peace offering.
“I’m reading the logs from my conversations with Ragnor,” Raphael replied in an answer to a question that was never voiced, an answer that only grazed Simon’s real worries. “They reach far back.”
“They do,” Simon confirmed, like he knew them himself. After Raphael accepted the drink, he lingered on the spot a moment longer but then left again without saying anything further.
Raphael was buried back in the message logs as soon as he had finished the blood, unable to explain his fascination with words that he would have written just like the Raphael back then had. He learned more about himself, the life in the clan, his relationship to Camille, Magnus, Lily, Jacob, Elliott and Catarina than he did in the last month. What he wrote to Ragnor were thoughts and ideas that he wouldn’t have shared with anyone else, and Ragnor replied with insightful, understanding and sometimes chiding words, before sharing his own worries.
His farewell, written down in black and white, had him take a break, unprepared as he was for the emotions and the pain. The messages didn’t stop there, though. He had continued to write to a person that wasn’t alive anymore, sporadically, far from the earlier frequency, but still looking for input and trying to sort his feelings. Given the time-line, he knew he wouldn’t learn much about Simon in his writings with Ragnor. Before Ragnor’s death he had mentioned an annoying fledgling a few times that he figured had to be Simon, but after that it was mostly self-analysis. Probably because of Simon, but nothing educational or specific.
The last entry, written a few months after Ragnor’s death, simply read “Good bye”.
Raphael gave himself a few minutes, before he opened his chat with Simon.
It was nothing like he had expected. Their chat history consisted mostly of short messages that Raphael used to let Simon know that he had left the hotel and when he would be back. Then again, they really didn’t need to write each other anyway. Every other month there would be a bit more, status updates on the clan mostly, or repeated inquiries for the password of the laptop. There were a couple weirdly amusing exchanges that he couldn’t make much sense of, but must have happened when they had been fighting.
Frankly, he had never trusted the peace, when everyone expressed their astonishment because they almost never fought. According to his phone log it happened more often than everyone seemed to think. Trivial matters like buying a new mattress for the bed, Simon leaving his clothes on the floor, Raphael’s ever growing collection of suits, someone’s birthday Raphael didn’t want to attend. Simply put, they were just very good at keeping it between themselves. It wasn’t anything major most of the time anyway and they still worried about each other and made sure the other was alright. Fighting, in text form at least, meant that they added snide remarks at the end of their usual texts.
However there were a few times that they disagreed on something major, so much that Simon left to stay with his mother. It was never in the realm of ‘breaking up’-serious if he read accurately between the lines, but explosive enough that distance did them a favor. Those topics read like a player’s black book: Camille. Clary and Ragnor. Maia. Feodora. Clary again. Maureen. Rebecca. Clary. Clary. Clary.
He could gather enough facts about the underlying problem from their back and forth that usually ended with one of them calling the other, likely resolving the issue because after the outgoing or incoming phone call the log returned to status reports and information on clan activities and members.
Maia and Maureen – he didn’t quite understand, and at least in Maia’s case, might have been a misunderstanding on both sides – but given that Simon was spending a lot of time with them and what he already knew about Maureen, he decided to put it under ‘jealousy’.
Feodora was trickier, Simon strictly against making deals with her while Raphael claimed it was the lesser of two evils. With Rebecca, Raphael either had a hard time accepting that she wanted to marry a Shadowhunter or that specific Shadowhunter. It could also be both. Camille – and Simon’s thirst for revenge had been a constant topic between them throughout the years, too.
And then there was Clary. Raphael didn’t know enough about her yet. Simon had said their relationship had always been strained – and while it was working most of the time, she kept being a reason for tension in their relationship. However, Raphael was somewhat annoyed with himself that he felt the need to bring up Clary’s involvement in Ragnor’s death even years later. Maybe he just needed a reason to be angry with her. Raphael also didn’t doubt that ‘jealousy’ was a part of their problem, too. Something that was somewhat unappealing, even to himself.
The last fight had only been about four months ago. Clary had been asking for a favor, which Simon had been dead set against, while Raphael argued for her, saying that he had a debt to repay. It didn’t seem like Clary knew what she was asking of them and they hadn’t intended to tell her either. Raphael had always been a man of his word, he had made sure that everyone knew that. Even when he had his own agenda, if he promised something he would make good on it. It had made it easier to strike deals even with people who usually wouldn’t trust him and to find friends in unlikely places. Yet, he also did it because he had a sense of honor, and whatever Clary had done to deserve this debt, he would do what it took repay it.
The timing struck him as odd, though. He had been awake for a little over a month, before that he had been asleep for a few weeks. It might be coincidence, but it could also have something to do with the current situation.
Raphael sat in silence for a while, sorting the new information, thumb hovering over the media gallery until he finally pressed down. He was unnerved that a few pcitures showed Ragnor. There were also quite a few of Lily, Magnus, the children, Elliot, Jacob, Simon. Some of them he had already seen from Elliott, many were new.
Then he found the reason why Simon probably didn’t want to give up the phone. He would have probably erased them himself or saved them to another medium if he had thought that Raphael was ever going to ask for it.
Frankly, Raphael was stunned that he even possessed material of that nature, of soft, domestic, silly and tender moments between them. Simon right at home on Raphael’s bed, watching something on his laptop. Simon taking a selfie, making faces while Raphael did his tie. Simon pressing a kiss to Raphael’s cheek with fireworks lightening the sky in the background.
Then there was a video starting with a black screen, the sound of Simon’s laughter in the background. When light finally streamed into the lens Raphael realized that it had been dark because he had his thumb on the device. Taking possession of the phone, he turned the camera towards Simon.
They were in Raphael’s bed, and the expression on Simon’s face as he looked at the person behind the phone, looked at Raphael, was soft and content. His hair was standing up in every direction. There was blood on his lips. His upper body was bare apart from the necklace that still weighed heavy in Raphael’s pockets. He wasn’t laughing anymore but still smiling brightly, self-conscious of his appearance, especially when Raphael told him in Spanish that he didn’t need to hide.
‘Eso va para ti también,’ [That goes for you, too] Simon muttered, then reached out and took the phone, turning it to Raphael. He was in the same state as the other man, looked just as disheveled. There was blood at the side of his neck, leaving no doubt as to what they had been doing. Simon’s thumb rubbed the spot along the tendon that he had bitten, hand trailing down to his chest, long fingers wrapping around a necklace.
Raphael paused the video, rewinding a few seconds, fiddling with the phone to zoom in, before staring at the necklace, identical to the one Simon was wearing. Abruptly he stood up, thinking, before walking to the drawer where he kept his jewelry, mostly cuff links and some rings. He didn’t sense magic from there but he still sifted through the different boxes, looking for the pendant. When he didn’t find it, he searched the walk-in closet but there was no trace of it.
The video was an old one, the timestamp going back to New Years Eve a couple years back. The necklace might be gone already, used up and discarded. Maybe he didn’t wear it very often anyway and Simon had taken it with him when he had moved out of Raphael’s room.
Pressing his lips together, the Latino started the video again, rewatching the journey of Simon’s hand to Raphael’s silent pulse point, to the pendant before it wrapped around his neck and he pulled him in. The phone didn’t capture the kiss, the focus on the ceiling, but he could hear the muffled sounds, the quiet murmurs and whispers, the beginning of a moan that was cut off sharply by the end of the video.
Raphael dropped the phone on the bed again.
He was agitated, feeling like a voyeur in his own life, like he had just witnessed something that he shouldn’t have. This was his own self, kissing another man, letting him drink his blood, speaking words of endearment in Spanish, gentle, affectionate, and attentive. He didn't know what he would be like when in love or how he would behave. If asked, he would have assumed himself to be a cold lover, very distant, secretive and unwilling to show his feelings, but this person in the video oozed love from every pore of his body.
Raphael loved Simon.
And Simon loved him back just as passionately, accepting his feelings head on, without doubt, without shame – despite their differences, their fights, or Raphael’s cold, grumpy, and brash attitude.
Raphael had to admit that Simon was right: this wasn’t their story. He wasn’t the man who could show that sort of expression, who would allow himself to fall in love with another person. At first he had believed it was his right to know, because this was his past, but now he understood that it wasn’t. It was their past. Whenever Simon talked about Raphael, he talked about himself.
So he locked the phone, deciding to return it and take Simon up on the offer to buy a new one. If this was what he took away from Simon, the least he could do was respect his wishes.
It was probably better that way, anyway.
Chapter 6: Key of B Minor
Summary:
They talk. They fight. It's really just that.
Notes:
Hey everyone. This took me some time to get done, but I had a death in my family. It was busy, and even when I had time to write I didn't feel like it or couldn't concentrate. The funeral was last week, but we still have to empty the apartment and sort out different matters so I guess May will be busy, too.
Knowing that, I decided to publish this chapter even though it was supposed to have two more scenes. However, after finally fleshing it out I believe it's really long enough. Just know that I'm still working on this and that your comments brought me so much joy last month! I hope you have fun reading.
Chapter Text
B minor, that very melancholy key, tells of a quiet expectation and patient hope.
~ The Elements Of The Beautiful In Music by Ernst Pauer
It wasn’t like Raphael hadn’t been warned but it still amazed him how Simon seemed to thrive in the role of ‘clan mother’ in some of the most ludicrous manners. At the beginning of this whole disaster, Raphael had suspected that someone was playing mind games with him by conjuring this illusion, maybe that it was only a dream someone used to manipulate him and get answers to whatever important knowledge he could possess. Yet even disregarding everything else, Simon alone was enough evidence to rebuke that theory.
After all, nobody in their right mind, or even in their wildest imagination, could come up with the unparalleled force that was Simon Lewis, let alone as Raphael’s love interest. Raphael didn’t have preferences, but if he had they certainly wouldn’t have manifest into someone like Simon, who was a weirdly functioning mess.
Maybe that was part of being a mother; pushing through every disturbance with gritted teeth.
When woken at noon by a clan emergency, Simon still delegated the vampires efficiently and with undisputed authority while only wearing boxer shorts. He was cranky but obviously used to this. It was a wonder that Simon didn’t go to sleep fully clothed, considering that Raphael himself had witnessed something like that a handful of times already in the one and half months he had been awake.
While it was always for a different reason, the procedure was mostly the same every time: a vampire did something stupid, Simon was first on the scene, with Raphael trailing a few seconds behind – the time it took him to get adequately dressed which the other obviously didn’t bother with. Simon immediately took charge of the vampires – the ones responsible for the mess and the ones gathering out of curiosity – and got them out of the way to give Raphael and Lily the opportunity to assess the situation and the damage.
However, it wasn’t only emergency that showed his mothering side.
When the delegation that had stayed with Lazar for a month finally returned home, Simon was among the first waiting in the lobby to welcome them back. Even though they called it an ‘exchange’, the clan had canceled Lazar’s envoy the moment Raphael imitated Sleeping Beauty. Not wanting to break completely with the tradition, they had sent Arthur and Jessica to the other clan but not accepted someone into their home that year.
When the vampires returned home, the air was filled with heartwarming joy and excitement. Raphael couldn’t remember seeing them before, but it turned out that they both held higher positions in the clan. It was also obvious that they had already been briefed when they both introduced themselves to him; Arthur with a bored expression that vanished as soon as Felix caught his attention and Jessica in a more polite and formal manner, but her rigor melted when Jacob stepped put an arm around her shoulder.
There hadn’t been a shortage for displays of carnal desires under Camille, but the tenderness attributed to love and romance had been hidden. Now it showed.
Giving the returnees the space to catch up with their loved ones, Raphael let his eyes wander the lobby. He had seen Simon quietly slip out after throwing biodegradable confetti in the air for the welcome, travelings bags in his hands that he was likely to return to their respective rooms. It wouldn’t have surprised him if he’d also thrown the clothes into laundry if that hadn’t counted as too much of a breach in privacy. When Simon popped up again in the lobby it was with two mugs in his hands. Raphael doubted that Jessica or Arthur actively noticed how Simon pressed the drinks into their hands before vanishing again into the background to do something else.
Idly, Raphael watched Simon for about half an hour switching between mingling, chatting and hovering around as if waiting to please until, seemingly satisfied with everything, he headed off to the office again, nobody seemingly aware or acknowledging his deeds.
When Simon wasn’t buzzing around, he was behind his desk or spending time with the other vampires, therapy sessions disguised as socializing. Even if he hadn’t taken on Raphael’s work, there was always something for him to do, his tasks as varied as the people living in the clan.
Simon was unquestioningly caring, loyal, compassionate, hard working, persistent, smart, clumsy, authentic, sarcastic, and empathetic. Raphael figured there were worse traits the person Raphael had gone out with could possess.
Raphael had watched him interact with the clan a hundred times over by now, and had thought he knew what to expect when it came to Simon’s immeasurable devotion. Until he entered the main common room and found the other vampire on the couch, a stack of clothes next to him, yarn between his lips, and a table with a sewing machine right in front of him, currently in the middle of threading the machine.
“What are you doing?”
Simon glanced at him, grinning around the yarn in greeting. “Penelope bought a couple pants, but they are too long. I took the measurements a week ago but haven’t gotten around to them yet.” He wetted the end of the yarn with his tongue before pulling it through the ear of the needle as he continued to talk. “Then I remembered I still had a skirt from Arya and some other stuff. Didn’t fell like sleeping anyway, so I assumed it’s as good a time as any.”
Raphael approached him with raised eyebrows, hands in his pockets, the picture of composed disbelief. “They are both around 100 years old. Don’t they know how to alter clothes themselves? I’m fairly certain that most of the female vampires had to learn sewing in their past.”
Simon paused, an expression on his face like this question had never occurred to him before, then he laughed and just shrugged. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I honestly never asked. It’s just—I figured they didn’t know instead of didn’t want to do it themselves. Kinda naive considering everyone here acts like a spoiled child all the time.” His voice raised at the end of the sentence, like he wanted whoever was still awake to hear him. Raphael figured it was a rather self-made problem. “You’d believe people this old would know how to take care of themselves.”
“Aren’t you the reason they act like spoiled brats?” Raphael asked, sitting down on the couch and throwing a pointed look at the sewing machine.
Simon looked like he wanted to object, but before he did he already gave in with a sheepish smile. “It’s probably some sort of complex or whatever,” he admitted, “I always felt worthless, like it doesn’t matter whether I’m there or not. I wanted to be seen and acknowledged, so I tried hard to please everyone. It felt hollow, though. This,” he nodded at the machine, but probably meant everything he did for the clan, “I know this is appreciated. It’s not taken for granted either, even if it might seem so. And it makes me happy to be relied on by people I love. Sometimes I get annoyed, too, but it’s still kind of… satisfactory? It just feels nice to see them happy.”
Raphael understood, at least to a degree. He had always been depended on. It wasn’t that he particularly enjoyed it, but it was something he was used to and good at, and habits, even after death, died hard. Furthermore it gave him something to do, and it gave him power over the clan, but that didn’t mean he could be used as a gofer. “Eso pudo haber salido mal.” [That could have gone wrong.]
“Yeah,” Simon agreed. “Wasn’t easy to find the right point to say ‘stop’. Though, there was someone who made sure it never got too far.” He didn’t drop the name, but it was clear who he meant. Raphael was very good at saying ‘no’. “They play me sometimes. I know they do. With their big eyes and their innocent or dumb act. It’s not like they take advantage. It’s more like I don’t care and just let them get away with it sometimes. In this case though,” his fingers moved expertly with the fabric, the stitching accurately following the line he had drawn on the clothes. “I didn’t think about it. I just started to knit dolls with Maria as presents, then stitched a few holes, and before I realized it, I was doing the sewing for the clan. Would you believe it? I didn’t even know how to use a sewing machine until someone asked me if I could shorten sleeves. Then it was replacing a zipper and so on.”
“You would rather learn how to use a sewing machine than pause for two seconds to ask yourself if it’s necessary?”
Simon laughed again. “I guess I also enjoy learning something new, too. Keeps you engaged, active. So I didn’t mind that either. And the fact that they wait weeks for me to do this tells me they honestly don’t want to do it themselves. They can be rather impatient when it comes to something they want.”
“You’re the perfect housewife,” Raphael assessed dryly, without any sarcasm. “If we’d still eat, you’d do the cooking too, wouldn’t you?”
“Guilty as charged.” Simon didn’t sound offended.
They were quiet for a moment, sitting in companionable silence, with Raphael listening to the slow humming of the machine, a sound he hadn’t heard in a very long time. Images of them sitting like they did now on opposite ends on the couch, invaded Raphael’s mind. There were flashes of Simon with his head in his lap, Raphael’s hand almost absently threading through his hair. He saw them sitting back to back. Talking, reading, sometimes not even interacting.
Simon had claimed he missed simply being together, and Raphael had dismissed his words as lies. However, he had learned that the memories arbitrarily returning to him were usually connected to strong emotions. Uneventful as those memories were, it was apparently a source of happiness, for him, too.
“¿Es así como hemos sido?” [Is this what we’ve been like?] Raphael asked.
Simon let out a noise of confusion and stopped the sewing machine. When he had parsed the meaning of the question, he pursed his lips, pondering the reply. “We talk a lot, if that’s what you mean,” he replied and stepped on the pedal again. “About the clan. About what’s going on in the Shadow World. About our work. About books we’ve read. About our past. There’s probably nothing we didn’t talk about.” He smirked, mischief in his voice. “Apart from your feelings, of course.” Quietly, with all humor gone, Simon admitted, “I really do miss our talks.”
Raphael knew Simon wasn’t asking for anything, likely wasn’t even expecting a reply but he had found himself not minding the other man’s company. It was a small request in comparison to what Simon was giving up anyway. “If it’s just talking,” he said, barely keeping himself from swallowing the rest of the sentence, “No me molesta.” [I don’t mind.]
There was a shout of pain in reply.
Simon, distracted by the unexpected offer, hadn’t watched the needle and accidentally sewn through his finger. With a curse he snapped his hand back, and the Latino immediately bridged the distance on the couch to take it into his own. “Seems like the needle hit your finger nail,” he assumed when he didn’t spot a single drop of blood on the skin. Smirking, he was about to make a sarcastic comment when he noticed Simon’s expression, gaze locked on their hands.
Raphael dropped it like he was burned, swallowing his words.
There was a flicker of pain, but then Simon decidedly pressed his lips into a thin line and a moment later huffed a laugh into the awkwardness. “I already have my fair share of sewing accidents. Guess I got lucky this time. You don’t wanna know how often I burned myself on the light-bulb, until I finally bought a newer sewing machine with LED lights. Can’t do anything about stupidity, though.”
It was forced and unnatural, but diffusing the situation with humor was something Simon had gotten used to. Still, Raphael gladly followed his example to push beyond the situation. “I’m pretty sure you’ve swallowed a few pins, too.”
“Hey! Even I’m not dumb enough to put them in my mouth,” Simon complained in fake affront. “But yeah, otherwise that’s totally something that would happen.”
“I guess it’s a good thing your hair is short, too.”
“Hair doesn’t scare me ever since I got a needle in my eye.”
“Excuse me?”
Simon looked embarrassed now, busying himself with checking the damage to the machine and the cloth he was working on. “I learned two lessons that day: use the right needle strength for the specific fabric and change the needle after every project. Didn’t know that was a thing until it happened. It was fucking scary.”
“I’ll say,” Raphael agreed, relaxing back into the couch, closer to Simon than he had started, but enough space between them to ignore it.
Simon was quiet after that, and Raphael couldn’t tell if he was really focusing on his work as he was nearing the connection point or if he was giving him a subtle hint to go away. Just as he contemplated retiring for the day, with nothing left to say in this conversation, especially since Simon was usually the one carrying them, and his offer either forgotten or ignored, Simon spoke again. “Talking…” He hesitated, eyes remaining fixed on the needle. “I’d like that.”
Raphael had almost expected him to question the sincerity of the offer, but after all these years Simon probably knew that the Latino didn’t have time to give out of politeness. Despite being a vampire, it was still valuable to him. A remnant from his former life, when he had to help his mother getting his brothers ready in the mornings, when he had to go to work after school, and even if he didn’t need to work, had to look after his brothers again. Whatever time he had to himself, even if it were only a few minutes of break, he had never taken it for granted.
“If you don’t mind,” Simon worried his lip before finally looking at Raphael, “could we keep talking now?”
Raphael threw his back against the backrest and his legs wide out, his actions answer enough. “About what?”
Simon shrugged. “Anything. Whatever you want to talk about. And if there’s nothing, I’m never running out of things to say.”
“Pruébalo,” [Prove it] Raphael dared, more tease than challenge.
“Oh, you’ve just dug your own grave,” Simon replied with a mischievous smile and launched right into explaining the hardships of learning how to sew. It was one-sided at first, Raphael unsure if he was even supposed to respond as it didn’t seem like he was expected to contribute at all. However, Simon left pauses long enough for opportunities to ask questions, but without it becoming awkward. Even when the silence stretched it was always for a reason, a moment that Simon needed to pay special attention on what he was doing. With every word leaving Raphael’s mouth, they both relaxed into the conversation and fell into a comfortable albeit absurd back and forth that started with the craftsmanship in the sixties and ended with child and forced labor in the fashion supply chain, because Simon was just that weird.
It was eerie how quickly Raphael got used to having Simon around at the end of the night, insomuch that over the next couple of days they slipped into a routine, meeting up in the common room with Simon doing whatever his parental instinct told him to do and Raphael keeping him company for a while when he felt like it.
Their conversations spanned many topics from comics and video games to literature, music, politics, history, math, and economics. It was never boring. Simon knew as much about classical music and literature as he did about modern arts, and was capable of debating contents of books written long before his time. It took Raphael a while to figure out how one person could accumulate that varied knowledge, and while the internet seemed to help on that front, it was also because Simon was talking to everyone in the clan.
Truly, Simon was brilliant, but he either wasn’t aware of that or didn’t care much for it.
Raphael was smart and quick witted, possessed good basic knowledge and was a hard worker to boot, but he was hard pressed to remember anything he wasn’t interested in or considered unimportant, so he felt a mix of admiration and envy for the other man.
Yet, from the many times he had seen Simon stuck in the library, he doubted he was one of those people that had it all served on a silver platter, who listened to something once and had it burned to their memory. Simon was probably more like him in that regard, had to work for everything he knew. However, just like his acts of kindness, remembering someones interests was one of Simon’s many ways of showing his friendship.
Thus he had amassed a wealth of knowledge, that he threw around without vanity. It was powerful, even if Simon wasn’t aware that it helped him connect to all sorts of people even outside the clan. No matter who, he probably managed to find at least one topic as common ground to start from. Coupled with his passion and bright personality, it explained the wide social circle he was moving in despite his social shyness.
Raphael had assumed Simon was only humoring him by going through several topics, like he was trying to keep up with the previous challenge by talking about everything, but as he had to find out, there was a method to his rambles. More than once did they discuss something about the clan or Shadow World just to have that particular topic come up in a meeting the next day.
“You are a scary man, Simon Lewis,” Raphael directed at him with a wry smirk after the third incident that made him believe that it was not a coincidence that Simon had explained at length the current werewolf dynamic in New York the night before. Elliott was the only person in the room who didn’t laugh at his statement.
“Stop bullying our baby,” Lily said with a snort, “He didn’t even get angry.” She petted Raphael’s shoulder with a laugh before leaving the room after their meeting had been adjourned.
“He doesn’t need to get angry to be scary,” Raphael replied anyway.
Simon didn’t comment, but that didn’t matter. The tiny smirk at the edge of his lips was telling enough, proof that he really knew what he was doing even if he acted like a confused puppy sometimes.
There was no doubt in Raphael’s mind that the reason Simon had managed to betray him those many years ago was Raphael’s own hubris. Camille and his old self had made the mistake of underestimating him, otherwise they wouldn’t have used him in their plots. Camille was crazy, but she wasn’t stupid. She knew exactly who to Turn and who to kill without a chance to revive. If it had been up to her, Raphael would have never been born as a vampire, and if Magnus hadn’t been there to save him, she would have gotten rid of him that same day. She knew the moment she laid eyes on him that he was more trouble than he was worth.
If they had known what Simon was capable of if given the chance, Camille wouldn’t have fed him her blood and Raphael wouldn’t have Turned him.
“So much for not playing games with me,” Raphael drawled, arms crossed in front of his chest, eyebrows cocked in amusement.
Simon’s expression soured immediately, always too serious whenever it concerned Raphael. Always too earnest, too straight forward. It made it difficult to distrust him. “You’re not a game to me. Never.”
“Relax,” Raphael replied dismissively. “No dije que lo odiara, ¿O sí?“ [I didn’t say I hate it, did I?]
If his old self was anything like him, it was probably the contrary.
“You are weirdo,” Simon huffed, amused. It wasn’t like that came as a surprise to him.
While their conversations started in the common room, it didn’t take long for them to walk from the office to Raphael's room. Of course, for Simon it was a longstanding habit that he was falling back into. The Latino on the other hand kept debating if he should put a stop to it.
However, in the common room, Simon had been mindful of how much he said, had always listened for someone walking in on them. In Raphael’s room he wasn’t as much on guard. He was more open to answer questions he usually wouldn’t, the warded room providing safety for information that old Raphael would have wanted to protect.
Here, in the sanctuary of his bedroom, he learned about his mother’s last days.
Memories followed the words and he remembered, or believed to remember, sitting at her bed, quietly listening to the rattling of her breath, wondering every time she stopped breathing if this had been her last breath before her eyebrows twitched in pain, her shoulders lifted in her sleep, and her heart thumped, irregular and weak. The pumping sound of the pain relief system, supposed to ease the burden of old age, was unbearably loud in her room but served as a reminder of the passing time.
Raphael remembered the short bursts of lucidity, when she smiled at him and called his name, her hand, only skin and bone, still warm beneath his own, twitching in failed attempts to lift and touch him until he placed it against his cold cheek.
He remembered crying, the act ugly as a human but worse as a vampire, as she whispered faint apologies.
He remembered quietly singing to her, an old Mexican folk song.
He remembered a book on the empty bed when he returned one night.
He remembered a letter.
Eyebrows furrowed, he tried to recall the contents of the letter, or the title of the book, but it was as unreachable as the name of the song he had sung. Just as he was about to ask about any of it, Simon fetched a book from a cupboard.
“You’re a mind reader, aren’t you?” Raphael asked, vaguely amused, when he recognized the cover.
Surprised, Simon looked at him, before understanding settled into his features. “You gave it to me to learn Spanish,” he explained with a soft voice, “When I asked about it, you told me about your brothers and your mother. I used to cherish this so much, but I completely forgot about it.” His fingers touched the book almost reverently, running along the edges of the cover before flipping it open. “I guess there’s a lot I’ve forgotten over the years.”
Raphael let him reminisce a moment longer, before he decided to disturb his thoughts. “Was there a letter?”
“If there was one,” Simon replied, closing the book before handing it over. “I don’t know about it. It wasn’t in here when you gave it to me and I don’t remember you mentioning it to me.”
Raphael accepted the book but left it closed. “¿Cuánto te conté sobre mis hermanos?” [How much did I tell you about my brothers?]
“You didn’t talk a lot about them. I know their names. I know they died. I know about your childhood. You always claimed there wasn’t much to tell after you left them.” Raphael tilted his head to the side. He knew he didn’t mention them to Magnus’ children, but he thought there would have been more to get from Simon. “I know that one of your youngest brother almost found you twice. And I think, but I don’t know for sure, that you’ve always kept track of them and knew where they were because,” he left a short pause, unsure if to continue, “you’ve been to their death bed, and you’ve visited their grave the day they had been buried. So I guess you knew more than you’ve let on. And I know you talked to one of your nieces once, but I don’t know if she realized who you were.”
Raphael wondered if he was taking advantage of Simon, letting him into his room just to get answers he might have not gotten otherwise. Unfortunately, that reasoning was more bearable than the fact that he was beginning to enjoy Simon’s company. It honestly shouldn’t surprise him. They had been together for a long time. If he had had a problem with Simon’s behavior, he probably would have killed him years ago. What surprised him was that he did, too, young as he was.
Frankly, being with Simon should be exhausting.
Even after a decade of being a vampire, he was still so lively and excited by everything new. Being a vampire, he had all the time in the world, but was acting like the rabbit from Alice in Wonderland, always in a hurry. He talked that way too, as if he had so much to say and didn’t know where to start let alone where to end. His thoughts jumped several corners and gave Raphael a run for his money to keep up. When Simon talked, he did it with his whole body and his thoughts were plainly mirrored on his face, a welcome change to everyone he used to be around.
Here in the comfort of Raphael’s room, Simon had the confidence to show him who he was – not the temporary clan leader, nor the person missing his boyfriend. Instead he was a nerdy, dorky, awkward, cheerful bundle of sunshine with a dangerous mischievous streak that amused Raphael but would have undoubtedly swept him along if he were a little less alert.
Raphael was beginning to see the attributes that must have pulled him into Simon’s orbit.
They could become friends. It was not an impossibility. Maybe not as close as Raphael had been with Ragnor, with whom he had shared everything in his life, but as close as he had become with Lily or Magnus. Then again, his friendship with Ragnor had developed over years, while Simon had less than two months to catch up. On the other hand, Raphael’s subconscious might be playing a larger part in this budding companionship than he would have liked to admit.
Still, as much as he was beginning to see Simon’s good points, he didn’t understand what had compelled him to pursue a romantic relationship. Ignoring the intimacy and physical contact, spending time together, talking, that wasn’t limited to lovers only but part of common friendships. It didn’t make sense to go that extra mile if it didn’t serve a purpose.
So Raphael was looking for it, that reason that had pushed him over the cliff. He watched Simon’s flailing arms, his bright expression as he talked about something Raphael had stopped listening to seconds ago. Instead he followed the movement of Simon’s lips, remembering the scene from the phone, remembering the video Elliott had shown him.
Curiously, Raphael moved closer on the couch, and if Simon noticed, he didn’t think much of it at first. Until they were seemingly a little too close and he stopped talking, confusion settling on his face. When Raphael cocked his head and leaned in with intent, Simon was off the couch quicker than he would have thought him capable. He also did it as gracefully as expected. Meaning as ungainly as a new born fawn. He was stumbling over his own feet and almost braining his head against the very expensive coffin that Raphael only used as decoration.
“Uh…” Simon started, catching his fall before turning around while Raphael molded his body back against the couch, both eyebrows raised in amused interest, but otherwise completely unfazed by the rejection. Raphael’s placid behavior seemed to confuse Simon even more, the oncoming existential crisis that he might have had misinterpreted Raphael’s intent clearly visible.
“Yes,” Raphael confirmed all the questions popping up in Simon’s expression. “I was trying to kiss you.”
Simon tried to find his words, but all that came out in the end was a wailed “Why?”
Because it seemed like his older version derived pleasure from the act, something he had never thought possible. Of course, it might have been because he liked Simon, or because Simon was a good kisser. Maybe he had just grown accustomed to the sensations and only acted like he liked it for Simon’s sake, whatever the reason, he thought he might have been able to figure it out if he tried it. “Curiosity.”
With a sharp intake of breath, Simon’s body filled with anger. “You always know everything but whenever it comes to me, you’re such an insensitive asshole! Don’t you get how painful this is for me or do you just not care?”
Raphael was about to reply like a slighted child, that it wasn’t him who knew everything, that he wasn’t that amazing and perfect person Simon was talking about. At the same time he was somewhat confused at the allegation. Of course the Raphael who had loved Simon was likely more perceptive to his needs and feelings and took more care when interacting with him. Anyway, it wasn’t like they had kissed for the first time, and even if, Simon wasn’t like Raphael, he was normal, why would he be bothered by something like a kiss?
“Probably a bit of both,” he replied eventually truthfully. Puzzled.
Picking up on his lack of malice, Simon slowly cooled down, then sighed before huffing something that sounded like a forced laugh dying midway. “They say curiosity killed the cat,” he muttered as he sat down on the couch again, leaving space between them, but not as much as he could have. “Unfortunately I have a feeling I’m the cat in this analogy.”
He glanced at Raphael out of the corner of his eyes, then turned his head to look him straight in the eyes. “I’m not going to kiss you, Raphael.”
The Latino pursed his lips. “Why not? It shouldn’t be a big deal to you.”
Simon’s eyebrows jumped high. “What the fuck are you talking about? Of course it’s a big deal to me! And it is to you, too!”
“Don’t act like I’m some innocent maiden. Disgusting as it was, it never mattered so why should it now?”
“Because it does! Jesus, there is so much in this statement I don’t even know where to start unpacking.” Simon kicked his heel against the foot of the couch in frustration. “Yes, I know you had people force themselves on you. That doesn’t count as ‘kissing’, that’s sexual assault, you prick. And of course it was unpleasant for you. Nobody likes to be forced. Well, unless it’s consensual I guess.”
Raphael was not aware that there was something like consensual sexual assault but then he remembered Elliott’s elaborate and loud sex play with his girlfriend two weeks ago and rectified that thought. Despite being told Elliott’s preferences in the bedroom, he had almost stormed the room to stop whatever had been going on. Thankfully he had been stopped by Simon, realize a few seconds later that there was a reason why Elliott was so inclined to share his kinks. Some other clan member had lost their patience after half an hour of Elliott’s squealing and begging anyway and had kicked the door in to tell him to shut up. Raphael had been really close to doing it himself.
“But this is about you doing it out of your own volition. That’s completely different!”
“It’s not about being forced.” Of course Raphael wasn’t stupid enough to think that his previous experiences were in any way relatable to doing it with a person he liked. Yet, he had never felt any compulsion to kiss someone before, had never seen the act as romantic, never understood what could be even remotely pleasant about it. However, with Simon in his life he wondered if the ‘taunting’ and ‘kind advice’ he had been subjected to in the past had been justified. Maybe he had been fundamentally wrong about himself. That thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. “Tal vez todos tenían razón sobre mí.” [Maybe everyone was right about me.]
Simon’s expression softened, Raphael’s vulnerability showing through his words even if he sounded like he only wanted to bounce ideas back and forth about something completely unrelated to him. “Raphael, the only person, at any given point in time, who is right about your feelings is you. Things change, yes, like desires or preferences, but that doesn’t make what you felt before wrong. You know, I never thought I was not into guys but I never thought I was either. But then you came along. And you were just… God, so infuriating! And amazing, dazzling, funny. And I was gone on you before I even noticed. Honestly, I didn’t stand a chance.”
Raphael grimaced at the sentimentality, but Simon ignored it.
“You made me realize that I don’t have a preference for gender. I grew up thinking boys had to like girls, maybe that’s why my crushes had only been on girls. Maybe I had them on boys too, but I was a kid and might have thought that they were just a special buddy or whatever. I wouldn’t know anymore.” Simon scratched the back of his neck, and Raphael realized that this talk wasn’t as easy for him as it seemed. “With that being said... are you familiar with the terms ‘asexual’ or ‘aromantic’?”
Raphael blinked at him, which hopefully was answer enough.
“Okay, disclaimer here, you never identified with these or any other sexuality. Frankly, when I brought it up you rolled your eyes at me and muttered something about labels. I just hope it helps explaining something to you. Especially since you don’t have years of ‘whatever, I honestly can’t be bothered to care anymore’ attached to you.”
Raphael remained silent when Simon looked at him like he was searching for something, maybe a sign that he wanted to abandon this conversation. He didn’t, and Simon must have concluded that too, as he moved on. “I think people back in your day weren’t really aware of it. It’s not even that prevalent in our time unless you move in certain circles. Anyway, asexual is a term for people who don’t feel sexual attraction. You’d say, you’re ‘not interested’. And people who are aromantic don’t feel romantic attraction. It’s not as straightforward as this. There are shades in between. People perceive intimacy and relationships differently, and it’s kind of a spectrum. We, you and me, didn’t talk about it a lot, you didn’t like moving in labels and we just went with whatever was comfortable for us, but I always thought you were on the aromantic-asexual spectrum. Meaning to some degree you weren’t interested in intimacy or romance.”
Again, Simon watched him intently, checking if he had lost him. Whatever he saw, maybe a flicker of understanding, gave him confidence to continue. “There are a lot of people like you out there. It’s not as common as other sexualities, sure, but that doesn’t mean somethings wrong with it. So no, people weren’t right about you when they told you that you needed to see a doctor to check your hormones. No, there’s nothing’s wrong with your head. No, you don’t suffer from some sort of trauma. And you certainly don’t have to experience romance or sex first to see it’s appeal. And no, you’re not just innocent or a late bloomer. You are just you.”
Eleven years, Raphael was reminded again, and in those years he had apparently opened up to Simon about everything that had bothered him when he had been talked to like he was an ignorant child, when he had thought he had been broken and lacking. Simon’s words were unlike the picture that had been painted in the past by everyone who had laughed at his innocence and naivety, by all the movies he had seen, all the books he had read and all the songs he had listened to, painting a life without love as miserable and inhuman, describing sex or love as the greatest feelings in the world, and lacking one of those, let alone both, made a life not worthwhile.
Still as refreshing as those words were, it didn’t change the fact that he had taken a lover in the end, so they honestly didn’t mean much.
“I know you don’t understand why we were together,” Simon continued, “Frankly, I don’t know either. And I’m not talking about the fact that I’m anything but charming, or particularly good looking.”
The corner’s of Raphael’s mouth twitched in annoyance, though he knew it was his own fault that Simon felt the need to point that out. Yes, the Latino had said shit about his appearance, and alluded that he was lacking in that department, but just like any other bully, he had simply picked the first thing he assumed would be a sore spot. It had been pettiness and anger speaking for him. “No hay nada malo con tu apariencia.” [There’s nothing wrong with your appearance.]
Simon looked at him, but didn’t acknowledge his words. “Well, I can definitely tell you it’s not because I’m a gifted kisser. We didn’t even do that for about six months into our relationship.”
Raphael didn’t know what surprised him more: that Simon had actually waited that long or that his older version hadn’t tried to get it over with quickly and instead had dragged it out for so long. Then again, it was just proof that Simon had been important to him. The only reason he could be so blasé about kissing Simon was that he honestly didn’t care how it felt. If he needed to, if it would help him achieve his goal, he could probably do it with just about anyone. Not his favorable approach, but something he could get done. With his lover, he must have been too scared to try, afraid he would still hate it even with someone he liked.
“I don’t know what changed your mind, I don’t know what you saw in me. You knew how I felt about you and by some miracle, you decided to answer my feelings. For me, I was in love with you before I knew it, but you… you always said it was a choice. I don’t know why you would choose me. I don’t know what made me so special. I honestly don’t know.”
Raphael tried to process everything Simon told him, but it wasn’t without effort. It was honestly quite vexing that his older version never had the guts to confide his reasoning when he seemed to have talked about everything else.
For a long time he had wondered if he had done it for the clan, but there was no doubt that Simon, just like Lily, just like he did now, would have stayed at his side even without romance. Furthermore decades ago, even though Lily had been essential to him, he had never felt the urge to answer her desire just to keep her around, neither for the clan nor for his own ambitions, so why would that have changed with Simon? Simon would have taken care of the clan even if they hadn’t been lovers, he would have been around even if Raphael hadn’t chained him with a promise of love and just like Lily, he would have moved on and met someone else.
Lily was pretty and strong, men would kill to be with her, but he had already known that they weren’t a good match. Her goals had been Raphael’s goals, her command had been Raphael’s wish. She loved sex and wasn’t shy about it. She also would have never given that up. They had talked about it, a few years later, when she confided that she had been glad he hadn’t accepted her advances. Maybe Raphael would have given her a chance if he had thought that they could have made it work. Maybe he had seen a possible future with Simon and therefore decided to give it a shot. Or maybe he had just grown tired of being alone.
“But even though we started going out and developed a physical relationship as well, you still weren’t really interested in it. Or at least not the way I was.”
Raphael furrowed his brow, watching Simon’s timid behavior, that stood in such stark contrast to the leader he projected, to the person that was constantly standing up to him, who was pushing back when the Latino went too far, who was keeping it together for the clan. Now Simon was opening up about their previous relationship, making himself vulnerable, something that he had avoided before, just to reassure him that Raphael hadn’t been in the wrong or messed up or confused or ignorant.
The appreciation and respect he felt for Simon in that moment caught him off-guard. If Raphael were a better person he would tell him to stop, but he knew that this depraved curiosity to learn more about this part of him that he had no knowledge of was stronger. It was absurd how much he hated this topic, but still had to know. It was a morbid fascination, that was going to be his downfall.
“I said it before, we had sex mostly for my sake. You… Raphael could go for months without thinking about it, but I wasn’t like that. So we had fixed dates. And even when we had sex… Raphael’s pleasure was never about his pleasure. I mean, there were things he liked, but ultimately, it wasn’t about him, but me. Sometimes it was more about pride.”
Pride.
There was more than pride, Raphael realized, when he was hit with an avalanche of emotions. Satisfaction, love, possessiveness, accomplishment, reverence, power. He almost jumped out of his skin, fingers digging into the fabric of the couch, as he willed his body to unwind, to remain unaffected while Simon continued.
“That’s why kissing me probably wouldn’t be any good for you. You don’t care for me, don’t care how I feel. If you did, you wouldn’t have tried to jump this on me without even checking if I was fine with it. This really hurts.” Simon’s tone dipped as he swallowed around his feelings. “And just so you know, I don’t want to be intimate with someone I don’t love. And who doesn’t love me back. So don’t ever try that again.“
Raphael was reasonable enough to understand when he had messed up. He could admit to himself that he had done something cruel, yet he couldn’t force himself to bite the bullet and apologize, so all that left his mouth was a stilted, “Entiendo.” [I understand.]
Simon observed him intently for a moment, then sighed. “I didn’t really get it at first, that you are still young. I mean, I know you’re mentally thirty but I didn’t get that this is something you’re still struggling and trying to come to terms with. When I met you, you… Raphael was so steadfast… He had his moments of insecurity but there wasn’t any doubt that he wanted to be with me, only how he wanted to be with me. At least that was my impression. But you… you are still trying to find yourself.”
“That shouldn’t be an excuse for anything.”
“It’s not,” Simon admitted. “However, if you want… I mean, if you’re comfortable with it, we could talk about this more. Now. Later. Or I can point you to literature, websites. Or we can just ignore this. I don’t mind being there for you, to support you. As a friend. As someone who knows a bit.”
Raphael didn’t need to think about it, knowing that he was going to reject him. He didn’t feel comfortable limiting himself to some category, had never been the type that wanted to fit into a box with a neat little name on it. Something that obviously hadn’t changed. Still, he was grateful for the offer and the effort Simon went through to address his issues with their former relationship.
Now he just had to find a way to show it.
From the very beginning they had decided that Raphael wasn’t going to meet Simon’s family or friends. As the previous encounters had proved, that was easier said then done, especially when Raphael had to leave every now and then to show his face in public and Simon’s acquaintances were literally everywhere.
Once, he had a run-in with Alec’s sister, but she was busy making out with a Seelie. She only gave him a wide seductive grin before going back to her business, waving a hand at him in a gesture that could have been both a greeting and a shooing motion. Most times they were lucky, when Lily or Simon spotted friends early enough to send Raphael off. The fact that Raphael going away as soon as he saw someone he knew seemed to be perfectly acceptable behavior made him question, not for the first time, if the people around him had been indoctrinated by his anti-social self.
Listening to Simon joke about his exit as Raphael left without even saying a greeting, casually and amused, made him wonder if this was Simon’s achievement after all. If this was what Lily had meant when she had told him that Simon softened his sharp edges. Raphael had always been uncomfortably blunt and dismissive, but usually people didn’t take that behavior with an easy-going indulgence as they did now. While it made it easier to be himself, because he didn’t feel like he had to play along and assimilate as much as he was used to, it spoiled him. As much as he was pleased that he could get away with it, he doubted it was any good for his already limited social tolerance.
It was a thin rope to walk, being true to oneself and conforming to society’s norm. While Raphael leaned to the former, he was aware of the fact that both were equally important, which was why he had put some effort in around certain people. Simon himself was, despite his social shyness, an outgoing person and leaned with his wanting-to-be-liked-attitude to the latter. They probably met in the middle but understood each other enough to have learned when to give each other a break.
Which was why Simon was willing to let it go as long as it wasn’t important, but still challenged his social engagements, evident by the calendar, the meetings and the personal events like birthdays that Raphael had been dragged to.
Raphael had to admit, if that was true, he didn’t hate it.
However, on Simon’s part it sounded like work, constantly fighting this battle, having the same discussions over and over again even if in the end, Raphael seemed to give in. He didn’t know why Simon bothered at all, why it was so important for him that other people knew that Raphael wasn’t always as unsocial as he appeared. Whatever the reason, if it meant that Raphael could make a French exit without a fuss whenever he felt like it, he wasn’t going to complain.
Unfortunately, this didn’t help when a black haired woman entered the hotel the moment he was in the middle of the lobby. He stopped when she gave a warning before opening the door, careful to limit the sunlight streaming in as much as possible. Her eyes landed on Raphael the second he recognized her from the pictures. She was a little older, her hair shorter but unmistakably Simon’s sister.
Raphael was undecided if it was rotten luck, divine punishment, or fate playing pranks.
“Oh, hey Raphael! Welcome back.” Rebecca grinned widely as she let the door fall shut and approached him. She was holding a little boy in her arms, not older than two, who instantly made grabby hands at the vampire, gurgling something that was approximately his name. “It’s great to see you. I thought you were still on your business trip.” The child struggled in her arms, and she barely kept him from falling down until she let it down with a sigh. “When Simon told me you had to leave for a few months I was like, no way is he going to leave the clan for so long. And look here, I was right! I should have made a bet.”
Raphael looked down as the toddler approached him on unsteady legs and eventually latched onto his trousers, tugging on them, trying to compel him to lift him up, while Simon came running into the lobby, looking mildly horrified at his sister’s spontaneous visit. “Becky, what are you doing here?”
“Just felt like coming by,” she answered and pulled him into a hug as a greeting. Simon looked over her shoulder at Raphael, mouthing the words ‘my sister’. It was meant to help but it offended him a little that Simon thought he needed the hint after they had talked about her for over an hour.
Simon had shown about a million pictures of her, eyes bright as he explained how important she was to him, how she had practically raised him, how she had always been there for him and supported him. When she had decided to settle down and start a family, she had actively looked for a partner in the Shadow World. Simon and Rebecca had fought about it, because Simon wanted her to marry someone she loved, and he didn’t want his nieces or nephews to grow up in the Shadow World. However, Rebecca had wanted to be a part of Simon’s life, had wanted her children and her husband to be a part of Simon’s life, too. Therefore a Mundane hadn’t been an option for her, and just because she had looked in the Shadow World didn’t mean she was going to pick some random guy she didn’t like. It just meant that her pool for potential husbands was limited to specifics group.
When Raphael had heard the stories about her, he had decided that he probably liked Simon’s sister.
Raphael tilted his head, watching the toddler’s attempts to climb up, his grip still too uncoordinated, wet hands leaving imprints on his pants. The sadistic streak in him didn’t mind watching the struggle but when the child began to whine, he rolled his eyes and finally picked him up. He wouldn’t want the whole protective vampire brigade in the lobby because he let one extremely cherished toddler cry.
“And I missed my baby brother,” she added, loosening the embrace. As soon as she looked back to Raphael, her eyebrows abruptly jumped to her hairline. Raphael frowned at her reaction, then looked down on himself. The boy was sitting on his lower arm, upper body leaned against his chest, head safely supported as he had been taught by his mother in the past. The boy was reaching for Raphael’s face and petting the side of his neck and appeared perfectly content. He didn’t know what had caught her attention, but then she smiled, slow and warm. “Look at that. That’s the first time you’ve let Derek hug you. You usually act like you’ll catch Shadowhunter germs when my children want to touch you.”
Raphael wasn’t exactly thrilled to have a child in his arms, but it wasn’t like he was completely incapable of handling them. Maybe his aversion to drool and bodily fluids had increased over the years, he thought when the child gurgled and then attached its mouth to Raphael’s neck. He grimaced in disgust to Rebecca’s extreme amusement.
Great, he was going to need a shower after this. “Here. Take that angel spawn back.”
Rebecca snorted a laugh, but obliged despite Derek’s very vocal albeit unintelligible protest. “Anyhow, now that Raphael’s back. I’m sure you’ll both be coming for Hannukah!”
“Is this why you’re here?” Simon asked with a sigh.
“Mom said you wouldn’t come. I’m sorry, but I won’t allow that,” she complained, sitting her son back on the ground so he was free to roam. “I’m not going to suffer through her constant ‘helpful’ parenting advice without someone else there I can make faces with behind her back. And Raphael is pretty much the only one who can remind her that she is walking on very thin ice without making her cry. I need you! Both of you!”
While Rebecca stated her concerns, Raphael watched Derek get up on unsteady legs and waddle up to him before attaching himself to his leg again. The last time a toddler had been so fixated on him had been the baby sister of a friend he used to play futbol with, and, stupid boys that they had been, his friends had cooed and joked how they were going to marry one day.
“Are you really this busy?” Rebecca continued, drawing Raphael’s attention again. Simon was scratching the back of his neck and pulling his lips between his teeth. It was something Raphael had witnessed before. He was close to giving in, and his sister must have noticed as well, when she moved for the final attack. “I know Christmas is a very stressful time, and with Hannukah overlapping this year it’s extra stressful, but can’t you make some time for your mortal family, that you don’t know how many years you still get to spend with?”
It was brutal and hopefully not a card she used very often. Looking at Simon, it was very efficient. There was a mixture of annoyance at the emotional blackmail and guilt at the truth of her words on his face. “And Raphael, you’ve canceled your dates with mom this whole month! We know you didn’t have a choice, but I don’t think she’ll let you off the hook for Hannukah. I swear, she’ll show up here like I did and demand an explanation.”
Raphael lifted his brows, deciding to end Simon’s dilemma. It was only one day, two at most, considering that Simon couldn’t stay with his family this year anyway. “I’m sure we’ll manage to squeeze a day in.”
Simon tensed immediately, slowly turning his head, a carefully blank expression on his face. “We can find a day for me, I’m sure, but not for you.”
Well, that was unexpected.
Sensing that something must be wrong, Rebecca looked back and forth between them. “Okay, what’s going on? You’re acting weird.”
With a forced smile, Simon tried to reassure his sister with an “It’s nothing.” He was honestly such a terrible liar, Raphael was almost embarrassed.
Rebecca threw a questioning glance at the Latino now, but he didn’t give her anything as he leaned down, acting like he was giving in to the child’s demand again. Internally, he was rolling his eyes, suppressing the urge to point out that they should just get it over with and tell her the truth. Simon would do it anyway, sooner or later, because he was incapable of keeping up this charade, and it honestly didn’t matter how many more people outside the clan knew about him. He had never thought that they were able to keep it a secret, anyway. Frankly, he was extremely impressed that they had managed for so long. Furthermore, she was obviously capable to keep several other secrets, what was one more?
However, it was clear that Simon didn’t want to tell her the truth, for whatever reason, and it was not Raphael’s place to take that away from him. This was his family after all. Still, ‘it was nothing’ clearly wasn’t going to sell, and Simon realized that as well. With a sigh, he added, “We’re just fighting. You know. Rough patch in the relationship.”
“Rough patch, what…” Rebecca stopped herself, squinting her eyes at Simon who seemed to start a one-sided wordless communication via facial expressions that gave Raphael the impression he should probably allow them some privacy. While he was briefly distracted by the very active toddler in his arms, he returned his attention to the human as soon as he sensed rising dread from her. She was staring at her brother’s midsection with wide eyes, mouth open in disbelief or shock, while Simon suddenly kept an arm behind his back.
Raphael drew his eyebrows down at the odd behavior, but then Rebecca abruptly turned around and glared right at him. “What did you do to my brother? Why isn’t he wear—”
“Becky!”
“No, don’t Becky me,” she snapped. “There’s no way you would—”
“Becky!” Simon interrupted her again, his tone making her flinch. Even Raphael was surprised at the undue harshness. “Let’s talk somewhere else.”
She stared at her brother in disbelief, but Simon ignored it, taking over Derek and ushering her along before she could do anything else. Raphael was left behind, mildly confused at what had just transpired between them. With a click of his tongue, he decided to get on with his work, let them sort out their problems on their own.
He assumed it shouldn’t take long. When Simon had talked about his family it became clear that they had their differences but would always stick together and support each other. Raphael didn’t know why Simon wanted to keep this a secret from them, when they had dealt with worse before, for example the revelation of vampires.
He also didn’t quite understand why it was such a big deal for them to have Raphael over, as well. Yeah, they had been a couple for a few years and a relationship clearly didn’t just involve two people. In their case it affected a whole clan, and every bit of family that Simon still had. His older version had understood that, had treated Simon’s mother and sister well, had even made an effort with his friends, but those responsibilities didn’t fall to him anymore. He wasn’t obligated to deal with any of this and quite frankly, he didn’t want to deal with all these strangers, but he had thought it was something he could do to help, for once, show some support.
Obviously he had been wrong.
Raphael knew he was easily misunderstood, given who he was. Even if he wanted to do something nice, the way he delivered it, dispassionate tone, expressionless face, gave off the impression that he didn't care one way or another. It was the reason why he had learned to adapt, to show emotion where he didn’t think them necessary. He had learned to act. It was his mistake for believing he didn’t have to do that with Simon. Maybe it was unfair to push this on him. Even his patience was bound to reach a limit.
It still didn’t explain Simon’s harsh reaction.
Wear what exactly?
Raphael replayed the scene in his mind again: Simon’s voice, sharp and angry and almost desperate, Rebecca approaching Raphael like a lioness wanting to protect her young, her reaction so exaggerated for whatever she could have picked up from her brother by expression and sight alone. Raphael’s movements slowed until he froze in the middle of the stairs, when he thought back to Simon’s odd poise, left arm, no, left hand hidden behind his back.
It was like an explosion was going off in his head, a high whistling noise in his ear rendering him temporary deaf, when he realized what Rebecca was missing, what Simon was supposed to wear and what he had failed to hide by keeping.
A ring.
They were married.
Raphael stood on the stairs, motionless, leaking the emotional turmoil through his bond to everyone he was connected to and leading them right to where he was. He had to force himself to move, to finally get into the office and close the door, so nobody would even think about entering. Nobody but Simon. His husband.
Eleven years. Raphael had heard that number, had repeated it many times in his head, and never had it occurred to him that they had taken that step. How could it? Two months ago he would have never thought about having a relationship, let alone marriage.
Anger flared up as he finally entered the office and slammed the door shut.
Raphael felt irrationally betrayed. This was important to him. Simon, more than anyone, knew what this meant to him, that this was a promise, a commitment, something he would never take lightly. This relationship wasn’t a whim, wasn’t a ‘lets see where this thing is going’, wasn’t a means to waste time or to keep the clan happy. Raphael wouldn’t marry someone just for the heck of it, or because they had reached a certain milestone in their relationship, or because he needed financial security, or for whatever other reason people wanted to get married for.
He didn’t want to marry at all. Of course he had thought about it, back when society demanded it from him. When his mother had expected it. Had thought about what type of woman he could stand to have around for the rest of his life, how much he would be able to reconcile his abnormality and religion with the duties of a husband. He had thought about priesthood just to get away from it. As a vampire he didn’t need to bother with such thoughts. Marriage wasn’t expected, quite the opposite, it had been frowned upon, sneered at and ridiculed. As a vampire, he didn’t need to conform to anyone, didn’t need to bend sideways, didn’t need to deal with romance, compromises, sex, marriage. There had been nothing forcing him to do it anymore and yet here he was, giving everything to Simon.
The same person who was trying to keep it a secret now, because Raphael had been acting like an unreasonable child, because he had already thrown a tantrum over a relationship, so what was he supposed to expect when he told him about the promise they had made to each other?
This was on him.
Raphael knew that it was his own fault, but that didn’t help to quench the anger: at himself, at the situation, at Simon. Everything would have been so much easier without Simon around.
The thought was like a cold shower, the indignation he felt at the falsity of his own claim catching him off-guard.
With a resigned sigh he sat down on his chair, pressing his head into his palms. It’s been a long time since he last needed to fake breathing, finding that it was still a habit that managed to calm him down. Until something occurred to him: when he had woken up, he hadn’t been wearing a ring.
Simon must have taken it while he had still been asleep, maybe after he had woken up a child, when he realized that Raphael was getting older every time he had opened his eyes. He had known that Raphael wouldn’t have reacted well when confronted with a wedding band on his hand.
Something felt wrong.
Like Raphael was missing something, like he had the puzzle pieces but was incapable of putting them together because they didn't belong to the same one. There was so much wrong in what he had assumed and believed to be true, and Simon had been so supportive, almost assertive, in Raphael's decision to refuse Magnus' help. Raphael had always taken his word, had never really tried to pick holes into his arguments because they suited his need.
For the first time he realized how wrong it was.
How wrong he was.
By the time Rebecca left about half an hour later, her mood had brightened significantly. She even called a loud goodbye into the hotel that was answered by a few vampires. Raphael had used the solitude to clear his thoughts, balance his emotions and even though still wasn’t quite sure how to address this matter, he at least had managed to control his anger and get over his displace feeling of betrayal. It was at least enough to face Simon without giving anything away, when he entered the office shortly after Rebecca’s leave.
He was agitated and clearly unhappy, but Raphael was thoroughly unimpressed at this point. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“I was thinking,” Raphael replied in a clipped tone, “that it’s important to your family and that I’d manage to play my part for a few hours.”
“But I cant!” Simon exclaimed, pacing up and down. “I can’t sit there knowing that every word out of your mouth is a lie! I can’t laugh and joke and pretend like everything is okay when it’s not. And it makes so angry that you don’t even think about that and just do whatever you want.”
While it was true that Raphael had not taken that into contemplation, he hadn’t done it out of selfishness. However this time, Simon didn’t give him the benefit of the doubt, instead expected the worst from him. Not unjustified, given that up to two weeks ago Raphael had been anything but pleasant company. It still annoyed him. “Yet, you expect me to do it for that atrocious Christmas party.”
Raphael had been there before, dragged to it by Camille, who had flounced him around, making sure everyone knew he belonged to her. Being in her clan had meant nothing. It didn’t automatically provide protection like it did now. Officially introducing Raphael in that manner, however, had been a signal to everyone around – and a warning to him.
He didn’t have any favorable memories of attending the Christmas ball, and from the stories he had heard, that hadn’t change in the last decades either, so when he had found out that he was still going there every year he could hardly believe it.
“No, I don’t!” Simon exclaimed, infuriated. “The Christmas party is purely business. Nobody expects you to flirt, touch, tease or do whatever couples tend to do in public. When we are there, we’re clan leader and advisor. Nothing else. I’ll give you information on the people in the room and you’ll do your thing and that’s it. But Hannukah is completely different. This is my family! You can’t just fake your way through them! You’ve been meeting my mother twice a month before this happened. You can’t fool her. And I don’t want you to fool her!”
“Well,” Raphael started indifferently, after giving Simon a few seconds to cool down, “You could always tell them the truth. But you won’t, because you think that I’ll regain my memory and everything will go back to normal.”
It was the truth and they both knew it.
Simon looked at him for so long, Raphael didn’t know what to expect when he opened his mouth to talk again. “Do you want to make our break up official?” Raphael’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. He hadn’t really thought about it, but given that they were going to be more public, especially in the next couple days, it was a justified question. “If you do… I think… That is…”
Raphael waited for him to go on, but Simon remained silent, an expression of guilt on his face. He was clutching the top of his shirt with one hand, opened his mouth, closed it again, frustration and worry gnawing on him, until he just seemed to give up and look anywhere but at the Latino.
“You said we weren’t very tactile in public,” he said, taking over the conversation, when Simon couldn’t go on.
Simon’s eyes widened slightly, then he snorted in contempt. “An understatement, but yeah. To give you a sense, people didn’t believe we’ve been going out until you flung Feodora through half a room because she threatened me. That was about a year after we started going out. And even after that about ninety percent still thought it was because I was a precious pet.”
“I don’t think we have to announce anything yet,” Raphael suggested finally. “Time will take it’s course. People will either figure it out on their own or they won’t. It doesn’t matter to us, does it?”
If Simon was right, there weren’t that many people who would notice the change in their behavior anyway, and those that did, might speculate, but only a few would ask direct questions and those were likely people Simon was close to. They would approach him for answers. It would give Simon the opportunity to hide, at least for a while, to keep pretending that there was hope, that his Raphael was going to come back. However if Simon had read the same literature as Raphael had when he had done some research at Magnus’ place about memory loss, he should also be aware that chances for Magnus being able to help him were slim.
Simon seemed surprised by the decision. Then again, until a week ago, Raphael would have probably suggested to make a clean cut. Until a week ago he had also believed to know what he wanted. He wasn’t so sure about that anymore.
“Your family, your friends, that is something you have to decide on your own. If you trust them, I don’t care if you tell them the truth. If you can’t stand me pretending, I won’t, but then you have to be prepared to answer the questions. It would also be a good idea to give me a heads up, so I know what to expect.”
Simon opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but stopped. The nod was all Raphael needed as agreement, especially since, one way or another, the brunt of the decision-making power and responsibility were resting on Simon’s shoulder not his own.
Chapter 7: Key of F Major
Summary:
Raphael meets Simon's family. And a sparring match.
Notes:
This chapter took forever, and I'm really sorry about that. It just took me a while to sort out the scenes and then rewrite a few things and anyway... I hope you like it.
I also got a comment that unfortunately was deleted before I could reply to it, which is sad because I would have liked to. I don't think that person will read this, but for anyone who does, I'm always open to criticism, because I can only grow if I know what I'm doing wrong. So please don't hesitate to tell me what you think I could do better.
Chapter Text
F major is at once full of peace and joy, but also expresses effectively a light, passing regret a mournful, but not a deeply sorrowful feeling. It is, moreover, available for the expression of religious sentiment.
~ The Elements Of The Beautiful In Music by Ernst Pauer
Christmas fell right between the days of Hannukah, and the run-up to it had already been a trial for Simon; even without the planned events they were supposed to attend. After Rebecca’s visit, Simon was constantly involved in discussions over the phone. There were also a few messages on Raphael’s old phone, which Simon was replying to with disgruntled patience. Apparently his mother had found out that Raphael was back from his bogus trip to wherever and still wasn’t going to attend the family celebration.
Raphael had to admit, she was somewhat persistent.
Maybe that was where her son got his own stubbornness from, though where Simon was patient, Elaine Lewis seemed to be aggressive by comparison.
An hour before Simon was due to leave to visit his family, he appeared outside Raphael’s room, looking stressed, annoyed, and somewhat resigned.
“She’s very tenacious,” Raphael remarked, before the other man had a chance to explain the reason for his spontaneous visit. It was very obvious from his face.
“I told them the truth about you,” Simon said with a sigh. “Not about the how, just that it happened. I also told them we’re not together anymore. My mom still wants to see you.”
“That seems rather inconsiderate.”
“My mom considers you part of the family, whether you remember or not. She tried to be a mother to you, and she’s won’t stop caring for you. Of course, you don’t have to agree,” Simon added quickly. “No one’s forcing you, but she wants you to know that you’re more than welcome. And… and it would mean a lot to her.”
“Do you want me there?”
“No,” Simon admitted.
“Have you told her that?”
“Not in those words.” Raphael frowned, and Simon shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, though.”
“I believe it does.”
Rolling his eyes and already turning away, Simon muttered, “Just meet me at the entrance at seven.”
“That’s quite a position you’re putting me in.”
“My mom insisted,” he explained, annoyed, “and I won’t fight her more than I already did. It’s not worth the headache. And anyway, between the two of us, one jerk is more than enough.”
Raphael, who only raised his eyebrows in reply, wasn’t nearly as surprised at those words as Simon himself. It was ironic that he had tried to push through the other man’s armor multiple times and failed, despite seeing the cracks, while his mother managed to shatter it in a few days.
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
Raphael snorted, amused. “It’s not like you’re wrong.”
“No. This is not your fault.”
“I’m inclined to disagree.”
“It’s not,” Simon insisted. “I’m not even angry with you. It’s just, my mom.” The last word was unnaturally stressed, making him sound like a petulant teenager trying to stop his mother from doing something embarrassing like wiping his cheek with a spit-wetted handkerchief in front of all his friends. There was no doubt that if Raphael’s mother were still alive, she would have been able to elicit the same reaction from him. “Just forget it. She’ll be happy to see you and I’ll finally get a break, so feel free to tag along.”
Obviously a relationship, theirs especially, didn’t just involve two people. It affected a whole clan and every bit of family that they still had. In Raphael’s case, that was likely only Magnus, but Simon still had his Mundane family. His older version had understood the importance, had not only treated Simon’s mother and sister well, but had also made an effort with his friends. Those responsibilities didn’t fall to him anymore. He wasn’t obligated to play happy family with strangers.
Raphael would have liked to argue that he made the decision out of mere curiosity, or because he wanted to find out what kind of woman would take a ninety year old man under her wing and treat him like a son, but he knew that wasn’t the only reason. Even if he didn’t see the vampires of the clan or these strangers as family, he was beginning to respect the bond they used to share with him.
Since his return to the DuMort he had realized that he was willing to make some effort to maintain his previous relationships to a certain extent. He wanted to honor what his older version had established, in whatever way he was capable of. It helped that his ‘friends’ like Xavier, Elliott, Frederick and Jacob seemed to understand that keeping friendly relations wasn’t easy for him. Probably because they had been through this with him before and knew what they were up against.
Which was why Raphael waited at the entrance to the DuMort at the appointed time. Simon didn’t appear as agitated and annoyed as he had previously been, but they still walked in silence until they stopped in front of a Brownstone in the Upper West Side. The house was in an expensive area. From what Raphael had read about Elaine Lewis, she lived from widow’s benefits. He doubted she could afford this place with those and her charity work, but her son’s salary would certainly make it possible.
Worrying his lower lip, Simon turned to face Raphael. “Are you sure want to do this? My mother is really... something.”
“I can deal with ‘something’,” he said, raising both eyebrows. “Unless this was your way of telling me to leave.”
“It wasn’t,” Simon said, then frowned. “At least I don’t think it was.”
Raphael gave him a few seconds to sort his thoughts, before he spoke up again. “If you’re not certain, you probably want me to go.”
“Just… be nice,” Simon said with another deep sigh, “You’re usually very courteous around her.” Of course Raphael was. She was the mother of his possible husband. “And I mean to all of us. Me too. I think my family won’t really say anything if you don’t act the way you used to, but I believe my mother still expects you to be somewhat polite.”
“Sure. I can be charming.”
“Don’t I know that.” Simon rolled his eyes, but let out a soft laugh. He was still nervous, though, his fingers drumming against the side of his right leg, the worry not leaving his expression, the other hand absently touching his chest. He wondered if hidden beneath the thin fabric of his shirt were the pendant from the video or the wedding rings.
Frankly, Raphael had thought several times about telling Simon that he suspected they were married. He had the feeling that it would remove some unnecessary stress. Then again, as he had to find out, his instincts about Simon were more wrong than right.
It was quite a feat to leave Raphael hanging or second-guessing himself but not exactly uncommon. Camille had made him cautious, and she had kept him on his toes, always ready to change his approach. However, in the short time with the clan he had begun to see it, not exactly as the family it was supposed to be but also not as the adversary he had thought it was.
Just like Simon had claimed, they weren’t his enemies. That meant he didn’t need to be quite as quick-witted and careful around them. However the sentiment went right out of the window whenever Raphael was faced with the question of how he was supposed to act around Simon. He remembered the same awkwardness from being around Lily after she had confessed her love to him, but that had resolved quickly over time.
He hadn’t been going out with Lily for over ten years before that, though.
“Simon,” Raphael said quietly, like he wanted the other vampire to miss it. “¿Estamos casados?” [Are we married?]
For one brief second, Simon’s whole body froze, but then it slowly unwound. “So you did notice.”
“Yes.”
“Figured you did, but you didn’t say anything and I… I…” Simon let his shoulders hang, never finishing the sentence. He had a habit of speaking before thinking, trailing off often in conversation to sort his thoughts. “I knew I had to tell you. Soon-ish. Especially when we break up officially. Paperwork, you know? I gather Dolores is going to send you a very strongly worded letter and a fine.” He chuckled darkly. “Also, too many people who could let it slip. I guess I should have told you from the start.”
“Probably a good idea that you didn’t.”
“Made it harder to come clean, though…” Raphael didn’t react at first – didn’t believe he had to, but Simon kept throwing him glances instead of ringing the bell, so he eventually lifted his eyebrows in a wordless demand. Simon cleared his throat. “What… what are you going to do now?”
“About what?”
“About the marriage?”
Frankly, Raphael had no answer. They were married, on paper, official Clave documents – and he didn’t even remember being married. Just the sound of it in his head alone was absurd. When he had figured it out he had been blind-sided, angry, confused – but he had had time to calm down and think about it. Not that it had helped much.
For Raphael, marriage was a commitment, something he wasn’t going to break off lightly or on the spur of the moment situation, but it was true that sooner or later he had to draw a line, if only to release Simon from those shackles.
Part of Raphael had come far enough to be willing to see if their relationship could go anywhere again. Another part doubted that it was a good idea, wondering if he should continue to burden Simon with this relationship, adding to their usual drama the jealousy Raphael would undoubtedly develop for himself. However, it was also up to Simon, whether or not he wanted to wait for Raphael to make up his mind, which could take months or years.
Raphael didn’t have a clear answer yet, and at this point, his intention to bring this up had nothing to do with wanting to denounce the marriage, ask for a divorce, or discuss it.
“Nothing,” he replied eventually. “I just assumed you’d have something less to worry about now.”
“Nothing? Seriously?” Simon stared at him in disbelief, then shook his head, voice tightening. “Jesus Christ. Why do we keep doing this? Why do we always do these things at the worst time possible?”
“You gave me about an hour heads-up,” Raphael replied calmly.
“Not the problem! That wasn’t… Oh my God, this is really such a us-thing!” Simon seemed to be counting in his head to calm himself down again, until he continued, “Whatever. I don’t have the emotional capacity for that right now.” His expression softing a bit, he added, “But… yeah. Thanks for clearing this up. I mean, I told them not to bring up the marriage, and kind of suggested that it had to do with internal homophobia, you know, considering your religious beliefs and your memories being stuck in the seventies, but I honestly don’t believe that my family wouldn’t slip on that matter.”
“Cuánta fe,” [Such faith] Raphael drawled.
Simon cracked a smile, before he walked up the steps to ring the bell with a muttered ‘Here goes nothing’. It didn’t take long for the front door to open, revealing first Rebecca and then an older woman, unmistakably Simon’s mother. Though her hair was black and streaked with white and her stature small in comparison, they had the same nose, brown eyes, and wide shape of the mouth.
Simon greeted them with a quick hug, before disappearing into the apartment, leaving Raphael and the two women alone at the door. Rebecca and Elaine exchanged glances, while Raphael wondered how annoyed he was supposed to be for this little act of defiance. Just as he was about to introduce himself into the prolonged silence, Elaine took a step forward with a beaming smile, her arms open as if to embrace him. Instead her hands landed on his shoulders. “Raphael, it’s good to see you. I’m Elaine, Simon’s mother.”
“And I’m Becky,” Rebecca said, before grimacing. “This feels kinda weird after meeting you already.”
“I apologize for not saying anything sooner,” Raphael replied. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Lewis and you too, Rebecca. Thank you for the invitation.”
“Elaine will be enough,” she chuckled, then took a step to the side, making way for him to enter. “And of course. I’m just glad Simon finally decided to ask you. He’s such a heartless child sometimes. I do hope he has been more helpful to you while you’ve been… indisposed.”
Heartless was honestly not a word Raphael would use to describe Simon.
“He has been very accommodating.” Which was the truth but Elaine seemed to take his words as nothing but pleasantry. In the background, Simon rolled his eyes. His mien changed immediately into a blinding smile when a little girl threw herself at him. Picking her up under the arms, he playfully turned around to her squealing: “Uncle Si! Faster! Faster!”
“Levi, have you gotten bigger again?” he asked when they came to a stop. “You’ll grow taller than your father if you keep this up.”
She giggled, then looked to the entrance, and she pulled her eyebrows down in a serious frown. “Oh. Uncle Raphael.”
Uncle Raphael.
Now there was something he never expected to hear.
She wriggled in Simon’s hold until he let her down, then stepped in front of Raphael, stiffly reaching her hand out. “Hello, I’m Levi Clearbrand. Mama said you’re sick and you don’t remember us. I hope you get well soon.”
Raphael squatted down to get on her level. When he took the offered hand to shake it, her eyes grew wide. “Thank you, Levi, that’s really kind of you.”
“Wow. You must be really sick,” she let out in surprise, proving that she had no filter just like her uncle.
“Well, I can certainly spot the family resemblance,” Raphael drawled with a smile, which seemed to spook her even more. She quickly pulled her hand back and inched behind Simon’s legs, keeping her narrowed eyes steady on him. Elaine and Rebecca laughed, while Simon petted the head of the girl.
“Some things never change,” Rebecca muttered, amused, and left for the kitchen. Elaine followed her, but only after making sure that Raphael’s jacket was neatly placed on a hangar.
“She takes after you,” Raphael stated dryly, watching Simon ruffle the head fondly.
“Nonsense. She’s far too pretty for that.”
“That’s true.” It was Simon’s aborted motion that made the Latino realize that the joke he had gone along with was a sore spot for the other man after everything that had been said. “Yo no—” [I didn’t—]
“I know,” Simon said, waving him off. “You’re making this weird.”
Raphael suppressed the urge to tell him that his reaction was the only reason he had been alerted to the unintended insult in the first place. Perhaps it was the fact that he had attempted to remedy it this time that made it ‘weird’.
Taking note of the lack of come back, Simon decided to let it go and joined his mother and sister in the kitchen, essentially leaving Raphael and Levi to each other. The latter squinted her eyes at him, until Derek scurried out of the living room into the hallway and tugged on Raphael’s sleeve. He held out a game that had a pig on the cover.
“He wants to play with you,” Levi translated, her brother waving the game around as if to emphasize her words. Raphael glanced to the kitchen. Simon was talking to Rebecca while Elaine was setting the table in the breakfast area. At least with the children he didn’t have to stand around grasping for conversational topics.
“You need to teach me,” he said in way of agreeing.
While Levi’s eyebrows twitched in confusion, Derek jumped happily at his reply and guided him into the living room.
The game was a treat for the children. The pig’s head pumped to inflate its stomach, which would eventually cause the belt to burst. How often the head had to be pumped was determined by a number printed on hamburgers that were fed to the animal. The children, especially Derek, needed help counting and squealed with delight every time the belt popped.
Sometime during the third round Rebecca’s husband arrived. He glanced around the room, watching his children play with the vampire with mild surprise, waving to Raphael in greeting before introducing himself as ‘Evan’, and then moving on to the rest of the family.
Quiet chatter, the smell of food, a television playing Christmas movies in the background. Frankly, it was very domestic. Very docile. Especially compared to Raphael’s own family gatherings. ‘Family’ had basically meant the whole neighborhood anyway, so it was bound to be loud and rambunctious. There wasn’t even a hint of supernatural activity, despite the presence of vampires and Shadowhunters.
It was completely ordinary.
“Raphael, dear, do you drink your blood chilled?” Elaine asked, poking her head into the living room.
The children didn’t even bat an eyelash at the mention of blood. Raphael gave only a short affirmative nod, any verbal response would have been drowned out by the children’s gleeful cheering as the pig’s belt snapped. Raphael was sure that Derek had long since exceeded the number of times he was supposed to push the head – according to the hamburger, it had been ‘once’ –, cheekily waiting for the right moment when Raphael was distracted.
Seriously, it had been a long time since he had seen such unadulterated joy, especially at something so simple. It made the corner of his lips curl, something Levi picked up on immediately. She stared at him owlishly, before turning a bright red in embarrassment at being caught. When Raphael lifted his eyebrows, the girl averted her gaze, busying herself with deflating the stomach and collecting the colorful hamburgers.
“I see they tricked you,” Simon chuckled, obviously used to their antics.
“Uncle Si! Join us, please? Please? ¿Porfiii?” [Pleeease] Levi begged, her eyes getting bigger by the second. Derek tried to imitate her. It looked ridiculous.
Raphael was surprised by the Spanish, but Levi seemed to know what she was doing because Simon, who had been about to play hard to get, was swayed instantly. With an overly dramatic sigh, he sat down between Raphael and Levi, lamenting to Levi’s giggling how he was no match for the masters of this game.
It was no surprise that Simon was good with children. He made them laugh by changing his voice to speak for the pig that demanded more and more food when they weren’t sure how often to pump the head, and he tickled them when they tried to sneak in a few more pumps. He genuinely enjoyed playing with them, the complete opposite of Raphael who played with them and helped them, but didn’t engage on their level. Instead, he treated them more like little adults.
Simon probably wanted to be a father. He would have been a good one, judging by the way he handled the clan. Even if he needed someone to play the bad guy from time to time because he was too soft-hearted around his loved ones, tended to give in easily even if it wasn’t in his best interests, and turned a blind eye when he deemed something harmless enough, spoiling them a little too much in some ways. Something he was aware of himself.
Perhaps Simon needed someone like Raphael.
He remembered Lily’s words, how she had claimed that they were good together, that Simon was the carrot to Raphael’s stick. Soft where Raphael was hard, and strict where Raphael was lenient, she had said.
She might have been right.
They matched and complemented each other, agreed where it was important, like shared values, but differed where it mattered. Raphael had searched for that one thing that had made Simon special to him, that had enticed him to change his mind, but it didn’t exist. Because it wasn’t just one thing that made him special – it was all of him.
It had taken Raphael an embarrassingly long time to figure that out.
Raphael knew nothing about Jewish traditions. Growing up in East Harlem, which was predominantly Latin and therefore mostly Catholic, there hadn’t been much exposure to other religions. After being Turned, religion was far from everybody’s mind. Simon was one of the few vampires he knew who still had some lingering attachment to their religion, and the only one besides himself, who had learned to fight the pain in order to continue practicing it.
Levi delighted in explaining and demonstrating their traditions, her chest puffing out as she beamed with pride at how grown up she already was while instructing him to help her light the menorah. Derek tugged at his leg in a quiet but firm demand, and, with a barely suppressed sigh, Raphael lifted him as well, keeping the matches safe in the small hand by wrapping his own tightly around it.
Raphael was very aware of the disbelieving eyes upon him.
Honestly, it wasn’t like he hated children.
He mostly found them annoyingly loud and boring. The latter because there was nothing interesting to do with them until they had reached a certain age. He also didn’t find pictures or videos of them drooling, playing with mud or smearing their mouths with any kind of food or saliva endearing.
No, that was simply disgusting.
Despite his obvious change in attitude, at least when it came to children, no one mentioned his memory loss or seemed particularly concerned about it. The adults tiptoed around certain topics, but never in a way that showed they were struggling, and the children effortlessly included him in their shenanigans. Yet, as innocent and adaptable as they were, it also meant that they were less likely to keep their thoughts to themselves. So when Levi stuffed food into her mouth while talking a mile a minute, she addressed the elephant in the room without a care.
“You’re waaay more fun now that you don’t remember us, Uncle Raphael!” Reaching for another baked potato, her hand stopped short and she looked up, eyes wide in horror. “Is it our fault? Have we done something bad to you? Is that why you hate us?”
Simon choked on his blood.
Raphael raised his eyebrows, doubting that he had done anything particularly ‘fun’. He had mostly been a bystander, watching over them while they played their games or helping out when they had trouble with something. He honestly had no idea how his older self had handled these situations before, but surely it couldn’t be much different. Raphael had raised his siblings and had been a role model for most of the kids in his neighborhood.
“Have you ever peed on me when I was changing your diapers?” Raphael asked, seriously.
Levi’s face flushed red, then she glanced at her mother. Rebecca just laughed. “You never changed their diapers. And that only ever happened to Simon. Especially with Derek. I stopped counting after the fifth time.”
Simon groaned into his hand.
“Then I don’t think there’s anything you could have done that would make me hate you.”
Annoyed? Certainly. Hate? Doubtful.
Levi seemed to agree with his logic and gave a firm nod in reply. “Uncle Si always said you like us, but you don’t know how to show it. Is that true?”
“I don’t think your uncle would lie to you, now would he?”
“He lied about—” Levi paused, glancing at her little brother who wasn’t paying attention, too busy playing with the mashed potatoes. She cupped her hands over his ears anyway before finishing the sentence, “Santa.” She mouthed the word more than she said it before releasing her brother’s ears. Derek looked at her with a puzzled frown.
“I think every adult does.”
“You didn’t.”
Hopefully that meant he had just never said anything. He was an asshole, but that didn’t mean he’d go around destroying a child’s dreams or fantasies. On the other hand, judging by the reactions he got from just about everyone except Simon, who just seemed uncomfortable, he must have really disliked children.
Smirking, he replied, “Some might argue that I’m not an adult.”
“But you’re married! Only adults get married!”
Simon pinched the back of his nose.
So much for keeping secrets. That certainly would have been a surprise to hear if they hadn’t talked about it beforehand.
“Didn’t we agree that we don’t talk about that?” Evan asked calmly, getting his daughter’s attention.
Seemingly remembering, the girl gasped loudly, hands flying to cover her mouth as she stared at Raphael. “I wasn’t supposed to tell!”
Now that Levi knew about his memory loss, he wondered how long they could keep it a secret. Though he wasn’t sure how involved she was with the Shadow World. From the conversations at the dinner table, he knew that Rebecca’s husband, though a born Shadowhunter, had an utterly boring desk job at the DMV that offered a health plan and allowed him to spend more time with his children, while Levi attended a mundane pre-school.
“Levi, you need to remember your promises,” Evan admonished sternly.
She looked like she was about to cry, as she muttered quietly, “I’m sorry.”
“You’re father is right,” Raphael said, “But between the two of us, it does make me an adult.”
The sadness was instantly wiped away as Levi smiled happily at his words. “I really like you now,” she said cheerfully. “I hope you stay sick!”
“Levi!” Rebecca called shocked.
“And I appreciate your honesty,” Raphael replied, completely unfazed.
“You’re welcome!” Levi replied, completely ignoring her mother and deciding that she finally needed that baked potato on her plate.
“Well, that was delightful,” Evan said, lips curled in amused affection. He was clearly a man, who loved his children and accepted their quirks with patience. Raphael thought he was a good match for Rebecca, though Elaine seemed to disagree. Throughout the evening, she had been pointing out flaws with veiled criticism that everyone endured tight-lipped and white-knuckled until the subject was changed – usually by Raphael.
Raphael wasn’t going to pry, but judging from the comments, Evan must have cheated on his wife at least once. At least that was what Elaine seemed to think. Raphael didn’t know, and he certainly wasn’t going to ask, but he was somewhat annoyed by her behavior, especially in front of Levi and Derek. Young as they were, they were old enough to pick up on her tone of voice and the subsequent mood.
He thought about speaking up, but when Simon brushed his knuckle against his thigh, he remembered his promise. He was supposed to be nice, so he would be a good guest and keep his mouth shut. It wasn’t his place to say anything to begin with. Rebecca and Evan pretended not to notice the criticism, but their scents belied their calm demeanor. Simon’s lips twitched with each jab, but instead of expressing his displeasure, he took another sip of his drink.
Family drama.
It really was all so mundane, but he didn’t hate it.
At the end of the night, Raphael was sick of playing with that pink fat pig the children loved so much. He was more than glad when Rebecca pointed out that it was far beyond their bed time. Derek had been nodding off every other minute anyhow, woken by his sister poking his side when it was his turn. After Rebecca left with her family, Simon and Raphael helped Elaine with the clean-up.
At least she seemed pleased with how the night had went.
Still, despite his mother’s attitude, Simon was in a good mood on the way back. He talked more about his family and summarized the evening like Raphael hadn’t been there himself. Raphael didn’t mind, though, listening more to his voice than the words, to the soft baritone that slipped to a higher pitch when he was excited.
Everything about Simon was so lively and vibrant, including his family.
It wasn’t the first time he had made this observation, and it wouldn’t be the last. Nonetheless, for whatever reason, it still managed to catch him by surprise. Simon was unlike most other vampires. According to him, it was because of the way he had been introduced to the vampire life. Stable. Protected. Supported. With opportunities to grow.
It was the same thing the clan wished for Raphael now.
“Thanks, by the way,” Simon said, interrupting his thoughts. “For not telling my mom off. I could see you wanted to. Like a couple of times.”
“You told me to be nice.”
“Yeah. And I meant it. Then again, maybe you could have just said it. I don’t even know how she would have reacted. You’re the only one who can criticize her after all. I don’t know what it is about you. Your angelic face? Your expression? Your tone of voice? That Latino accent you use as a weapon against her? No matter what you say, she gives you a pass. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re slipping some Encanto in there.”
Raphael huffed. “You’re probably exaggerating.”
“Raphael, no. I’m not! You once said to her that you told Evan what a great mother-in-law she was and that it was about time she stopped making you a liar!”
That was rather harsh and did not fit with the narrative that he was polite and courteous to her.
“I mean, your words were nicer but basically it was just that. When she tried to lecture Becky on how to raise her children, you told her that Becky obviously knew what she was doing, after all, she raised me at only twelve years old.”
“Some high praise.”
“Not the point! It was a complete slap in my mom’s face. She just got quiet and then asked if anyone wanted seconds. Believe me, if Becky or I had said something like that, she would have kicked us out. I guess she just reacts better to criticism from you than from us.”
“Your mother is a proud woman,” Raphael started after a moment. “She knows that she failed you, so your criticism is harder for her to take, don’t you think?”
“Possibly.”
“I guess it’s not fair, considering that you’re the ones who should be allowed to complain the most.”
“I don’t care about complaining. My mom has always been difficult. I just wish she’d stop doing this to Evan.”
“What’s the story behind it anyway?”
Simon let out a long sigh. “Don’t get me wrong. My mom can be really amazing,” he began, like a disclaimer. “It took her some time to get used to me being a vampire, but when she did, she embraced it wholeheartedly. She really supports the clan and shifted her charity work from the Mundane World to the Shadow World, fighting for equality and helping no matter their race. She really came through when we had a blood shortage and she has some unique ways to find solutions.”
In short: she was a good person with some faults.
“But she can be so judgy sometimes. She simply doesn’t understand that Becky and Evan’s relationship doesn’t work like hers or ours.” Raphael lifted his eyebrows, not understanding where this was going. “Monogamous,” Simon clarified at his reaction. “They aren’t, or weren’t. Things changed with the kids. They wanted a steady third - never mind, not important for this. My mom doesn’t understand. She doesn’t want to understand. It’s none of her business anyway, but a couple of years ago one of her friend’s son’s wife’s acquaintance—you get the idea—saw Evan with another woman. They had their rules, they stuck to them, and were happy with their arrangement, but my mom is just so old-fashioned. When Becky tried to explain that Evan wasn’t cheating, she just talked over her and pushed the blame for this ‘farce of a marriage’ – her words – on Evan.”
To be fair, Raphael was as conservative as Elaine in that regard and a little surprised to hear this bit of Rebecca’s relationship, but at least he couldn’t be bothered to judge other people for their choice in lifestyle.
“Was it?” he asked, curious.
“No. It was actually one of Elliott’s girlfriends.” Simon said it with emphasize, like he wanted to defend his sister’s husband. “They talked about polyamory and Becky just sort of connected with it and decided to try it out. So whatever. Like, who fucking cares as long as they are happy, right?”
Raphael subtly startled at the vehemence in Simon’s voice and demeanor. Realizing that the other vampire was actually waiting for an answer, he shrugged. “It’s not something I’d consider, but it’s not my marriage, either.”
“Exactly!”
Raphael searched his face, trying to figure out what had Simon so fired up about this topic. “Sore spot?”
Simon ducked his head sheepishly. “Kinda.”
“Because our relationship wasn’t very conventional, either?”
There was a brief pause, followed by a “Yes.”
Raphael could only guess what people must have said about them. Going by the fact that the clan had a long-standing betting pool on whether or not Raphael and Simon had sex, they must have been the center of some good-natured ridicule as well. By now, if he understood correctly, it was just a remnant of their past struggles and the clan didn’t seem to care for the answer. Still, it showed that their relationship had been of interest, if only because Raphael was known to abstain from sex.
“The few people I told were always like ‘Really? Never?’ like it was completely impossible for them to understand. Sometimes I thought those reactions were the reason you… Raphael initiated sex in the first place, so I turned him down four or five times before I felt comfortable enough to try it.” Simon chuckled lightly. “The first time I gave in, I think he was inspired by one of Lily’s movies. Rose petals were involved.” Then he frowned again. Sighed. “It’s a wonder he kept trying after the second time, really. I always thought he felt pressured to do it. Or that the timing was off. It just felt wrong. We’ve talked about sex before, of course, and he tried to explain it to me, but I never quite got it, not like, emotionally. It always made me think that he understood me better than I understood him.”
Raphael seriously doubted that, but he had no proof to refute that statement.
They fell silent after that, the Latino wondering whether or not to break it with a question, until he noticed Simon’s increasingly worried expression.
“So,” Raphael began to pull him out of the self-inflicted misery, something he seemed to indulge in a lot. “Derek and Rebecca? Is that why she named her son after him?”
“God, no,” Simon said, pulling a face. “They were friends, best friends. Derek would have never touched her and Becky always said it would have ruined what they had, so no, they never dated and my sanity will be eternally grateful for that.”
“That bad?”
“Terribly bad. They were trouble together, you won’t believe it. When Evan entered her life, he was worse than my mom and I combined. Even the clan told Evan that he had to get approval from Derek first or he wouldn’t stand a chance. Can’t believe how mad that made me at first. I’m her brother after all.”
Raphael’s lips quirked at the still obvious displeasure in Simon’s voice at the affront. He was as proud a brother as he was a mother.
“If Derek was her best friend, does ‘Levi’ have a special meaning, too?”
“Levi was my father’s name,” Simon replied, seemingly surprised that Raphael cared to ask. “He died when I was young.”
“Your father,” Raphael repeated. “I see. Levi – founder of the tribe of Levi. Rebecca – wife of Issac. She makes her name proud.”
Simon blinked at him in confusion.
“It means ‘to tie’, doesn’t it? She raised you when your mother couldn’t and she always supported you, even when you told them that you’re a vampire. She was what tied this family together, she still does.” Simon looked at him, an expression on his face Raphael had trouble deciphering. “What about you? Is it Simon – the fisherman or, Simon – the Zealot?” When Simon made a noise like he didn’t understand, he added, “Fallible but loyal. Or a mysterious missionary and martyr, that Jesus accepted as an apostle because he saw something in him nobody else did?”
“Simon – my grandfather,” he answered eventually with a grin. “Not sure what he was named after. I mean, maybe it’s just coincidence. Like there will always be a matching name in the Bible or Torah, right? For example Raphael – God’s healer. Or Santiago – Saint. God’s holy healer?”
Raphael scoffed at that. “Not very fitting, is it?”
“It is very fitting,” Simon said. “You healed Lily from her apathy. You healed me, too, in ways no one else could.”
“You’re the only one who’d say that,” Raphael remarked dryly, believing that the other man was still too much in love with his older self to see the lie in his own words. “Simon, though, no matter whether Zealot or Fisherman, seems to be appropriate.” Simon’s expression melted again into the same one from before – sad, happy, complicated. Somewhat irritated, this time Raphael asked. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said far too quickly, embarrassed at being called out. “It’s just… This is so much like it used to be. Between us. Talking like this. Being this way with each other. It just… ” Raphael raised his eyebrow to prompt him to go on. “You are him. You are really him. You’re so much alike, and sometimes so different. Like with the kids. I’ve never seen you this comfortable with any of the children. Even Max said that he never had more fun playing with you.”
“You do know that I raised my brothers?”
Raphael felt ridiculous pointing this out, because surely Simon knew, as well as Magnus and Lily. Everyone close to him should know that he had loved his brothers, even if he didn’t want to deal with children in general. Therefore every child that belonged to their small world would be given the same courtesy of being treated like a part of his family, teasing and scolding included.
“Yes, I know,” Simon said, rolling his eyes. “And I know you’re really proud of it, too, considering how often you mention it.”
“What’s the problem then? Do I hate them now?”
Simon’s lips thinned. “You don’t hate them. You just don’t engage.”
“But I teach them Spanish?”
“No,” Simon said, “I do.”
The unasked question ‘Why?’ hung in the air but Simon refused to take it.
“So what?” Raphael pushed, “Was I touched by one sticky hand too many?” Going by Simon’s rather stoic expression, it was more than that. In the short time he had gotten to know the other vampire, not many people managed to put that face on him. “¿Fue culpa de Camille?” [Was it Camille’s fault?]
She had been friends with his sire for a reason, even if he hadn’t seen anything that suggested why. She might have not been as sick as that filthy man, but she had come on to Raphael right from the start – when he was both physically and mentally a minor. Whatever she had done in the last half century, she was undoubtedly the reason for his baggage. Nobody else had the power to make him feel like a person on the run, to be constantly on alert and watch his back.
“Don’t go poking into your past. It’s not important anymore, anyway. Your life wasn't easy and it left scars. That’s all you need to know.”
“My life was never easy,” Raphael protested, his hand wrapping around the pendant in his jacket. “And I’ve always dealt with it.”
“You didn’t deal with it, you endured it. That’s a big difference.”
“So what changed, that I couldn’t endure it anymore?”
“Raphael,” Simon snarled, lips twisted in anger, “You said you don’t need your memories, so back off.”
“Well, maybe that has changed.” Raphael only noticed how their voices had raised when his words were met with silence. Simon stared at him, wide-eyed, and Raphael’s body deflated with the anger leaving his body. It took him a moment to find the right words to continue. “I thought I didn’t need them, but I didn’t know what I was giving up,” he said, quietly, eyes cast away. “I still don’t know.”
Simon swallowed, looking almost scared. “Does that mean you want your memories back?”
“I don’t know,” Raphael answered honestly. “But I don’t think I can make a decision without knowing what it is that made my life so horrible in the first place.”
“Then ask Lily. Or Magnus. Or someone else from the clan who was there.”
“I did,” Raphael said, annoyed. “When I asked the clan they told me to ask Lily. When I asked Lily, she told me to ask you. When I asked Magnus, he told me to ask you. Everyone agrees that you are the most reliable source when it comes to what happened to me. That you have more knowledge and better insight than they do. Do you?”
Simon pressed his lips together. “Possibly.”
“And you still have the nerve to act like I have a choice in the matter?” Raphael asked, taking a step closer to Simon, who didn’t budge an inch. “That I can ask someone else? Why do you get to decide what I get to know?”
“I don’t.”
“That’s right, you don’t. Yet you still do. And this is not the first time. You kept our marriage secret and you refuse to talk about details of our relationship.”
“It’s not like you want to hear anything about that anyway.”
“Not at first,” Raphael sneered, “But when I did, when I tried to ask you, you kept changing the subject, deflecting with jokes or ignoring me altogether. You brushed me off, just like you are doing now. You made it abundantly clear that I wasn’t entitled to answers about this relationship unless you feel like it.”
“So what? It was my relationship, not yours, and it’s still sacred to me. I don’t want my memories tainted by you being an asshole about them. Again. So yes, there are things I don’t want you to know, and some I don’t want to talk about.”
Raphael growled, slowly losing his patience. “You can tell me about our sex life, but me asking how we got together is going too far?”
Simon gritted his teeth, and it was obvious that he was trying not to yell at Raphael. “Because I thought it would help you! But knowing the bad things about your past is not going to do you any favors!”
“Says who?”
“Says me!”
“And that exactly,” Raphael snapped, “makes you the gatekeeper of my own memories!”
“No, it does not.” It was honestly surprising that Simon was still arguing, meeting Raphael’s accusations head on and mulishly standing his ground. Even more surprising was that underneath Raphael’s general anger at the defiance, he felt an absurd sense of approval, the stubbornness appealing to him, if only because Simon was usually quick to de-escalate. “I’m not the only one who knows about your past! Just because they sent you to me doesn’t mean you can’t ask them again. It’s my choice what I’m willing to tell you.”
“So I get, what? A third of the truth? An opinion from a bystander who happens to know something?”
“I’m pretty sure that will give you enough information,” Simon replied, his voice almost hostile by now. “Why isn’t that enough for you?”
“Because the bad memories make me who I am!”
“So do the good ones!” Simon snapped back.
They stared at each other, unwilling to give in, and when they fell silent, their faces pulled into a grimace, realizing at the same time just how childish their quarrel was. Though it was Raphael who pointed it out with a click of his tongue, before he added, “And people say I am stubborn.”
Simon gave him a half-hearted glare, before it lost even that bit of passion and he just sighed. “Jesus... I don’t think we’ve ever bickered like this before.”
“Given how obstinate I am, that sounds like a lie.”
“It isn’t. Usually one of us gives in before it gets… like this… I guess we were more willing to compromise, when we loved and respected each other. Not that that has changed for me... Raphael would have been the one to give in this time. He has always been…” Searching for a word, he finally settled on ‘more mature,’ while Raphael completed the sentence with ‘older,’ earning himself another sideways glance. “He was also much more emotionally stable than you are,” Simon added as if trying to pick a fight.
Raphael huffed. “From what I hear, he was a jerk.”
“Maybe so, but I only felt like punching him about once a month, so it wasn’t bad.”
“Yeah? What about me then?”
“Seriously?” Simon asked rhetorically. “Every other day.”
“What about now?”
“Definitely.”
Raphael lips twitched. “That can be arranged.”
“I knew it,” Simon exclaimed in pure indignation after Raphael had harshly pushed him face first into the gym mat. “I knew you were still holding out on me!”
“So it's usually not like this?” Raphael asked with raised eyebrows after their first round of sparring.
“No,” Simon growled, letting his forehead touch the mat while Raphael finally let up. “I usually win one in five fights, and it’s been a long time since I've lost this brutally fast against you.” Sitting up with a pout, Simon messaged his left shoulder that Raphael had almost dislocated. “I knew you were taking pity on me, when I always felt like I was almost catching up to you but you still eluded me.”
Raphael didn’t think he was the type to feel sorry for anyone. It was likely more a strategy, the same one he had used with his siblings to keep them motivated. “I think it was encouragement, not pity.” Simon looked at with hopeful eyes, and Raphael understood that this was probably something that hadn’t been addressed much, if at all, in their relationship. This was a place where they weren’t equal, not yet, even though Simon had worked hard to change that. “I’ve been told how strong you are,” he said, holding out his hand to help the other man up. “Don’t get me wrong, you are. I’m not one to hold back when I don’t know my opponent’s strength. I’m not going to underestimate you or anyone else. But I’m also not going to hurt someone unnecessarily.”
“I know,” Simon muttered when he was up from the floor again. “It’s just frustrating. And I thought, with you being a vampire for as long as I have, we’d be more evenly matched.”
“You can’t easily beat experience of ninety years ingrained in this body,” Raphael said, knowing that his reflexes had been doing most of the work.
“Yes, yes. That’s why Lily makes us learn the basics over and over and over again. I’ve been doing this long enough to know that it’s a lifesaver.” Simon didn’t appear terribly upset anymore, eyes burning with new ambition, though worry seeped into his expression minutely when he seemingly remembered what Raphael’s win meant. “So. What is your question?”
It had been out of curiosity that Raphael had suggested they settle their differences in the gym, and he honestly hadn’t expected Simon to take him up on the offer. After all, he was generally very gentle and a fight that involved physically hurting each other, even if only in training, didn’t seem to be something he was interested in. Still, Simon had agreed, even to the condition that he would have to answer one of Raphael’s questions if he lost – or vice versa.
At first, Raphael believed that Simon had agreed because he hadn’t been privy to most of his husband’s thoughts, and considering that the younger version appeared more open or less reluctant to share thoughts or details of his past, he knew that there might be questions Simon would have liked to have answered. As always, Simon had to prove him wrong by replying, sounding almost insulted: “If Raphael didn’t want to tell me, I don’t want to hear it from you. But there are things I want to ask you.”
Raphael didn’t know what information he could have that was of any interest to Simon, but it wasn’t as if he had much to hide anyway. If anything from the past was off-limits, that only left the two short months he had spent here, and he didn’t think he had held back much.
Maybe Simon just wanted to punch him that badly.
However, the rule had been set before they realized how mismatched they were, though Raphael assumed Simon still had an ace up his sleeve, considering that despite his angry outburst, he didn’t seem bothered with the loss, but rather by the question he would have to answer.
Sensing his trepidation, Raphael decided to ease him into it, giving Simon an opportunity to call it quits after the first round.
“What does YDWHTTT and SMBFNIC stand for?” They were acronyms he had seen his calendar several times and it was sheer willpower that he managed to remember them.
Simon appeared confused at first, before he barked out a laugh. “‘Yearly Dreadful We-Have-To-Talk-Talk’ and ‘She’s My Best Friend so be Nice to her Infront of her Children’,” he answered, emphasizing the letters attributing to the abbreviation. “The first one is a set day, when we talk about our problems. Or attempted to. You know, before they catch us in a bad moment. As they tend to. The latter is for Clary’s family celebrations like her children’s birthdays.”
“You have a terrible sense for naming dates,” Raphael stated, unimpressed. “Who’s supposed to remember those?”
“Yeah, smart-ass? How would you have named them?”
“From the top of my head? Draining Recurring Excruciating Annual Discussion and Pristine Award-winning Impression of being Nice.”
Simon pursed his lips, and Raphael wiggled his eyebrows, forcing a laugh from him. “Fine. Screw it. Yours is better,” he admitted while going back into his starting position.
Simon was more strategy than strength or instinct in fighting. His strong points lay in calm observations, studying his opponents’ movements and waiting for the right moment to strike, which was an advantage in training, but a weakness when it came to real fights. Still, he learned in a matter of seconds, slowly getting used to Raphael’s way of fighting which seemed to differ slightly from his previous one. The most obvious change was probably that Raphael didn’t know how Simon fought, which led to unexpected behavior and reactions for Simon.
As quick as he was learning, he still lost the next few rounds – and Raphael asked questions that he was mildly curious about mixed with something he was really interested in.
“How did you die?”
“How did we get together?”
“Who proposed?”
“Have I ever abused you?”
Simon’s reply always came on the spot, despite expecting different questions. Especially the last one, when he looked Raphael straight in the eyes to make sure he knew he was telling the truth. “Never. You got a little forceful in stressful situations but I always called you out on it. I promised you I would. You’re not your father, Raphael. You never would have hurt me. You’d never hurt someone you love.”
He hated that Simon knew why he had asked that question.
He hated even more how relieved he was to hear those words.
Even though he kept losing, despite knowing that Raphael wouldn’t let him win out of pity, Simon never once suggested that they stop. He was proud – just like his mother, just like Raphael, and probably wouldn’t stop until Raphael claimed what he had inquired so vehemently before.
Perhaps Simon was testing Raphael as much as Raphael was testing him. Maybe he was trying to see his lover in Raphael. Maybe his older version would have done the same. Or maybe he was tougher, colder, hardened, would have taken what he wanted and left.
Raphael didn’t know.
There was a lot about Simon that Raphael didn’t know.
After the sixth time he had Simon pinned to the mat, Raphael asked “¿Puedo ver?” [May I see?]. It was less a question and more a request, one Simon was free to decline as soon as Raphael made clear what he wanted to see by resting his hand above the necklace hidden beneath the shirt. It was the one spot he had been careful to avoid during their sparring.
Simon swallowed visibly.
“It’s all I have left, all I can cling to, so I don’t go crazy,” he started, quietly, but Raphael wasn’t interested in explanations.
“I understand,” he said, believing that Simon would refuse, but after another brief pause, he slowly pulled out the pendant. Just as assumed, there they were. Two rings. And between them a pendant similar to the one that was taunting him in his pocket. It was something that could kill him and yet he carried it around like a lucky charm.
Simon didn’t say anything when Raphael reached out to read the inscriptions, one Latin, the other Hebrew. They both were simple white gold wedding bands, the Latin message translating to ‘Remember your worth’. It didn’t make sense to him. Frowning, he turned the ring between his fingers. “It’s a bit big for me, isn’t it?”
“Probably because that one is mine,” Simon said. “We designed the rings for each other.” Holding up the rings on the necklace to look at them, he continued, “When we got engaged, I had to promise you that I would always value myself as much as anyone else. You told me that I was vital to your happiness, and if I wanted you to be happy, I’d better do my damnedest to stick around. I promised you in my marriage vows. ‘I’ll always cherish you, and I’ll always cherish myself.’.”
Wedding vows, Raphael thought, remembering broken fragments of sentences, of laughter, but there was nothing concrete, just something on the tip of his tongue, yet far out of reach.
“What does mine say?” he asked, curious.
Simon grinned, then shrugged.
It was such an outrageous reaction, telling him clearly that he had to earn it. “Fine,” he muttered as he finally got to his feet, holding out his hand to help Simon up, but this time he only looked at the offered hand for a moment, before lifting his eyebrows and standing up on his own.
“Never trust anyone to play by the rules.”
It seemed Raphael had taught him too well.
The next round was the longest they had fought, Simon making him work for it with unbearable smugness. After twenty minutes, Raphael finally managed to wrestle him to the ground, his legs pinning Simon’s arms against his body, while he sat on his thighs. “So? Have I earned the right to know now?”
Simon looked at him, smiling wildly despite his defeat. “It says atem lo labad. ‘You’re not alone’.”
Raphael sat back on his haunches, raising both eyebrows.
“He… you have a tendency to act like you have to do everything on your own, but that’s not true. And it’s not just me, who will have your back. When you need a break, when you need help, when a decision is too difficult to bear alone, even if the whole world is against you, the clan will be there for you. I will be there for you. It’s something he liked to forget. Especially… especially on his bad days. And I think It’s something you don’t know yet.”
Raphael remained silent, his lips pressed tightly together, at a loss for words. All he managed was a simple ‘I see’ in reply. Motionless, he remained in his sitting position on top of Simon, thoughts wandering, processing the answer, until he felt a light touch on his thigh.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Simon began softly, “but I never thought I’d get an answer.” Gnawing at his lower lip, he met Raphael’s inquisitive gaze. For the first time in his life, the Latino understood the meaning of ‘bambi eyes’. “You remember, don't you? Not everything, but something.”
Yes.
At that precise moment, he remembered this position that he seemed to assume in all sorts of scenarios: fighting, sex, cuddling, talking. It was familiar to them. So maybe Simon didn’t even realize that he had let his hand trail up Raphael’s thigh, wrapping his long fingers around the back of his upper leg.
It was a testament to how much Raphael wanted to trust Simon that he allowed this touch, that he didn’t want to perceive the gesture as a threat or an inappropriate come-on, despite it’s suggestive nature.
“Didn’t we agree on a win?”
“We did,” Simon said.
Suddenly the grip on Raphael’s leg tightened before he was flipped around easily, arm pressed against his trachea. While the move was ineffective for stopping his breath, it was still painful. His arms were rendered immobile the same way Simon’s had been before, his core anchored by Simon’s weight.
“And I guess this one is mine,” Simon smiled, but it made way to worry quickly. “That is… if it counts.”
He gave Raphael a way out because he didn’t want to push him. Because he still cared, not only for his Raphael, but also for his younger, brattier version.
Raphael had thought before that Simon would be better off loving someone who wasn’t a cold, stubborn, jealous bastard, and this was just another confirmation. On the other hand, a person like Simon was probably the only type willing to accept him, who possessed the patience to deal with his drama and stubbornness, and the naive kindness to tackle his secrets and darkness.
Anyone in their right mind would have walked away from this relationship.
Anyone in their right mind would have kicked him to the curb after what he had said and done.
“Te estabas desperdiciando conmigo.” [You were wasted on me.]
It took Simon a moment to get over his confusion, before he replied, annoyed, “That’s not true.”
Raphael hadn’t expected any other reply. “Yes,” he said, and continued before Simon could argue again. “I remember some things. Pictures, fragments, sometimes all I get are emotions, but they are without context. There’s no attachment to what I see or feel. It’s like I’m watching someone else or a movie.”
Simon lowered his eyes, his body deflating.
“I remember Derek’s death,” Raphael continued. “I remember you waking up screaming. I remember holding you through the pain. I remember sitting at my mother’s deathbed. I don’t remember our wedding, but I remember our wedding night. Although I didn’t know it was our wedding night until later,” he added, dryly, getting a small smile from Simon in response.
“What? Never seen anyone play cards to consummate their marriage before?” Raphael’s lips quirked in amusement. “Anyone who claims they had hot, passionate sex on their wedding night is either a liar or has more stamina than me, because all I wanted to do was drop dead at the end of the night. You had to convince me to stay up for at least a couple more minutes so we could have some us-time.”
“‘Drop dead’?” Raphael repeated.
“Drop deader,” Simon corrected with a chuckle, before he got quiet again.
“And I remember dancing with you at Magnus’ wedding,” Raphael continued into the silence, “I remember dancing with you at some Christmas party. I remember some fights. I remember Lily getting hurt and almost dying. I remember Magnus almost dying, too. I remember throwing Feodora Melnik through a room. I remember talking to you about Ragnor. I remember sex with you.”
At the last one, Simon flinched, glancing away in embarrassment. “Not something I’d want you to know.”
“Do you want to know what I don’t remember?” Raphael asked without waiting for a reply. “All the terrible things Camille allegedly did to me. There’s nothing. Not a single thing about Camille. My mind draws a complete blank whenever I think of her.”
Without any warning, he arched his back, throwing Simon off and pinning him down again in the blink of an eye.
“What memory did you need?” he continued, giving up the charade.
Simon didn’t ask, didn’t try to play dumb, didn’t insist on winning another round that they both knew he would in a heartbeat when he was motivated. “We needed the day you were killed. Because we needed him. Your sire. You were the only person we knew who was still alive and had contact with him.”
“Why?”
“Clary, she… they thought there was something in your memories they could use. She didn’t know it was you. She knew there was someone in the clan who had contact with your Sire, so she asked me, and I told her ‘no’, I didn't care what Clary needed it for, because I wouldn’t let you go through this again. Especially not knowing what could happen. But you! You and your stupid pride!” It was the first time that Simon looked close to tears, but it wasn’t sadness, it was anger and desperation. “You always thought you had to repay her for saving my life. Which is such complete bullshit.”
“Was is really pride?” Raphael asked quietly.
His old version was kinder than him, was good to the people he loved. He had power and authority. He had been cranky but beloved. His life was ordinary and peaceful. This might have not been what he had envisioned for his future but it wasn’t bad – far from it. Everything he learned confirmed that he used to love this clan, that he loved Simon, this life and what he had built for himself.
He would have done everything in his power to protect it.
But he didn’t.
This was what had always felt so wrong to him. That fact that he had just gone and given this up without a backup plan. He would have refused, no matter his honor. He should have refused, given that they had known about the side effects, even if the chance was just one in a million.
Lifting his eyes he met Simon’s gaze. “Did I do this to myself?”
Averting his eyes, visibly swallowing, Simon asked, “What are you talking about?” He really was a terrible liar.
“I fought Feodora for you. I fought for this clan with my life on the line. I’m paranoid to a fault, and so was he. I knew this could happen, and yet I did this without a plan to fix it? Without any precautionary measures? Do you expect me to believe that?”
“Maybe you just trusted Magnus to fix it.”
“As much as you trusted him, when you prepared those dossiers before hand?”
Simon pressed his lips together, and his silence said more than any word.
Raphael waited him out.
“I didn’t know,” Simon admitted eventually. “Not really. I did my own research, and you did yours. You know, side effects for tempering with memories. It was always a possibility, and Magnus had mentioned it in such a by-the-way manner that I realized he doesn’t know how much this moment still haunts you. We talked about it, and we fought about it, because we both didn’t know if you were able to handle it. You told me everything was going to be alright.” He stopped again, clenching his jaw. “But then your memories stopped right before… before things got bad with Camille… I thought... that maybe this is how you wanted it. And I’ve… I’ve always respected your choices.”
“That’s why you never pushed the issue?”
Simon met his eyes again, looking almost defiant. “I’ve always wanted you to be happy, Raphael. And if this is what you need, I will let you have it.”
“Even though it means this for you?”
“Yes, even then.” His gaze didn’t waver, voice firm. Of course he was telling the truth. Simon had always made sure that everyone knew that this was a decision Raphael had to make. He was the reason Lily had stopped bothering him, was probably the reason Magnus wasn’t on his tail. Raphael had taken his behavior as a way to pander to him, his promises nothing but pretty words, but Simon had honestly meant them.
“I know what you go through on your bad days,” he said. “Because I have asked you to open your bond and you did. And it’s not anger or hate – it’s complete emptiness. It’s like trying to breathe through a straw. It’s the notion that you should try harder, that you’re worthless, that you’re a failure because the thought of getting out of bed terrifies you. It’s the exhausting effort you have to put in just to function normally and going through your day. It’s the knowledge that you’re immortal and this will drag on and on until you make a fatal mistake. Raphael had those days regularly. Some days were better than others. But you don’t have them. I watched you all the time to make sure, to see the signs. You were mopey, you were angry, but you were fine. You were never depressed. So I was okay with everything, as long as you don’t ever have to feel that way again.”
Simon’s emotional and mental strength was frightening, and Raphael was annoyed at himself how he was drawn to him with words like that, when he should know that Simon was a vampire like himself, and could therefore easily mask his true intentions. If he wasn’t such a bad liar, he might not have believed him, but he was, and that’s why he wanted to.
“Todo es simplemente confuso,” [Everything is just so confusing] he admitted finally, aware that he sounded like a child – a side he had never shown to anyone ever since he had been a literal child. “And I don’t like to be confused. I don’t like to question myself. It annoys me, which makes me angry. No me gusta estar molesto todo el tiempo.” [I don’t like to be angry all the time.]
“Yeah…” Simon said after a moment. It was less agreeing than acknowledging, more a sign that he was listening. “I remember,” he softly added seconds later. “Raphael said he used to be angry all the time. Didn’t even notice until it stopped.” A ran through his hair and Simon sighed before throwing his head back to stare at the ceiling. There was a slight shift in the air, Simon’s expression hardening, as if he was preparing to give up. Even though Raphael didn’t know what had changed his mind, he understood what he was about to learn.
“It’s not just the one thing Camille did. It’s the sum of it,” he started softly, hesitation still in his voice, “It’s the children, it’s Maria, it’s the constant abuse - and it started about ten years after you had been Turned.”
Raphael almost interrupted him, hated himself for his own indecisiveness. Biting the inside of his cheek, he listened attentively to every word, to every vague description that presaged the true atrocities. It was enough to get a sense of the ordeals, enough to sate his curiosity, not detailed enough to stir any memories. He doubted Simon had much of those details anyway.
He listened about his bad days – when Simon made sure he didn’t have to leave his room if he didn’t want to. When their life stood still for a few hours or days, Simon at his side if he wished, and somewhere close by if he didn’t. Just in case Raphael gathered the energy to tell him to come back. It sounded absurd. Raphael was used to bouts of lethargy, everyone was, but he couldn’t understand how it had gotten this far and Simon said the word ‘depression’ like it was normal.
To Raphael it meant weak and unstable. He was disgusted with himself. His older version likely felt the same way, just adding to his circumstances.
“It’s difficult to describe,” Simon said, seeing the thoughts on his face. “Most people don’t understand. I didn’t either until you opened your bond to me. I had hoped I could help you if I knew, but I was wrong. Thinking that you’ve been dealing with that alone for so long, it makes me so angry. And knowing you can life without that…”
He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t need to. Their conversation was going in circles after all, so Raphael added something they hadn’t talked about yet. “As I see it, it’s not like we have many options to change that, anyway. This wasn’t a deliberate deletion using magic. This was probably inflicted by trauma, so according to my research, trying to restore those memories might make it worse.”
“Yeah, that’s what I read, too,” Simon muttered. “This has gone wrong once, I don’t want to make this worse.”
“Right,” Raphael agreed.
Despite that, Magnus had sounded very confident when they had talked about it. He was the best Warlock Raphael knew, and even if he reached the end of his rope, Catarina was always quick to catch him with knowledge that complemented his own. It wouldn’t be surprising if they knew something neither Simon nor Raphael knew. It just begged the question why they hadn’t informed them about it previous to the procedure. Unless, of course, Magnus had not expected it to be of importance.
One way or another, he would have to talk to him.
Raphael might have not made up his mind yet, but he figured it wouldn’t hurt to find out more about his chances.
Chapter 8: Key of B Flat Major
Summary:
Christmas party! Everyone loves Feodora. And something like a date.
Notes:
I bet you didn't think I'd be back so quickly! Well, neither did I to be honest but this chapter was mostly done, when I posted the last, so... The next one will be... difficult
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this and if you have a few more minutes to spare, I'd really love some feedback, especially on the last part.
(I think I found all the formatting errors. This was really annoying because I couldn't even use the source code for a quick replace... u_u)
Chapter Text
B flat major, the favourite key of classical composers, has an open, frank, clear, and bright character, which also admits the expression of quiet contemplation.
~ The Elements Of The Beautiful In Music by Ernst Pauer
On the day of the dreaded Christmas event, Simon went to visit his family and returned an hour before they had to leave for the party. When he showed up at Raphael’s door, he pointed to the walk-in closet and disappeared inside without a word. At first glance, it seemed as if he was in a foul mood, however he had just grown increasingly tired from his engagements and his mother’s sermons. Hanukkah was obviously a trying time, though he enjoyed seeing his niece and nephew. Possibly the only positive aspect of the last few days.
When Simon hadn’t emerged from the closet twenty minutes later – an unusually long time for him – Raphael followed to find him mostly dressed in front of the floor mirrors, staring at a tie in his hand. From the pictures he had seen, he knew that Simon cleaned up nicely, but they didn’t do the original justice.
The simple, elegant suit hugged his waist and accentuated his shoulders and eyes. When Raphael had learned to dress to look older, he had always been impressed by how much of a difference tailored clothes made, even if it was just a simple shirt. His mother never had the money for expensive clothes, except for a proper suit that he was only allowed to wear to church. His siblings had to make do with his hand-me-downs until they were beyond repair. It was just about the only advantage of being the oldest of four.
Raphael’s interest in clothes had only begun when Camille had decided to drag him around, throwing money at him like candy so he could buy something decent. It was Maria who had introduced him to the world of fashion and helped him with advice.
“Do you need anything?” Simon asked, looking around as if to see if he was in the way.
“No,” Raphael replied, “I was just wondering what took you so long.” The second he voiced his thoughts, he remembered the picture from his phone that showed Raphael tying Simon’s tie. With a disapproving click of his tongue, he added, “Don’t tell me you never learned. ¿No te he enseñado nada?” [Did I teach you nothing?] He was already moving to take matters into his own hands, the gesture coming so naturally to him that he realized too late that it shouldn’t, leaving his hands awkwardly in the air with nothing to do until he pulled them back to his side.
It took Simon a moment to veil his surprise, but then he waved a hand dismissively and approached a mirror, “I actually know how to do it.”
“I see.”
Raphael watched the unsteady hands, the way Simon’s eyebrows were furrowed as he concentrated on a task he might know how to do, but obviously wasn’t used to. Instead of pointing it out, Raphael’s eyes fixed on the neck, spotting the thin metal chain. He was drawn to it every time he caught a glimpse of it. If Simon noticed, he chose to ignore it.
“You have been kind of,” Simon began, startling him out of his thoughts, “… docile, lately.”
“Did the clan tattle on me?” he asked with a slight grin.
Except for the first day, Raphael hadn’t come along, but Simon had been with his family every day as promised, returning only in the early morning to pick up his work. It left Raphael a lot of time with the clan and his own business. He honestly hadn’t realized how much time they spent together until Simon was suddenly busy with his family affairs and Raphael was left wondering what he had been doing without him.
He could only guess how lost his older version must have felt at times when Simon stayed with his mother for celebrations. It did, however, explain the repeated inquires into the passwords he had found in their chat history – as it had been the same for years. But the initial question usually seemed to lead to a call that lasted at least half an hour.
Really, old Raphael had been such a besotted, awkward fool.
Simon eyed him through the mirror and pursed his lips. “Yeah, sort of.” It was said cautiously, as if he was afraid Raphael would get angry, when in fact he was pleased to hear that he was keeping up with the clan even when absent. It showed that as lenient as he appeared, he was still keeping tabs. “Are you alright?”
“Of course,” he replied. “Despite the atrocity in our lobby, which is an affront to every sense in my body.”
Simon laughed sharply. “I knew you would love it!”
“Did you arrange that for me?”
“Goodness, no. It’s a tradition. Every year they try to decorate the Christmas tree more horrendous than the year before. I’ve kept pictures of them. I’ll show them to you when we get a chance.”
“I think I’ll take a rain check on that.”
“Coward,” Simon scoffed, and returned to the task at hand. “Anyway, if there’s something bothering you, you can tell me.”
“It’s fine. I’ve just been thinking about something.”
About many things. Some of them involved Simon, but it wasn’t just about him, it was about his dead family, about everything he had been told about Camille, about everything he couldn’t remember and that had died with his memories. He asked himself how much he valued them. If they were more important than everything he had dealt with in his life.
His gut told him they were.
Circumstances told him they weren’t.
Finally finished with the tie, Simon wrinkled his nose as he looked into the mirror, his expression almost defeated by what he saw. It wasn’t horrible, but it wasn’t what he had expected either. “Anything I can help you with?”
“Not in the time we have left to get ready for the party.”
“That’s not a ‘no’.”
“No, it’s not,” Raphael replied, waving Simon closer. “May I?” Pointing to his own tie, he made his intentions clear –the most polite way to voice his reservations about the result without stating outright that it looked like he had tried too hard.
Simon hesitated for a moment before finally turning around to face him, and with a sigh, he relented and stepped directly in front of him. “Sure. Go ahead.”
Raphael made quick work untying the tie and, with a second look at the suit, decided to exchange it for another. “The burgundy tie is versatile and fits, but I think you should go with this one.” He held up his choice for inspection, waiting for approval. Dark green, not as wide as the first, longer in length, but tied into a full Windsor it should leave it just above the belt.
Most importantly, it suited Simon’s overall appearance better.
“I’ve been told, when in doubt, pick navy or burgundy.”
“Words of a very wise person.”
“He had his moments.” Simon said, the cheekiness in his voice betraying who he was talking about, before he added, “Go ahead with the green one.”
Raphael nodded, then slipped the fabric around Simon’s neck. He shouldn’t be surprised how easy the motion came to his body, fingers moving with absentminded purpose, just like they did when he was playing the piano or typing on his phone. It was all ingrained in his motor memory, proof that this was real, that no one was playing tricks with his mind, that this was his ‘future’ and in it, all the people ‘he’ cared about were happy and safe, apart from ordinary problems.
He still had trouble believing it, thinking that this was still nothing but an illusion, wondering if the next time he woke up, Camille was in his room, watching him rest with a dark hunger in her eyes.
“I did this before,” he said quietly.
What he meant was ‘many, many times before’.
“Once or twice,” Simon admitted, the mischief in his expression confirming the ‘many, many times’.
“Honestly, I should have made you do this every once in a while.”
“Probably,” Simon shrugged, “but we both liked our arrangement.”
Raphael glanced at him, his hand lingering a moment too long on Simon’s collarbone after tightening the knot. Right next to the necklace. Simon pretended not to notice and turned to look at himself in the mirror again, this time satisfied with the result.
“You know, I can see the effect, but I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what it would take to achieve it,” he said, as he turned back to Raphael. “Fashion completely eludes me, but I can see that this tie really works better.”
“We all have our blind spots,” Raphael said, dismissing the indirect praise.
“Thanks for the help.”
“I did it for myself,” he replied dryly. “It would have bothered me all evening.”
Simon looked at him quietly, and Raphael didn’t know what he had done this time to elicit that reaction.
“So?” he began, forcing the moment to pass. “What does CDDMCSO mean?”
Simon was back to his energetic self with the question, grinning mischievously, before feigning disgruntlement. “I’m not telling you. You’ll just make fun of me again and find a better name.”
“I would never,” Raphael replied earnestly, but his expression belied the statement.
Simon harrumphed in reply, before hiding his smile. “Come on, we have to leave soon-ish,” he said, as if it was Raphael’s fault that they were taking their sweet time. Since Raphael had insisted on changing the tie, maybe it was.
Simon spent the way to the arranged portal that was going to transport them to the festivities giving him a brief summary of what they had discussed in length a few days ago, and while Raphael wasn’t in need of the brush-up he was still thankful for it as it kept his mind occupied. Otherwise he would have to admit to himself that he was disgustingly nervous.
He hadn’t been nervous when he had to attend the proceedings with Camille. He had just been resentful and angry, so there wasn’t any emotional capacity for something else.
Two hours into the event, he realized that he had worried for nothing. All he had to do was glare or smile at whoever Simon pointed out. He made some pleasant small talk about ordinary topics like the latest Clave antics – knowledge that had been drilled into him from the very beginning – and if he didn’t know something about a specific topic he kept replies vague and ambivalent. If it seemed like this wasn’t working, Simon would intervene. Once he had to pull Raphael away from the conversation with an excuse as the fae was broaching a topic that he apparently should have been very familiar with but remembered nothing about.
Raphael talked to everyone Simon told him to, extended congratulations for one thing or another, birthdays, marriage, child-birth, contracts. He was charming, paid attention to what was being said, glanced at Feodora in passing and returned her curt nod with narrowed eyes, before moving on.
It was boring, and tedious, but important to keep in touch with their suppliers, stay current to the gossip and the schemes. To see and to be seen. Simon filed it all away, kept his eyes on people while Raphael entertained their current conversation partner. He gave Raphael whispered input on who talked to whom, explaining why it mattered, sometimes asking him to gauge their body language, because that was a skill impossible to unlearn, and feed the assessment back to him.
Politics.
Raphael hated them, but he had always known that he had to play that game. Simon made it incredibly easy, though. He was actually impressed with the way the other man handled the interactions as a bystander and highly amused whenever he turned into a bundle of nerves as soon as he was asked a direct question, offended when he heard someone scoff at Simon’s shyness or awkwardness.
Simon wasn’t very happy when Raphael went for subtle insults in reply once or twice, while looking as innocently as possible.
“Well, that hasn’t changed,” Simon remarked dryly as a fae marched off, muttering and grumbling complains in indignation. It was her fault for subtly hinting that Raphael lacked talent in his clan if he had to resort to such a slow advisor. “You’ve always made it a point that you wouldn’t stand for someone insulting your clan.”
“Unfortunately, I take after my father. But this is the one good thing I got from my mother.”
“What about your face? That’s another good thing.”
“My face?” Raphael repeated, sensing from the playful tone that Simon knew exactly how he felt about it. “No vale la pena. [More trouble than worth.] Though, my older self might disagree. It’s the only reason he caught your interest, after all. At least according to you.”
Simon stammered at the obvious accusation, then, as he always did when he was talking about his lover, he replied earnestly and seriously, “You do know I just said that to change the subject?”
“I know it’s about the only thing people tend to like about me,” he said with a grim look. A second later, when Simon opened his mouth to launch into what Raphael could only assume would be a lengthy speech to prove him wrong, he cracked a smile and added, “I’m just messing with you.”
Simon closed his mouth again, frowning, before huffing and affectionately bumping shoulders. “Dick.”
Raphael smiled a little wider, before he turned his attention back to the hall, taking in the extravagant decorations in silver and gold. It was dazzling and glittering. It was utterly disgusting. Not as bad as the Christmas tree at the hotel, though.
“You’re more than just your face,” Simon murmured softly, “There’s a lot to like about you.”
Leave it to his husband to know that it had been as much a joke as it had been a show of his insecurity.
Apart from the fact that Raphael played it a little lose with his insults, the evening continued smoothly. They must have been somewhat convincing in their behavior, too, because nobody asked questions. It helped that most people attending the party were self-absorbed egoists who didn’t care to return the courtesy of asking about their well-being. They were happy with a superficial ‘I’m good’ so they could get back to talking about their dress, diamonds, money, business, or conquests.
Simon stuck to his side for most of the night, though he did leave him when they met Magnus, who seemed to attend solely for Raphael’s sake, the disgust at the proceedings clearly written on his face. It matched the one of his son, Rafael, who had come along in hopes of meeting one of his friends and left immediately after greeting him.
Magnus sighed like the burden of all parents around the world rested on his shoulders as soon as his son was out of earshot.
“I’m amazed you let that runt run rampant here,” Raphael admitted, following the boy with his eyes until he disappeared in the crowd.
“Whatever he does, he has my support. It will only make this dreadful thing better,” Magnus replied, swirling the drink in his hand before raising it to his lips and downing it in one go, immediately waving at a waiter passing by to get him another.
“Spoken like a true parent.”
“I am his parent. He’s embarrassed to be seen with me. What better proof is there?”
Raphael almost made the mistake of teasing him about being embarrassed to be seen with him as well, which would have been an invitation to call Raphael his son as well. Catching himself, he shrugged and sipped at his own drink, letting his eyes roam the room again, realizing a moment later that he was looking for Simon in the crowd. Annoyed, he focused on the few familiar faces he spotted; faes and vampires, aged werewolves and Shadowhunters. Raphael was so used to being surrounded by immortals that it was almost bizarre to see someone he had met when they were in their twenties, now with wrinkles, gray hair, and in need of aids of various kinds.
“How have you been holding up?” Magnus asked. “Haven’t heard much from you recently.”
“Stable,” Raphael said, looking at the warlock. “For better or worse.”
Magnus made a non-committal sound. “My offer from the first day still stands, should you change your mind.”
Raphael was silent for a moment, unsure if he wanted to broach the subject here, even though the wards offered protection from the prying ears of other guests. Curiosity won him over, and he remarked, “You seem quite confident.”
“Of course. What was messed up with magic can be fixed with magic.”
“But what if it wasn’t?”
Magnus raised his eyebrows as he turned to him, but Raphael was back to scanning the room. “Intriguing. However, if the cause isn’t of magical origin, that doesn’t leave much room for an alternative.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“There is always the Mundane way. Triggering memories by smell, taste, or music.”
Raphael didn’t know what it said about his inner conflict that he had been hoping for a different answer. “Maybe. But the memories are bland.”
“Does that mean they are coming back?”
“Vaguely. Everything with a strong emotional connection, I assume.”
“Such as?”
“La muerte. Tu boda. Sexo.” [Death. Your wedding. Sex.]
Raphael never thought there would be a day when Magnus – flirt, heartbreaker and former criminal one-night-stander – would get flustered at the mention of sex, let alone cough his heart out while choking on air. Charitable soul that Raphael was, he helped out by slapping him on the back. Hard.
“That last one isn’t something you’re usually inclined to share,” was the first thing out of Magnus’ mouth as soon as regained his composure. Across the room, Rafael looked in their direction, both eyebrows raised high, his expression saying clearly that he regretted leaving them as whatever they were talking about had to be more interesting than what he was listening to.
The boy was smart, but there was no doubt that most of the guests ignored him, giving him the opportunity to spy on them. Perhaps Raphael should offer him a ride on his bike in exchange for the information he gathered.
“I heard that the clan has a bet on it. I’m sure you can cash in with this information.”
“Are you trying to bribe me?” Magnus asked, confused.
“Consider it a down payment.”
“For what?”
Raphael remained silent.
Magnus opened his mouth as if to say something, but then closed it again, letting the silence settle as he processed the unspoken message for another moment. “Have you talked to Samson about this yet?”
“Do I need his approval?” Raphael asked, almost amused, suppressing the urge to correct Magnus. “Because at this point I think it’d be harder to persuade him than me.” Confusion was written over Magnus’ expression at his statement, which just told him that Simon and Magnus weren’t as close as he had previously assumed. “No, I have not.”
“Are you going to?”
Raphael shrugged. “No need to get his hopes up. He might just get disappointed if it doesn’t work.”
“You worry about disappointing him?” A hint of amusement leaked into his voice as the corners of his lips twitched.
Raphael straightened his back. “I’ve put the clan through enough. I may not care for them the way they care for me, but I understand and respect their feelings for me. Now that I’m done pouting and throwing tantrums like a child.” He added the last part only to deprive Magnus of the pleasure of pointing out this particular fact himself.
With a displeased huff, Magnus replied, “What brought the sudden change in attitude?”
“It wasn’t sudden. It was a long, unfair fight,” Raphael muttered dryly. “Though I’d prefer to call it a slaughter. Simon Lewis is a weapon in violation of the Geneva Conventions.”
“Are you calling him a war crime?” Magnus laughed.
“Surely, killing your enemy with too much kindness must break at least one law somewhere.”
“Not an approach that would work in conventional warfare,” the warlock said. “But in a war of hearts, he’ll obviously be the winner.”
“En cualquier caso [in any case], I was utterly unprepared for how much he loves.”
“You mean, the way he totally, devastatingly, terrifyingly, ultimately loves you to the moon and back? I think no one was prepared for that.”
Yes, Simon seemed to love unconditionally, which made him question how impartial he was when it came to Raphael. Even though he was bad at lying to Raphael, and despite their conversation in the gym, there was still a bit of doubt nagging at the back of his mind about a certain part of their relationship. “Do I treat him with the same affection?”
“Are you asking my opinion?”
“Yes.”
Magnus pondered the question for a moment, almost taking pleasure in making him wait for an answer. “I think so, yes. You listen to him and value his advice. Even if most people, myself included, only catch a glimpse of it, I think you carry him on your hands. If he asked, you’d probably give him the world. However, you’re still you, a tease in many ways, harsh in others, which can be unintentionally hurtful. But if he didn’t know how to deal with that, the two of you wouldn’t have lasted this long. Frankly, I’m surprised at how well you’re doing, considering this is the first relationship for both of you.”
“If you get better with every relationship, you must be a master.” Raphael remarked sarcastically.
“Touché.”
“Also, I’ve been told that your husband wasn’t quite as experienced as well. Yet here you are, married with children.”
“Fine then,” Magnus huffed. “It’s not a question of quantity but quality. Or maybe just a matter of love.”
“However you wish to define that.”
Magnus waited about a second, before he asked the question burning on his tongue. “Do you love him?”
His reply came without hesitation. “No, I don’t.” Turning his face away, he added, “Al menos, no aún.” [Not yet anyway]
“So it’s just a matter of time?” Magnus seemed almost surprised.
Raphael shrugged.
He wasn’t even sure if he could realize that he was in love, let alone differentiate if it was really him or just the feelings lingering in his subconscious compelling him. His view on love itself seemed skewed in comparison to what he had heard, and was tainted even more by his mother’s experiences. When he was little, when they were still happy as a family, she had retold the first meeting with her husband many times, making it sound like a story from a romance novel. She had called it love at first sight. It had always sounded hollow to Raphael. Attraction and desire, he didn’t doubt, because that was what drew people to each other in the first place, but love, in his opinion, was something that developed over time and had to be nurtured.
As he had gotten older, his mother’s view had changed, and she had made sure he understood that a relationship didn’t mean ownership, that love wasn’t a shackle to tie someone down. It wasn’t a prison based on dependency or need or fear. Rather, it was based on mutual respect, trust, dependability, shared values, work, and affection.
Part of him believed that this was possible if Simon was willing to show the same extreme patience he had shown the first time. Asking that of him again, on the other hand, was another matter entirely.
“I don’t know about love, but he has earned my respect and to some degree, my trust, which is a start.” Even if he didn’t know what else was needed – and if he was able to find that again.
“Really?”
Raphael arched his eyebrows, his body finally facing Magnus as he studied him with a curious gaze. Though the warlock seemed to have some appreciation for Simon, his words and actions were always accompanied by a hostile subtext, starting with deliberate use of the wrong name. “What did Simon do to you?”
“What did he do to me?” Magnus repeated, feigning surprise. “Why, nothing, of course.”
“Yet, you still dislike him.”
“I don’t dislike. He’s a smart kid. A very good friend. A great boyfriend to you—”
“Marido [husband],” Raphael corrected, rather unintentionally, but he refused to give that away.
Magnus let out a curious noise. “So he told you?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
The warlock grumbled something indistinguishable, before he waved his hand and declared with a dramatically resigned sigh, “I’m just curious how he managed to earn your respect and trust so quickly, when it took you forever to do the same with me. And I do mean both versions of you. Besides, I’ve known you for several decades, yet his knowledge of you exceeds mine.”
“I see,” Raphael drawled, the sound teasing, “you’re jealous.”
Magnus grimaced in disgust, but didn’t deny it.
“My dear Magnus,” the Latino started, voice almost callous, “did it ever occur to you that this might only have been possible for me because I had you as a trusted friend by my side for all these years?”
Of course he didn’t know, if that was really the reason, what with sixty years between his older version and himself, but if the last ten years were any indication, the fact that he could always count on Magnus, as long as it wasn’t about Camille – a variable he had always factored into his decisions, because even Magnus didn’t know how he would react when it came to her – had strengthened his, at best, shaky opinion that there were some decent beings in this world.
The confusion at his words was brief. Then Magnus’ scent changed from stale copper to orange and peppermint, a broad smile forming on his lips as the meaning sank in. Truly, Raphael was a heartless bastard if this tiny bit of kindness was enough to ease his oldest friend’s insecurities about their relationship.
It seemed like a waste, considering they had been around each other for so many years. Maybe he had started to take the friendship for granted or maybe he didn’t dare show his affection for the warlock because Camille still used to have some power over him – and after she was gone, it was too late, or there was no reason to change his habits.
Magnus’ happiness didn’t last long, though. “I have to warn you, should you accept my offer, the process could make it worse.”
“How?” Raphael asked with a wry smile. “Lose more memories? I’m sure 15 year old me was downright pleasant compared to me.” Perhaps this way they could erase any imprint he had of his father, though the thought of forgetting his mother pained him far more than he cared to admit. With everyone gone, he was the only one who remembered her as the strong, amazing mother and woman she had been. The only one besides him who still had some memories of her was Magnus, and those were likely lost as collateral damage in his long life.
“I can’t believe that I’m actually inclined to agree now that I’ve met thirty-year-old you. Especially considering what a stubborn brat you already were with fifteen.”
“Anyway, this is all hypothesis. I haven’t made up my mind yet.”
“But you’re considering it, which is more than you were willing to do two months ago.”
“He aprendido una cosa o dos.” [I've learned a thing or two.] His concession was muttered as he was working to keep the pout out of his voice. “Doesn’t mean I’m willing to risk what little I have left.”
When there was no reply, Raphael watched a werewolf-fae couple close to them, both immersed in their awkward dance, giggling and flirting coyly every time they stepped on each others toes, which almost made it seem like they were doing it on purpose. Raphael was about to remark on the annoying display, when Magnus spoke up again.
“Raphael,” he said with unusual gravity in his voice. Frowning at the tone, the Latino looked at him. “I promise you, if you decide to do this, everything will be fine. There will be no side effects. As long as you truly want it.”
Raphael watched his unwavering expression, the deep-seated faith reflected in his eyes, before he huffed in realization. “So you’re my backup plan.” It wasn’t a question. Magnus was generally the most logical candidate, but Raphael had assumed he would tell him straight away, instead of suggesting tests to someone, who was skeptical on a good day and downright paranoid on a bad one. Besides, he would have expected Simon to be part of the plan. After all, according to him, they had no secrets from each other.
“Backup-plan adjacent.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Magnus explained, “that I’m just holding on to it.”
Raphael’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. “Any reason why you didn’t tell me from the beginning?”
“This is a one time chance only. Therefore it is of utmost importance that you don’t reject the memories. You must want them back. Raphael thought it best to wait until you came to me yourself.”
Raphael should have been annoyed, but instead he smirked, hiding it behind his glass, but Magnus caught it out of the corner of his eye. “What’s with the smug expression?”
“I like being right.”
“About what?”
Instead of answering, Raphael cocked his head, his grin widening as he could almost taste Magnus’ curiosity. Magnus fingers idly tapped against the glass in his hand, lips pursed as he tried to figure Raphael out, but giving up just a few seconds later with a sigh.
“I promised him, but I honestly don’t know what he had expected to happen if I had told you.”
“He was probably preparing for the worst. Like me lying to you about my sincerity in wanting my memories back, just to get my hands on whatever it is and destroy it.”
“Is that something you would have done?”
It was amusing how genuinely shocked the warlock seemed, as if he had never met Raphael before. “I guess I’m more proud than spiteful that I trust myself so little.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Magnus waved his hand at another waiter, and as soon as she approached, he finished his drink in one gulp and took another from the serving platter. Apparently, Magnus didn’t seem to care what he drank as long as it was vaguely alcoholic. “I’ve always hated how you expect the worst from everyone, but I guess it’s good to see that it applies to you as well.”
“You’re not the first person to say that to me,” Raphael said, remembering the conversation with Simon in the music room. “Besides, you just noticed it now? My blatant hatred for myself from the very beginning wasn’t obvious enough?”
“It should have been,” Magnus admitted. “In any way, you’ve come far. I’m quite proud of you, my s—”
“Don’t call me son,” Raphael interrupted, disgust dripping from his voice. “You have one right over there who you might want to stop from leaving a bloody handprint on Feodora Melnik’s horrendous pink dress. That woman has no sense of color and too much power for anyone to dare tell her to her face.”
“Oh for the love of—,” Magnus swore as he marched off with wide steps, “why does it have to beher?”
“What happened to your full parental support?” Raphael called after him, only to be met with a vulgar gesture.
He watched the warlord move through the crowd with amusement. His sympathy for that woman was rather limited. After everything he had heard, he was certain she deserved it and Rafael seemed more than aware of that, if the impish expression on his face was anything to go by. The boy was using the oldest trick in the book of pickpockets, creating a distraction that drew his victim’s attention away from his true intent.
Raphael had already decided that he liked the kid when he had stayed with Magnus, but as he watched him walk away, inconspicuously sliding a towel from a waiter’s arm to clean his hands that opinion was only reinforced. The boy only stopped grinning when Magnus moved right in front of him, hands on his hips, just as the commotion of the discovered handprint broke out behind them.
As far as Raphael knew, after years of ridicule, it wasn’t a question ofif something happened to Feodora at the Christmas party, but of what. He had to give her credit for still showing up, despite the mishaps that kept happening and the stain on her image. She was still feared. Successfully backstabbing someone like Camille probably had that kind of effect. Raphael was feared as well, people treaded carefully around him unless they wanted to test their position in a power struggle. It was the only reason they badmouthed Simon. It must have been something they had talked about, otherwise his older version would have put a stop to it immediately.
After all, they had moved up considerably in the pecking order of the Downworld. Even if no one mentioned it openly, it was obvious how much Raphael’s clan and their associates could get away with, especially with their behavior around Feodora. She was still high up, but definitely below them.
Raphael’s eyes wandered until they finally found Simon, who seemed to be trying to make his way back to him, but was stopped at every odd step for another conversation. For half a second, he watched the proceeding, amused as Simon got flustered with every new person. At that pace, though, it would take him hours to reach him, so Raphael decided to meet him halfway. He stopped when Simon looked at him, his expression tense, and then he brushed the person he was talking to off, sudden haste in his movements. Raphael had about a second to wonder, what had him in such a hurry, when a landed on his shoulder, the gesture followed by a smooth voice. “Raphael, my dear. How have you been?”
Raphael straightened his back, annoyed that he had let himself get so distracted that he hadn’t noticed someone approaching. When he turned, it was with an expression that hopefully conveyed how unhappy he was with the touch, until he recognized the face from the five hundred pictures Simon had shown him. He had repeated the name just as often, making it impossible to forget her or the embarrassing number of exclamation marks on every page of her dossier.
Eira Storstrand.
Mysterious fae that liked to present herself as a goddess among the Mundanes. Long-time ally. Provider of their human blood. She was sharp, she was old, she was knowledgeable, she was a friend, but that didn’t make her any less dangerous. Simon had always warned him to keep interactions with her as short as possible. He had instructed him in great detail how to talk to her, what they talked about, and more importantly, what they didn’t talk about. From the beginning, it was a sure bet that she would attend the festivities and that she would want to speak to him, especially after Simon had taken over their regular calls.
The pictures didn’t do her justice. She was a beautiful and graceful woman, holding herself with poise and an air that cloaked her in wisdom and mystery. She looked like she was in her thirties despite being several centuries old, but her eyes betrayed her age.
Involuntarily, Raphael felt his hackles rise. He had to will himself to keep his expression carefully neutral, even though his lips wanted to curl into a snarl. Under normal circumstances, this was a person he would stay very far away from, but of course leave it to Simon Lewis to draw someone powerful like her in like a flame to a moth, and to let his older self deal with her.
He wondered how strong the older version hidden beneath his thirty-year-old conscience was to keep her so flawlessly around as a friend.
“Eira,” Raphael greeted with a curt nod, aware that he didn’t have to act much around her. It would be strange if he smiled too much or was too charming, their relationship based in a mutual understanding to act without much formality. Basically, anything above standard courtesy was too much. “It’s a pleasure to see you. I just wish it were under better circumstances.” The distaste at the on-goings was dripping from his voice, and her eyes twinkled in delight.
“We do have to meet outside of these dreadful events,” she said, “but recently, you are a man difficult to meet. I assumed this is the only chance to have a quick chat.”
She was blunt and direct. Raphael didn’t dislike that. “I apologize for my absence, but internal matters kept me busy.”
“Oh, I was told,” she said, conveniently leaving out what information she had received from whom. Something told Raphael that she already knew more than she should, though how much was anyone’s guess. “Out of respect, I will not press the issue for now. However, I sincerely hope we continue our regular conversations soon. I do miss them.”
“Eira!” Simon called excitedly from a few feet away, almost running to take her hand, shaking it with too much vigor until Raphael cast an irritated and very pointed look at the gesture, which finally made him stop. Well, no matter the lack of finesse, it still served as a distraction.
“Simon,” she said with an affectionate laugh, her voice suddenly a few degrees warmer. Noticing, Raphael watched her with a curious expression and pursed lips pursed. He was aware that Simon had a few admirers among their associates, but he was a bit surprised to count Eira among them. “I’m very excited to see you, too.”
“How are you? How are the grandkids? I hope you got my present for Veli’s birthday? What place did Anders – still getting a kick out of that name – get in his last kickboxing tournament?”
Not only did Simon fire question after question, he also instantly went for the kill, the conversation quickly spiraling into a who-is-who of Eira’s children and grandchildren, a topic that Simon was frighteningly but unsurprisingly familiar with. Raphael counted fifteen names before he stopped listening, which, despite Eira noticing, appeared less a source of ire than amusement, as if she knew it was torture for him and enjoyed it.
Given that reaction, he figured it was alright to tune them out. His older version would surely have done the same.
Eira was as well versed in the clan as Simon was in her family life, and knew more about the vampires than Raphael currently did. There was no doubt that this would have been a total disaster without Simon, and he kept her engaged and entertained for ten minutes straight, which was about as long as Raphael could stand just idling around. Something Eira must have noticed, as well.
“By the way,” she said with in an amicable voice that immediately caught Raphael’s suspicion. Camille used the same tone when she wanted to go for a kill in a casual way. “Your anniversary is coming up, isn’t it?”
“Eira—” Simon started, but she spoke right over him, one hand sliding over his shoulder as she watched Raphael, her expression searching. Yes, she definitely knew something was up.
“What kind of gift do you prefer? I don't want to make the same mistake I made last year when I gave you a horse.”
Raphael barely kept himself from spitting back into his drink, praising his own muscle control for keeping a straight face no matter what odd ball was thrown at him. Simon laughed, but it sounded a bit forced. “That wasn’t us,” he said. “We got a cow from you two years ago. We named her Sunshine and a lovely couple outside New York took her in. I even get regular updates and pictures.”
Raphael rolled his eyes at the sheer absurdity, when Simon pulled his phone out of his pockets.
Eira’s hand squeezed Simon’s shoulder before letting go, her eyes trained on the screen. Though he hid his nervousness well, Simon was restless, talking a little too fast now, stumbling over some words, each mistake low-key fueling his anxiety to keep the charade going. Eira looked as if she found him ridiculously endearing.
Simon, predictably, didn’t notice at all.
Older Raphael had probably been very pleased with this level of obliviousness.
Still, Simon had been the reason this evening hadn’t gone to hell, had gotten Raphael out of many uncomfortable situations, so the least he could do was return the favor. Without questioning himself, he placed his palm on the small of Simon’s back, just a hint of pressure, as he moved closer, glancing over his shoulder at a cow with a lilac ribbon around its neck.
“Are you sure this is Sunshine?” he asked skeptically. “Maybe they’ve already slaughtered her and this is just some other cow.” He raised his eyebrows innocently and smiled deviously as Simon let out a loud gasp and then stared at him in disbelief.
“Of course it’s her!” Simon almost shoved the phone in his face as he zoomed in on the image, his consternation erasing any trace of anxiety. “I can’t believe you just said that! See this mark here? And this flower-like pattern? That’s obviously our Sunshine!”
Raphael gave the image another critical once-over, but then just shrugged as if it wasn’t enough proof for him. When he looked at Eira, she watched the exchange with bemused amusement. “I think we prefer a new board game this year,” he said, answering her initial question. “If I may suggest a preference, deception games are all the rage in the clan.”
Simon stared at him for a moment longer, before he finally caught himself and let out a laugh that sounded more genuine. “Or anything that humiliates the loser in some way.”
“Deception games,” she repeated with a thoughtful hum. “But isn’t our dear Simon bad at deception? That’s why I took a liking to him. He is a very honest man. Wouldn’t it be a bad choice for him?”
“I think you have yet to witness his ambitions when it comes to winning board games.”
“Are you confusing me with Arya?” Simon asked, feigning offense.
Raphael had seen him play a game of deception once, and even he had been hard pressed to tell if that shit-eating grin on his face was a ruse. For all that he couldn’t lie to the people he loved, he sure could fool them when he played. Therefore he decided to ignore Simon’s interjection. “We’ll provide a list of games that we’re still missing in our collection. Feel free to chose from that.”
“It will be my pleasure,” Eira said. “Now, please don’t let me keep you any longer. I’m sure you have to tend to other parties. However, I will ask that we resume our established routine after the New Year.”
“Of course,” Raphael replied confidently.
“And please do not give our dear Simon too much trouble. He does not deserve it.” With a hand on Raphael’s shoulder, a gesture that even Simon now cocked his eyebrows at, since it was unwanted from just about everyone – something people who knew and respected him would pay attention to – she leaned forward to whisper in Raphael’s ear. “No des su apoyo por sentado.” [Do not take his support for granted.] With that, she walked past him.
When she was out of earshot, Simon sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Well, it’s Eira. I never really believed we could completely fool her. Still.” He glanced at Raphael and took a step to the side, the movement leaving his hand hanging in the air for a moment before the Latino lowered it. “You were great.”
It was admittedly weird to be praised to be great at being himself, but he shrugged it off.
“Well, I think the worst is behind us,” Simon added with a relieved smile. As if to prove him wrong, someone called his name through the crowd. His head snapped up, eyes wide in surprise when the name was repeated and a woman with fiery red hair approached them.
“You just had to tempt providence, didn’t you?” Raphael muttered.
“Clary?” Confusion crossed Simon’s face. He was genuinely shocked to see her. He also looked like he wanted to hide somewhere.
Despite having no connection to the two people who approached them, Raphael was already tempted to leave.
“Oh no, you stay mister!” Clary shouted as if she had read his thoughts, her hand reaching out to hold him in place, but Simon moved his body between them, covering it with a welcoming hug. The blond man following Clary – Jace, he recalled –only raised a hand in greeting.
“Simon! Raphael! We’re so glad we finally found you.”
“What are you doing here?” Simon asked, keeping her at bay with hands on her shoulders, almost hiding Raphael behind his body.
“We’d knew you’d be here,” Jace answered. “We haven’t seen each other at all apart from the Clave meetings, and there was no sign from Raphael since, you know. And we were still meaning to talk to him.”
“Yeah, but first, Simon, I need a moment!” Clary was already hugging his arm and guiding him away with something that was supposed to be an apologetic smile. Right.
“No wait, I—”
“Two minutes, max,” she interrupted her best friend. “Come on. Raphael survived 70 years without you, he’ll manage.”
Raphael pursed his lips as he watched Simon being dragged away almost by force, assessing his reaction to find out what made him so reluctant to leave them alone. Considering how absent Jace and Clary had been, with Clary being the reason they tampered with his memories, there were a few likely reasons. Raphael was simply going to assume the worst and roll with the punches.
“Just so you know,” Jace said, looking somewhat embarrassed. “We didn’t know it was you. Simon didn’t tell us.”
“It shouldn’t matter,” Raphael replied with a furrowed brow, his nose twitching in annoyance. “Whether it was me, or anyone else from the clan, it shouldn’t make a difference to you.”
“Yeah, right,” Jace snorted. Raphael turned his body to fully face the Shadowhunter, eyes narrowed, lips pressed into a thin line, his expression showing how unhappy he was with the reaction. Realizing that he was going in the wrong direction with that line of thought and wanting to avoid an argument, Jace lifted his hands in a placating manner. “Look, I know how you feel about your clan, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’re the leader, Raphael. When Alec told me the risks involved, I couldn’t believe anyone would do it, least of all you. So yeah, we appreciate it, but you shouldn’t be so reckless. Still, I’m glad nothing happened to you and that you’re okay.”
Raphael’s mouth opened on its own accord, before he closed it again, swallowing his reply.
They didn’t know.
Simon hadn’t told them.
With a click of his tongue, he forcefully reminded himself that he had left the choice up to Simon. They were his friends, it was his decision, but Raphael was still annoyed.
The Shadowhunter’s defiance grew visibly at Raphael’s prolonged silence, which he probably interpreted as anger when the Latino was just trying to find the right response. “Fine. I get it,” Jace started again. He was very short-tempered. “You’re angry that you took the fall for a false lead again.”
Again?
Great. Simon had been against the procedure from the very beginning. Raphael had read that in the chat logs. Simon had claimed that it was too dangerous, that the source was unreliable. Raphael had even agreed with him, but that hadn’t stopped him from going through with it. Honestly, after that Simon had probably earned exclusive rights to an unlimited supply of “I told you so’s”,but he was too busy cleaning up the mess while mourning his lost husband and maintaining relationships with his friends to even think about using it.
“Tell me, how many times is that?” Raphael asked in a voice that was scolding the Shadowhunter when he only fished for information.
A pained expression crossed Jace’s face. “Six, five? Probably six times.”
Raphael was less than impressed that it was phrased as a question. According to Simon’s files, Raphael and Jace got along great, but it seemed their only point of contact were bikes and the Shadow World. He wondered if he really liked this person or if he was just dealing with him to keep Simon happy. For his own sanity, he hoped it was the latter.
Raphael looked for Simon again and found him in an alcove. There was another girl now, talking excitedly and making big gestures with her hand. She had bright pink hair with blue streaks. Raphael remembered seeing her on Rafael’s phone – Madison, one of Lazar’s clan members. The friend Rafael had probably been looking for. Simon seemed unhappy, but he smiled and nodded at everything Madison said while Clary rolled her eyes.
Raphael had half a mind to step between them and get him out of there.
“One of these days,” he said, meeting Jace’s eyes, “that impulsive wench is going to get us all killed.”
“Hey, that’s my wife you’re talking about,” Jace complained indignantly.
“That’s hardly my fault, is it?” Raphael replied, before leaving the man standing and approaching the alcove.
“Hello Madison.” The girl jumped when she heard her name, before realizing who was talking to her. Then she spun around with a big smile, but before she could greet him with the same excitement as she had greeted Simon, he continued. “Rafael is being lectured by Magnus for ruining a dress. How about you save him?” She frowned now, seemingly unhappy with the antic, until he leaned in with a conspiratorial smile. “It was Feodora’s dress.”
“Ohhh,” she said devilishly. “He deserves a reward for that.” She left without another word, only to return a second later, as if finally remembering her manners. “Good to see you, Raphael! Catch you later!” Then she was gone again.
Simon just groaned into his hands. “Fantastic,” he sighed, glaring at Raphael accusingly. “I tried to keep those two away from each other and you go and tell her to find her partner in crime?”
Raphael just shrugged.
“You do realize that you are totally her type, which makes Rafa totally her type?”
He shrugged again. “None of my business.”
“Unbelievable,” Simon muttered. From his defeated tone it seemed like they had had the same discussion about a million times already.
“Anyway, if you’re quite done, I need Simon’s extensive knowledge about guests.”
“We’re not done yet,” Clary said. Raphael was about to forcefully suggest that yes, they absolutely were, when she sighed and waved them off. It was clear that she didn’t want to make a scene. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll find you again later. Better yet, you come and find us. We’ll be where the food is. Jace said he wants to try everything as a reward for coming here with me.”
Raphael curled his lips into a fake smile, and nodded, waiting until she approached Jace who had been watching them from a distance the whole time.
“All right,” Simon said, looking around, “who do you need?”
Raphael was walking towards the portal that served as an exit, when he answered. “No one.”
“But—Oh. I see.”
Simon turned his head around, a guilty conscience forcing him to look back at Clary.
“Was there ever something you wanted to do with me that I refused?” Raphael asked seemingly without rhyme or reason.
Simon looked at him in surprise. “Of course. Plenty.”
“Anything you’re willing to share?”
Even though suspicion crept into his voice, he answered anyway. “A few sports activities. Miniature golf, basketball. Basically anything that involves getting a ball into something smaller than a portería [soccer goal].”
Raphael huffed a laugh. Of course he had turned them down, because he had absolutely no talent for those kinds of sports, and it seemed that hadn’t changed. Even if Simon was a complete amateur, he would still be able to wipe the floor with him. Apparently he didn’t want to look bad in front of his partner. From that answer alone, Raphael could pretty much guess what else he must have refused.
“What about ice skating?”
“You’d never do that.”
He could barely suppress the contemptuous sneer. His older self was too self-conscious in this relationship. Raphael was too, to some extent, because he didn’t feel comfortable showing a weakness, but he excused it by having to deal with Camille and other people, who had only been waiting to bring him down. However, Simon clearly was not among them.
“Where are we going?” Simon asked, when they finally stopped in front of the portal station.
“Lower Manhattan,” Raphael replied, “Even unlife is too short for this madness.”
He didn’t activate the station, waiting for a response that took its time as Simon probably weighed the pros and cons of leaving the festivities early before the pros – or his curiosity – seemed to win out. “I have no idea what you’re thinking but fine, let’s go. But just so you know, Clary will hunt you down for this.”
“I don’t remember making promises.”
Simon shook his head, but smiled when the portal opened and they stepped through.
“Why did you suggest we come here?” Simon asked in amazement, fighting hard to hide his laughter as he watched Raphael, who was trying to find his balance, cling to the edge of the rink. “Have you ever done this before?”
“Once,” Raphael replied, slowly steadying himself. “Christmas present from my mother. It looked exactly like this.” Even though he had begged his mother to rent the ice skates, in the end his siblings had more fun watching him struggle than he did.
Simon stopped next to him, dithering over whether or not to offer help.
“You look like you were born on ice,” Raphael remarked, noticing Simon’s gracefulness in contrast to his usual slouching and stumbling. “It would explain your flailing.” Without further ado he held out his hand in a wordless demand and waited for Simon to take it.
“I honestly don’t understand you,” Simon muttered amused and accepted the hand in his own.
“Yeah?” Raphael asked with a smirk. “That makes two of us.”
With a firm grip on Simon’s hand, he let go of the railing and slowly but steadily made his way around the rink, Simon keeping them secure for the entire first round. While Raphael portrayed confidence even as he flailed at every bump, it was not until the third round, when he tentatively let go of Simon’s hand, that he gained some. Even a vampire’s speed or senses didn’t help much, the only advantage being that he could catch himself against the railing faster before falling down, but usually Simon was already there with a hand on his elbow or an arm around his hip. The contact was completely practical and lasted only as long as it took Raphael to regain his balance. Truly, the respect Simon had for Raphael, even his younger version, was unrivaled.
And Simon, for his part, despite his ever-watchful eyes on Raphael, looked carefree and happy for the first time as they made their rounds. He smiled almost absentmindedly, genuinely, not the forced he one usually wore around Raphael or the strained one he gave the clan members to let them know they didn’t have to worry.
All it took was for Raphael to make an utter fool of himself.
Not that Simon seemed to think so, encouraging him when he noticed improvements, giving him advice on his stance and foot position without sounding condescending or gleeful. Although he did take a certain amount of pleasure in seeing Raphael struggle so much, but he made it up by striking up conversation to distract from this embarrassing situation.
“You know, sometimes I think it’s weird that I think a vampire doing these kind of things is weird. I keep telling the other vamps that it’s perfectly fine to do whatever they want, that they don’t have to adhere to some stereotype, you know, origami, dancing, flower arrangements, whatever floats your boat, but then I picture Madison playing in a ball pit and my brain hurts.”
Raphael chuckled, a little impressed with how good he had become in such a short time. “Maybe because Madison looks like she’s twenty?”
“You’re never too old for a ball pit,” Simon objected firmly. A split second later, his expression brightened.
Knowing exactly what was going through his head, Raphael deadpanned, “No. Absolutely not.”
“Spoilsport,” Simon replied with another pout.
Raphael felt the immediate need to quell it, whether by agreeing or doing something else. It wasn’t the first time he had felt this way. Every time they had disagreed or argued, he had been compelled to take a step back and deescalate the situation, but for the first time it wasn’t unpleasant. For the first time, even if he didn’t act on it, he didn’t reject those feelings either.
When he lost his balance and wobbled a little, Simon noticed immediately and slowed down, reaching his hand back with no demand or urgency. Raphael took it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He didn’t need it, but it offered an additional sense of security.
He wondered if his previous relationship with Simon was the reason he was so much quicker to trust him, to reach out and accept his help. Or if it was because Simon had proven himself over and over again. He had tried so hard to hate Simon, but it felt impossible now.
Unaware of Raphael’s inner turmoil, Simon continued to guide them around the rink, just as he had made sure to keep him safe during the Christmas party.
His older self was kind of stupid for thinking he had to look good in front of Simon all the time. Maybe it had been his pride, his age, or the fact that he had to be a leader as well as a husband. Whatever it was, it was dumb.
If it had been him—
Clenching his jaw, Raphael stopped that line of thought at once.
It hadn’t been him, and it never was going to be him.
“I hope you have as much fun as I do,” Simon said happily as they sat down on a bench for a break.
Raphael was glad for the vampire healing because his ankles were starting to kill him, though it had stopped almost as soon as he stepped off the ice. “I doubt it,” he replied dryly, “it feels impossible to have as much fun as you do.”
It wasn’t an insult, but a statement, for Simon was honestly joy personified. If Raphael felt half as many emotions, he would be exhausted by the end of the day – vampire or not. Simon decided to take it as a compliment and just laughed, then pulled out his phone – something he usually did every other minute, but hadn’t done since they left the party – while Raphael mentally debated whether or not he would ever set foot on the ice again.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Simon frown, then roll his eyes.
“Bad news?”
“No,” he said, showing a message from Lily, asking in capital letters why Raphael had to rescue Simon from Clary and why the hell they had left the party without telling anyone, and that they better not had gotten into trouble because it had been almost two hours and she hadn’t heard from either of them.
“Is she our mother?” Raphael asked. “Any reason she keeps tabs on us?”
“Because we have a habit of getting into trouble. I’m pretty sure she drafted Madison to be our chaperone or spy on us or something.”
“I think she’d get into more trouble than we would. Especially with Rafael.”
“Must be the name.”
His expression hopefully conveyed his thoughts, but Simon just grinned before turning back to his phone, asking offhandedly, “any reason you decided to do this?”, moving his body to block the view of a group of girls who had been watching Raphael for a while now, giggling and cooing at his mistakes, apparently quite enchanted that someone like him looked like a fawn learning to walk for the first time. Raphael hadn’t thought he had noticed them, but the movement was too unnatural to be mere coincidence.
Possessive, or maybe just protective – he didn’t mind either, Raphael thought, realizing that he was allowing himself to judge Simon as a potential partner. “Porque él no lo haría,” [‘Cause he wouldn’t] he replied finally, giving Simon absolutely nothing.
The other man just looked at him thoughtfully for about half a second, before he gave up waiting for more. “You’re not plotting anything, are you?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Are you going to leave?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Raphael replied. “I just thought this might be a good activity for a date.”
“Da—This is a date?” Simon’s voice rose in pitch and volume in his surprise, his words catching the attention of the group of girls and pretty much everyone around them. For a brief moment Raphael had expected to be met with disgust, only to find that no one seemed to care.
Still, keeping his voice low, hoping it would influence Simon as well, he replied, “If that is agreeable to you.”
“Agreeable to me?” Simon stared at him like he was crazy. “Me? What about you? Are you even sure you want this?”
“No quiero romper nuestro compromiso,” [I don’t want to break our engagement] he replied quietly. “Not without trying.”
“This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you.” Simon’s voice was quieter now, but instead of surprise it sounded bitter and annoyed. “I knew you would see this as your responsibility.”
“Is that a ‘no’?” Raphael asked, aware that his tone was colder now, not to punish Simon, but to distance himself from the rejection, that had somehow come unexpectedly – and hit him harder than he had thought. Considering that up to that moment he had thought he wouldn’t care at all, that wasn’t saying much.
“Raphael, I told you before, I want you to find your way without being tied down. As far as you’re concerned, we were never married. You don’t remember me and you don’t know me.”
“Isn’t that what dating is for? To get to know someone? To find out suitability and long-term compatibility? To see if it can go somewhere? Talking about how you want the relationship to work and what kind of future you see for yourselves?”
“But you don’t even like me!” Simon bristled. “You just want to keep a promise you made. A promise that you don’t even remember.”
“That is not true. I may not love you, but that doesn’t mean I dislike you.”
Simon narrowed his eyes, as if trying to look straight into Raphael’s soul, but he returned the gaze evenly, leaving no doubt that he meant what he claimed. ”The only reason you think this will work is because it did once,” he said eventually, sounding surprisingly detached. “If so, you’re wrong. I don’t mean to be difficult, but you’re not him, and I’m not the person I was when we started dating. I have expectations now, for things that I don’t think you’re willing to give, and that I don’t know that I want from you, either. I know what I want from a relationship, and I will ask for it.”
“You mean sex?”
“No, I’m not talking about sex,” he exclaimed, either completely unaware of or indifferent to the people around them, who were again giving them curious looks. “Seriously, for someone who doesn’t care about it, you’re pretty fixated on it.” Raphael tried to keep his face neutral, but Simon realized he had stepped on a landmine, even if he ignored it as he continued. “I’m talking about intimacy in general. And habits. Like sleeping next to you and waking up to you grumbling about mornings. Knowing you’ll embrace me when I’m down. Having each other’s back. Stuff like that. It already annoys me sometimes when you’re so much like him but then you do something he would never do or say. Sometimes it makes me sad. Sometimes it makes me angry. It confuses me, it makes me miserable.” He was silent for a moment, playing with his fingers until he suddenly met Raphael’s gaze with determination. “And to be honest, I don’t know if I want that kind of intimacy with someone who has shown that he’s more than willing to hurt me.”
Frankly, Raphael didn’t know why this caught him by surprise. It was a valid argument after all. He had said a lot of cruel things, most of which he hadn’t meant, some he had but was forced to reevaluate. Still, for some reason he had assumed that Simon would put that aside as an extenuating circumstance.
Then again, they wouldn’t be married if Simon was the kind of person to let things like that slide. He had said on at least two occasions that he would always call Raphael out on his misbehavior, he just chose the time and place wisely.
“You deliberately said things to hurt me, and giving you the power to do worse, because I allowed it, is not only stupid, it’s terrifying. Even more so because sometimes you say things and I feel this ease around you and I want to let my guard down – and then you do something stupid like try to kiss me.”
This was probably the best moment to apologize, but Raphael had always been bad at it. It wasn’t that the words didn’t come to him, it was that his pride didn’t allow him to admit mistakes. Raphael was good at appearing tough, he had to be, but he, more than anyone else, knew how weak he really was. Simon, on the other hand, was stronger than him – talking about feelings without shame, admitting his fears, being open and leaving himself vulnerable – something Raphael doubted he was capable of.
He knew it was a character flaw, but even more than pride he simply wasn’t allowed to be weak.
“I have no intention of harming you. Not anymore.” Admittedly, he had been in the beginning, and they both knew it. “I’ve been—” He struggled to find the right words, something that had happened a lot since Simon had come into his life. “You were right about a lot of things, but especially about seeing you as a threat. You know more about me than I do. You might have been able to attack me where I wouldn’t expect it. To me, Simon, you are also scary, so I pushed you away and I tested your limits and loyalty. It was immature.” He caught Simon’s gaze, wondering if that was good enough, even if it wasn’t an apology. “I’ve come to believe, though, that you won’t take advantage of this. Well,” he added with a drawl, “unless you plan to fight dirty.”
Despite the tension, Simon snorted a laugh, a gesture that almost made Raphael feel a little better.
Affection.
He was sure he could develop that for Simon.
Shard values, such as family being important, they probably had that down already.
If he gave it a chance, surely the rest would come in time.
“And you were right, that Raphael can be a real asshole to be people he doesn’t care about,” Simon admitted quietly. “Even if it hurt that in that moment, I was one of them.”
They both fell quiet for a moment, Simon seemingly in his own head while Raphael gave him time to think, patiently watching the people on the ice, children using the ice skates better than Raphael will likely be able to in the foreseeable future.
“I know I can fall in love with you,” Simon suddenly admitted. “There’s no doubt about that, because you’re still him. But it’s… it feels unfair.”
“Porque lo ves a él, no a mí,” [Because you see him, not me] Raphael stated.
“Yes,” Simon admitted without hesitation. “It might be easier for you, but I have so many memories of him, and I don’t know what to do with them if they aren’t yours. And I would keep comparing you to him. It’s not—it’s not bad. Like when I saw you playing with Derek and Levi. Max also said he never had so much fun training with you. But parts of what made my Raphael, things I loved about him, you don’t have that. And I don’t know how to treat this relationship. Is this something new or a continuation? And I’m afraid I might overstep, do something that makes you uncomfortable just because I’m used to doing it. And then I might get upset at you when I don’t get what I want.” Raphael highly doubted that. “And it’s like, will I have to let go of Raphael? Will it feel like I’m cheating on him? Will I feel guilty about taking advantage of you?”
“Simon,” Raphael said, shifting his weight to lean forward, catching his eyes, “you worry too much.”
“On the contrary, I think you worry too little.”
“How about we take this one day at a time? This is not a proposal, this is not a promise, we’ll just see where this goes, and if at any point one of us feels like it’s too much, we’ll just have to let the other know.”
Simon bit his lip. “Things could get really awkward,” he said. “And you’ll be angry with me a lot. And I will lose my temper with you, too. I think we’ll fight a lot. But... I want to try being together more. I want to spend more time with you. The same way we were before and the way we’ve been the last few days. But, you know, not romantically... Not yet.”
“I understand. We’ll talk a lot on our dates.”
Simon smiled a little, seemingly flustered but still not completely sold, but that was fine. They didn’t have to give this a name, they didn’t have to be anything. Raphael didn’t plan to stick around for much longer anyway.
“Just promise me, that you’ll tell me if you realize you don’t want this,” Simon said. “I know you can be a stubborn bastard when you set your mind on something.”
The corner of Raphael’s lips twitched. “I have a feeling you’ll notice that before me.”
For another moment, Simon watched him like he was searching for something, but then the sound of an oncoming message disturbed the moment. He didn’t reach for his phone, though, attention still completely on the Latino.
“You should check it out,” Raphael said, casually leaning back. “It could be Lily again.”
Simon hesitated, but then his responsibility kicked in, because it could be important. From the look on his faceas he read the message, it wasn’t. Raphael wondered how common it was for them to share their mails when Simon turned the phone so he could read it himself.
This time it was from Clary, asking where they were because she had looked everywhere for them after waiting for about an hour. Without a word, Raphael took Simon’s phone and, ignoring the other’s outcry, quickly typed a message before throwing the phone back with a flick of his hand.
Simon caught it but it nearly hit his nose. Grumbling and muttering, he opened the message to read what Raphael had written before letting out a groan that spoke of deep resignation. However, there was a tilt to his lips that betrayed his amusement.
Despite his complaints, he didn’t seem to mind this sort of behavior.
Raphael shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned back, completely ignoring the accusing gaze until Simon muttered something about damage control while typing out a message. As if Raphael had done any damage by calling Clary a terrorist and a danger to everyone around her, who belonged in a cell in Idris, which was precisely the reason they had left.
He was sure his older version had called her worse.
“No les contaste,” [You didn't tell them] Raphael said, despite himself.
Simon stopped, confused.
“You didn’t tell them about me,” he elaborated. “Why?”
Simon opened his mouth, then closed it again, a guilty look on his face as he stared at his fingers. “To save my sanity.” This was not the answer Raphael had expected, but as if he had just been waiting to vent, Simon’s tone became agitated as he continued to explain. “It’s always like this. They ask us for help, things get screwed up, someone gets hurt, usually you or me. If it’s me, Clary gets mad at you, if it’s you, she blames herself and keeps apologizing to me until I have to comfort her. She’s my best friend, I love her to death, but I’m tired of this play. I have enough on my plate. I don’t need her theatrics. So I didn’t tell her. She’ll be super pissed at me when I do, but honestly, right now it’s the better option for me, because I’m also extremely pissed at her.”
Raphael’s eyebrows jumped to his hairline. Simon and Clary had been together since they were young, and they had both been dragged into the Shadow World with no preparations. As far as he knew, they were as thick as thieves, so he was surprised that Simon was so down-to-earth about it.
“And you. I’m really angry with you, too,” Simon added, for good measure.
For someone so angry, he didn’t let it show very often.
“That means you are going to tell her?”
“Gonna have to. She’s busy and doesn’t notice a lot of things, but even she will realize that something is different between us. Or someone will tell her by mistake because they think I tell her everything. Which is usually true.” He added the last part with a displeased frown, apparently unhappy with himself for keeping this from her.
“What did she want?” Raphael asked, fighting the urge to place his hand over Simon’s to calm him down. “Back at the party.”
“Nothing important. She thought I was avoiding her. I told her I wasn’t. She didn’t believe me. I told her I was busy. She said I was always busy. I told her this really wasn’t the place and she said this was the only place because I was obviously avoiding her and so on. And then Madison showed up. Thanks for bailing me out, by the way. Clary is great, but sometimes she doesn’t know when to quit.”
Raphael noticed that Simon was doing it a lot, adding a compliment before saying something critical about someone. As if he expected someone to think the worst of his loved ones just because he pointed out a bad side.
“Did Madison make it better or worse?”
“She just wanted to say ‘hello’,” Simon laughed, but then froze a second in shock, before he cursed. “Shit, we didn’t greet Lazar. Fuck, I have to call him and apologize.” Simon was already back on the phone, when Raphael snatched it out of his hands again. “Hey!”
“It can wait.”
“I already dialed!”
Raphael looked at the phone and saw that it was still trying to connect to ‘Jasmin’. She was Lazar’s second-in-command and almost as much of an eremite as the old man. Her name didn’t appear in Raphael’s own contact list, which meant that Raphael only had contact with Lazar, who still preferred to write letters as much as he did. Apparently, they had bonded a little over that, the latest styles in fountain pens and the mutual appreciation of good writing paper.
Without hesitation, Raphael hung up.
Simon stared at Raphael, and then back at his phone.
“He’s probably not even home yet,” the Latino said before tossing the device to Simon, who caught it with as much grace as expected. He shouldn’t find it half as endearing as he did.
“You’re terrible,” Simon said, but it was quite telling that he was only rolling his eyes.
“I know,” Raphael agreed, “but you’re not angry.”
Simon scoffed amused, before replying almost dismissively. “If I were the kind of person who blew up every time you acted like a brat we would have never lasted a year.”
Raphael assessed his voice, his manner, the mischievous tone, and concluded, “It’s more than that. It’s not that you don’t mind. You like it.”
“Raphael,” Simon said with a sigh, looking directly at him, “I adore it. It’s one of the reasons I was attracted to you. You never give in and you always speak your mind. We call it bratty because you’re a willful bastard who doesn’t make it easy for other people to deal with, but I admire it. I admire that you can insist on your opinion, that you can say ‘no’ to a request without feeling the need to explain or defend yourself and that you don’t shy away from confrontations.” Simon looked down at his phone, seemingly shy now. It amazed Raphael how he could say ‘I love you’ right to his face, but when he talked about himself, he crawled into a shell. “I always want to keep the peace. I’m always willing to compromise. Sometimes I wish I could be more like you in that way.”
“There is no merit in becoming like me,” Raphael pointed out.
“Agreed,” Simon said, “Took me a while, but I realized that too. I don’t need to be more like you when we complement each other, when you can be this part of me, and I can be your soft, yielding and emotional side.” As if realizing what he had just said, he quickly added, “And I don’t mean as a couple. We could be like that as friends.”
“But you did so well,” Raphael teased, “when you didn’t want to talk about my past.”
“Look how that turned out. I still gave in. Compromise, I’m telling you!”
“What made you change your mind?”
Simon was silent at first, then closed his phone without ever sending a message and put it back into his pocket. “There’s more than one reason,” he began slowly, “Because Raphael was always angry at your age. Because it was your past and you were right and I was just stubborn. Because you respected that I didn’t want to tell you. I don’t want to hurt you, I don’t want you to go through anything painful, but I can’t stop you from finding out. It’s better that you hear it from me. At least you’ll know the truth and not some strange rumors and exaggerations. Although I don’t know how much you downplayed it, when you told me.”
The words poked at something in the back of his mind, a memory that quickly faded from his mind’s eye, as if it had never been there. “Thank you for telling me.”
“I’d like to say, you’re welcome, but that—” The sentence was interrupted by Simon’s phone suddenly buzzing with one message after another. “—would be a lie,” he finished while fishing for the device, his expression changing from dismay to annoyance to amusement in a matter of seconds.
“Clary read the message, I take it?” Raphael asked in a drawl.
“Yeah,” Simon confirmed, muting his phone. “I’ll let her blow of some steam first before I take another look. What do you say we give the ice another chance?”
If he were in his right mind, he would have rejected the suggestion.
Obviously he wasn’t.
Chapter 9: Key of E Flat Major
Summary:
Raphael is good for several surprises.
Notes:
I'm so, so sorry for the delay, but it's not my fault Baldur's Gate 3 was released, alright?! (I loved it, but it ate more hours than I'm willing to admit to anyone).
Also this chapter was, as I had already suspected, a bit difficult. I think I still like how it turned out.
Chapter Text
E flat major is the key which boasts the greatest variety of expression. At once serious and solemn, it is the exponent of courage and determination, and gives to the piece a brilliant, firm, and dignified character. It may be designated as eminently a masculine key.
~ The Elements Of The Beautiful In Music by Ernst Pauer
“Who would have thought? The great Raphael Santiago is afraid of horror movies!” Simon exclaimed loudly into the night with a devilish cackle, arms outstretched as if declaring it to the moon itself.
Raphael simply watched him, utterly unfazed.
“I’m not,” he replied, “I find them boring. They have bad lighting, unfocused pictures, and never show anything substantial. Mostly, they are about killing people with as much blood as possible. However this was not a horror movie. This was disturbing. The man didn’t blink once throughout the whole thing. Even Camille blinked and she didn’t need to. That being said, I was not scared. The film was over, so I left.”
Simon laughed, and Raphael wanted to hate how much that sound pleased him. “Alright. Let’s call your speeding ‘leaving’.”
“Technically, it was, no matter the pace.”
“Smartass,” Simon muttered, the ‘I win’ barely concealed in his expression as he shoved his hands into his jeans pockets before falling into step beside him.
This was their first ‘date’ after the ice-skating rink, and the first real downtime Simon had had since the holidays. Therefore, Raphael had thought it quite fitting to ask him out. Simon had stared at him like a goldfish for a few seconds, as if he couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that he was being asked to the most common and safest date possible: cinema and food.
If things were going to get stale between them, Raphael had thought, at least they had the movie to talk about. It didn’t get awkward though. Simon was active, lively, and seemed to be enjoying himself, with only a hint of schadenfreude as he had watched Raphael out of the corner of his eye, but mostly sympathy, when the Latino had pressed his lips together, brows furrowed, squirming slightly in obvious disgust and discomfort.
Simon had asked him before entering the movie if he really wanted to watch it, and Raphael had known that his older version would usually have refused, either out of sheer boredom or stubbornness. Probably both. Frankly, a person like Hannibal Lecter didn’t fit on his scale of villains. He had seen far more disturbing people in his life. His sire for example. However, this was precisely what had stirred the flight instinct while watching the movie: it was too close to home.
Simon had only asked once and accepted his answer, probably because he knew Raphael well enough that questioning the decision wouldn’t do any good. Instead he played on Raphael’s discomfort and tried to ease it with humor and jokes, which meant that Simon was watching him more than the movie. When Raphael noticed, he began to mutter comments that made Simon snort or huff in suppressed laughter and the people behind them shush. The movie was old, but apparently there were still people who had never seen it before.
Despite the diversion that Simon provided, Raphael was indeed quite happy when he was finally able to leave the small theater. For one, he wasn’t much for cramped places with only two exits on one side. For another he wasn’t used to being surrounded by humans in such density. It was oppressing: their scents, the heartbeats, the noises, the couple in the back thinking nobody noticed that they were fooling around – the act even more disturbing considering the theme of the movie.
Back in the streets of Manhattan, now cloaked in cold air and a fine sheet of frosted mist, he felt lighter again. Freer. They didn’t talk much on their way to the hotel, but it was companionable silence as Raphael watched Simon find joy in the smallest of things. His jeans had been stained by a car passing by and while Raphael had managed to move out of the way in time, Simon hadn’t been quite as foresighted, the lower parts of his pants drenched with specks of dirty water. After that, apparently in Simon’s opinion at least, the state of the clothes didn’t matter anymore, so he purposefully walked into every puddle of dirty melted snow that they passed, which produced a seemingly rather satisfying splashing sound.
Getting the shoes clean and dry was going to be a pain but it was Simon’s problem as long as he left them outside the hotel before entering, therefore Raphael couldn’t care less. He just made sure to keep his distance to the other vampire, trying to ignore the evaluating side of his brain that wanted to read too much into the behavior and wondered if this was Simon’s way of making sure they weren’t too close. He doubted it, but he wasn’t going to rule it out, kept it in the back of his mind just to be on the safe side in order to spot the first hints of discomfort.
“A veces eres como un niño,” [You’re like a child sometimes] Raphael remarked, when Simon jumped into the tenth or twelfth puddle.
“Yeah?” Simon asked as he turned around, “Well, this child takes care of your calendar. What do you say about that?”
“I’d say that I explicitly stated ‘a veces’ [sometimes].”
Simon rolled his eyes, then grinned mischievously as he lifted his foot again and brought it down with purpose and emphasize, the water sprinkling in every direction. While the action was obviously deliberate, the result was not. At least not going by Simon’s completely horrified expression when the water reached far enough to splatter on the other vampire’s pants.
Raphael would have rolled his eyes himself if it weren’t for Simon’s expression, which made it clear that this accident hit him harder than Raphael, even though he was known to be a clean freak. “Oh my God,” Simon exclaimed, rushing forward, his hands helplessly flailing without any purpose. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to. I mean, fuck.”
Raphael looked down at himself. The stains were visible, yes, but certainly not enough to warrant a panic attack. Then again, he didn’t know how expensive the trousers were, and frankly, he didn’t care. Simon probably knew that and cared, because he looked like he was seconds away from hyperventilating. Well, he did pay the bills for almost everything in the hotel. Raphael also knew that his old version really cared for his clothes and put a lot of thought and emphasis into them, but that didn’t mean it was a life-or-death situation if something happened. Besides, he had already found the collection jar for destroyed jackets, so it must have happened more often than not.
Raphael huffed in consideration, before the corner of his lips tilted upwards. “Screw it,” he said before moving kicking into a raise of half-melted snow lining the sidewalk, soiling not only his shoes and pants, but also Simon’s – as intended. Not that it actually made a difference on Simon’s clothes.
Flabbergasted, the other man stared at him, then at Raphael’s clothes. “That’s authentic mohair!”
“Yeah,” Raphael agreed with a smirk. “I was told it’s very flattering for people with dark hair and pale skin.” At least Frederick, always quick to point out his fashion choices, had claimed as much when he had left the hotel. He had also kept him for another few minutes to talk about the traditional cut and the shorter sleeves, which did wonders for his figure and made him appear somewhat taller. Raphael had stopped listening halfway through. “It’s also durable.”
“It’s also a pain to clean!”
“Dry cleaners?”
“No!” Simon acted like he had suggested killing puppies. “Do you have any idea how the chemical wears down the fabric? That’s hand cleaning, God dammit.”
“Not my problem,” Raphael said with a shrug. “Just clean them with your clothes.”
“My pants were $10 at a discount sale! I’ll throw them in the laundromat and be done with it.”
Raphael shrugged again, smirking.
It was completely childish and certainly nothing his older version would ever be caught dead doing. It was something he could barely fathom doing – mostly because he still couldn’t believe how much money he spent on his clothes. It was ridiculous. However, the look on Simon’s face as he tried to understand what the hell was happening was more than enough incentive to do it again. Albeit a little annoying, he was sure the good old-fashioned way of cleaning clothes that his mother had taught him would suffice, as long as it was just dirt and not some color staining the fabric. If not, it would leave an annoying souvenir for his older version. A reminder to think twice before doing something stupid like messing with his own mind again.
To save Simon’s nerves though, he avoided every other puddle on his own for the rest of the way, after Simon made sure to grab his hand and pull him to the side if it looked like he was veering a little to close to one.
Maybe, just maybe he would take Simon to a ball pit on their next date for compensation.
It wasn’t like he had anything to lose.
He would also make sure to wear more casual clothes from now on when they were out and about.
The hotel was silent as they entered, most vampires already in their own rooms. The cozy silence was only disturbed by the creaking of the door and a noise of deep seated relief from Simon. “This was the worst,” he muttered, more guilt than regret in his voice as he, even in his annoyance, couldn’t hide the impish smile. He was exaggerating, anyway. The damage to their clothes was more inconvenient than hazardous. It could have been worse. It could have been blood or wine.
Raphael smirked at the words and ignored the glare he received in reply. Though his own expression vanished almost as quickly when he spotted the atrocity of a Christmas tree still standing proudly in the middle of the lobby. Right behind it was a collage of all the trees from the previous years, courtesy of Simon because Raphael had refused to look at the pictures when he had tried to show him.
Following his gaze, Simon laughed with mirth, then skipped to the magnet wall to switch their name tags to the right column, before calling it a night. “Night Raphael. Thanks for the evening. I had fun. Good night to you too, Lily The Lurker!”
Raphael waved him off and continued to stare thoughtfully at the affront of a tree while Lily finally decided to emerge from the shadows. It was obvious by the way she moved that she wanted something from him.
“What are you thinking?” she asked, voice neutral.
“I’m wondering how to get rid of this monstrosity while making it look like an accident. Christmas is over. This should have been gone days ago.”
“Not what I’m talking about.” Of course it wasn’t. Everything in her manner betrayed that she was trying to get at something more serious but he wasn’t interested in indulging her cryptic attitude. She opened her mouth to add something to her statement, but then her expression froze as she let her eyes slide down his body. “What the fuck?! Office! Now!”
A second later he was dragged into the office, and Lily slammed the door shut. Before Raphael managed to regain his composure, she was already edging him against his desk, something he didn’t particularity care for but he was also too stubborn to move away.
“Did you get into a fight?”
Raphael looked at her impassively. “No.”
She gave him another critical once-over, before finally giving him more space by taking a step back. “Alright, what’s going on? What are doing with Simon?”
“I took him out on a date.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Because I want to get to know him.”
“Why?”
“Lily, you’re beginning to sound like a child,” Raphael replied, exasperated.
“We both know that you plan five steps ahead, so if you want to make this easier on both of us, stop acting like I have to pull the information out of you bit by bit. There’s more to it than just wanting to know him, so spit it out.”
“There isn’t,” Raphael lied with a straight face. He had always been a good liar, though Lily knew him well enough to ignore his words and manner.
She craned her neck, examining him closer. “What happened to your clothes?”
“There was a puddle.”
“That you couldn’t avoid?”
“There was a puddle in close proximity to a Simon Lewis.”
Despite her best efforts, she was obviously about to lose her temper, though she only clenched her jaw. “Alright. Fine. You’re not him. We get it. You don’t have to go out of your way to prove it.” She gave him about a second to retort, which she probably knew he wouldn’t use, so she continued. “Fine. What comes after dating?”
Raphael shrugged. “Relationship. Maybe.”
Lily’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Excuse me?”
“With whatever that entails. I heard that’s negotiable.”
“Are you serious?” She asked in disbelief. “Or are you fucking with me? Or, wait,” her eyes narrowed even more. “There’s a line of people waiting for you to dump him, or, if we are being honest here, for him to dump you, so they can take him away from you. God knows Simon isn’t aware of this, but you must have noticed. So what? Are you staking a claim until you’ve figured out whether or not you really want him? Are you worried that he won’t come back to you if years later you realize that you do want him again?”
Raphael looked at her evenly. “You really believe I’ve thought that far ahead? Maybe I just like him already.”
Lily let out a harsh laugh, cruel in its rejection of the idea that he had come to care, justified as it was. “Yeah. Right.” Raphael didn’t react and let the accusation fade into nothingness. There wasn’t anything he could say to refute it anyway. “You know, I was helpless against Camille’s change.” Her voice softened, but her eyes remained sharp. “I loved her more than she deserved. I tried to justify every horrible thing she did and I clung to the feelings that I used to have for her. I let her abuse and toy with me. I let her drag me down. Until you showed up and helped me find a way out. So I can relate to Simon. To what it’s like to be with someone whose feelings and personality have changed, someone who has more power than oneself. I promised him, that I would protect him if the same happened to you, should you ever change. This wasn’t what I had in mind when I made that promise, but it amounts to the same. I won’t let you play games with him, and I won’t let you take away his chance at happiness because of a whim or a misguided sense of responsibility or possessiveness.”
Raphael chuckled dryly, almost involuntarily, much to Lily’s annoyance. From what he had seen, he might have power on the outside, but Simon held it where it mattered, where it was most dangerous and most fragile. He wondered if Lily really didn’t know, or if she was just acting. “Be that as it may,” he dismissed her worries, “I'm not playing games. And he’s only indulging me anyway.”
Lily frowned again, confusion by now the primary reaction in most of their exchanges.
“I asked him to go out with me, and he agreed,” Raphael explained, ignoring her look of complete surprise. “Reluctantly so. I doubt he’s seriously considering it, though. At least not at the moment.” Simon liked him, there was a certain attachment, familiarity and fondness, but nothing remotely romantic or sexual in his expression or mannerism when he talked to or engaged with Raphael. At most he was playfully flirtatious, a behavior quickly corrected when noticed.
“Doesn’t surprise me at all,” Lily said with a voice suggesting he was stupid for thinking otherwise. “They’ve been together for ten years. You don’t just go from being with someone for ten years to dating someone new in a few weeks or even months. Are you dense or something?”
“It's not ‘someone new’.”
“It's like dating your husband’s twin brother, you nubhead!”
Raphael rolled his eyes. “Still. If I thought he would be bothered by it, I wouldn’t do it.”
At least this much Lily seemed to believe. Which was good, because for once it was actually the truth. Simon might be a little bit awkward, and a little bit charming, and then a little bit ashamed of being charming, but he wasn’t unhappy or annoyed. As long as he enjoyed spending time with Raphael, it could make for a nice parting gift once Raphael found the courage to face his past.
Lily’s lips were pressed into a straight line, but she finally seemed to calm down again.
“You’re rather protective of Simon,” Raphael remarked by the way.
“I’m protective of all my friends.”
“Do I still count as one of them?”
Her hard stare was answer enough, even if her mouth said the words ‘I don’t know’.
Well, he couldn’t hold that against her. He didn’t see Magnus or Lily as his friends either when he first woke up. Frankly, he wasn’t even sure if he did now.
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” she said, trying to explain. “But you’re not the boy I fell in love with, and you’re not the man I respect and admire either. But I liked you once, decades ago. I never realized how much you had changed in just ten years, because I had changed with you – and how much we had changed until now. We’re not the same people anymore. We don’t share the same values anymore. I don’t trust you to protect what used to be important to you and what is still important to me. I guess the only answer I can give you is ‘it’s complicated’.” She smiled, like it had to be a joke, but it slipped from her lips when he didn’t react. “If it weren’t for Simon, I would have dragged you to Magnus myself already.”
This was something he had always liked about Lily: she was honest. He could work with honest.
“It’s what most people would have done,” Raphael agreed. “Frankly, I prefer the Lily from my time, too.”
“Oh? Do tell. What am I lacking?”
“For one thing,” Raphael replied without missing a beat. “She was much nicer to me.”
Lily laughed. “She was hopelessly in love with you! She would have done anything you wanted! Exactly why you didn’t want her. Too much responsibility. Don’t deny it, you told me so yourself.”
Raphael huffed. “Well, I had just recently died, and then joined a cult. Forgive a teenager for being a little bit overwhelmed.”
There was a familiar mischievous glint in her eyes at the teasing, and a warmth he hadn’t seen since he had woken up and refused their help. “Liar. You were never a teenager. You’ve been born a grumpy old man, and you’ll be a grumpy old man for the rest of your life.”
“The state of my clothes might disprove your point.”
She looked down at his pants again. “True. By the way, as a heads-up, I’ll sic Frederick and friends on you. Their reactions will be hilarious.”
Raphael rolled his eyes, already imagining their exaggerated gasps of horror. It would be even more dramatic than Simon. “It’s just dirt. I swear, I’ll take care of the cleaning myself.”
“That, too, will be hilarious to watch.”
Deeming the conversation to be over, Raphael was about to leave, but Lily held him back again by stepping between him and the door. “There’s something else,” she said, hesitantly. “New Year’s Eve is special for Simon. Would you mind leaving him alone for a few days? No dates, no harassment, nothing. In exchange, there’s a whole clan who would love to spend more time with you if you’re bored or feel lonely.”
Her smile was evil, but Raphael spotted the truth behind the words.
Frankly, he hadn’t bothered much with the clan. He was distantly polite in that he didn’t sneer at their sometimes childish behavior, left most things without comment, and listened for about half a minute to their chatter when he was approached. As far as he was concerned, it wasn’t his place to humor them. On the other hand, Simon wasn’t the only one suffering from his condition. He had admitted as much to Magnus, so maybe he should return their kindness with something other than well-meaning silence.
Fighting back the urge to sigh, he simply shrugged his shoulders, which was enough of an answer for anyone who knew him as well as Lily did.
The first person to approach him about the sensitivity of the next few days was Lily, but she certainly wasn’t the last. On December, 30th no less than five other vampires had felt the need to emphasize that any bullying would not be tolerated on New Year’s Eve. It was almost cute, if it wasn’t so annoying. Either they hadn’t coordinated their efforts, or they thought Raphael was forgetful and needed a reminder. Or four. More likely, they just didn’t trust him. Raphael was more pleased than annoyed at the healthy distrust these vampires finally exhibited.
Still, he doubted Simon appreciated the intrusion, given how bewildered he was whenever Raphael was swiftly whisked away as soon as they were in the same room. Even if he hadn’t intended to talk to Simon, he was herded away with severely lacking excuses and when the sun went down, they pulled him outside ‘to give him a tour of the Downworld’.
Raphael was decidedly too soft-hearted to let the clan get away with this sort of behavior. He assumed this was how his older version must have felt at times, indulging some silliness and quirks. To be fair, it wasn’t that he minded, not more than he minded going out in general. However, when he was out and about with the other vampires, he was strongly reminded of what they were, of what he was.
Comments about the sweet smell of blood, stepping aside to entice an unsuspecting Mundane to drink from, boldly admitting to being a vampire to Mundanes who seemed to love the fantasy and took it for a play. When Raphael was with Simon, he could almost forget that he was a vampire. Simon never talked about blood, never commented on its taste or philosophized about the flavors. He drank it because he understood that he had to, never excited, but practiced. For him it wasn’t an art like it was for many vampires, it was more like brushing his teeth.
Ten years after becoming a vampire and Raphael hadn’t stopped hating what he had turned into. He did what he had to do to survive, but he loathed it all the same. Of course he was a hypocrite in that regard: preaching acceptance of their constitution while still struggling with it himself. He was a vampire, he accepted that, but that didn’t mean he liked it. Simon was just like him, it seemed. Maybe that was one of the reasons his older version had gotten close to him. He wondered if he had ever accepted it. If he had stopped torturing himself in various ways to prove that he was more than a cursed corpse, the pain provided some semblance of humanity.
He doubted it, seeing as he was still wearing his mother’s cross. However he hoped that it might have become easier to deal with.
There was another difference he noticed. While everyone around him was looking for a topic that entertained him, he never made as much effort to accommodate and reciprocate as he had done with Simon in the last few days. He rarely asked questions back, never entertained, never showed any interest or disinterest. He didn’t care, didn’t see the point until he watched Xavier’s crestfallen face harden into a cold mask when an attempt at conversation died again with his unresponsive silence.
They had talked about fashion – again – a topic that used to be safe, but wasn’t anymore. He had listened to them in the first few days after waking up, but soon realized that there was only so much he could bear to hear before getting bored.
They - that was half of the clan - were in a crowded bar, one that wasn't Taki's for a change. It looked more like an old-fashioned western bar than the theme they were supposedly going for, which, according to Julliard, had been rustic chic. The vampires had kept him company throughout the outing, shielding him from other customers like an impenetrable wall. Judging by the casualness with which they did it, it almost seemed to be the norm, as if they were always doing their best to let him enjoy a night without being bothered or harassed by anyone.
Xavier had just steeled his expression and was about to turn away when Raphael spoke. "I heard you were responsible for the redesign of the hotel." At his words, Xavier paused, a little confused, before a broad smile broke across his face, his body practically radiating excitement, as if he couldn't wait to hear the rest of his words. There was an almost bizarre feeling of pressure that Raphael had never felt before from anyone but his brothers.
Great, Raphael thought annoyed, he was beginning to care.
“How did you come up with the concept?”
As if they had overheard, before Xavier had a chance to answer, Julliard and Frederick burst into the conversation. Then all three of them started talking at the same time, before glaring at each other and arguing about who had come up with which idea ten years ago. It was lively and loud, something that easily annoyed Raphael, but he deigned to indulge them. It was easy, really, to give them the tiny bit of attention they craved. Mostly because it wasn't half as intimidating and threatening as the attention a lover deserved.
Until that night, he hadn’t been familiar with most of the vampires, apart from names, but he decided to change that.
So he played pool with Elliott, Charles, and Theo, proving that for someone who was usually very graceful and good at fighting, his eye-hand coordination was seriously lacking when it came to hitting a target smaller than an infant. He took the teasing with grace until he was challenged to a game of darts, air hockey, and all sorts of other activities by any clan member who wanted to take advantage of his weakness.
He didn't suck at all of them, but it was enough to be a constant source of amusement among the other vampires.
It must have been easy for older Raphael to avoid showing this side. Especially since he wasn't usually asked to participate in such activities, and if he did decide to tag along, he would probably just sit at the bar and brood over his drink. Now, however, Raphael was agreeing to almost everything they asked him to do, and when they realized that, they decided to take it even further and took him to a gaming center.
He was almost proud.
By now it wasn't even a question of whether Raphael would fail at something or not. They just took advantage of the fact that he pretty much gave in to their demands when they asked for a round of Dance Dance Revolution, Guitar Hero - something that came surprisingly easy to him and might explain the bass guitar in his room that Simon had never bothered to take out -, shooting simulations, or even more table hockey, although this time they had to be more careful with the Mundanes around. Raphael was extremely efficient with a gun - something even he hadn't known before - but the clan wasn't surprised since he was good at paintball and laser tag.
A game called Maimai made him feel like a cat playing with a washing machine, and as a vampire with supernatural speed, not quite as challenging as it should be. Still, it took him a while to get used to the mechanics, and Penelope was having so much fun chasing the circles that he decided to stick with it for a while longer. When they attracted a crowd eager to see if they would break the record, they decided to stop and move on to the next game, ignoring the murmur of disappointment.
The arcade would have been more fun if it weren't for the horrible noise, not only from the machines but also from the music. Raphael knew how to tune his ears so they didn't start to hurt, but compared to everything else, this was the real challenge. So he was relieved when they finally left to make their way home, the typical sounds of the city soothing his ears.
"Simon's going to be so mad when we tell him," Charles laughed, his arms loaded with the trinkets they had exchanged for the game tokens. One was a stuffed dog, apparently a gift for Daniel. Everyone had laughed when he had chosen it, so it must be some kind of joke among them. Mostly, though, it were card or board games that they had planned to keep in the storage box in the main common room. "He's been trying to get you into an arcade for years."
Well, that explained why they were so quick to agree on this specific activity.
“Worse,” Victoria added. “He’ll give us a disappointed look. It will be horrible.”
He honestly doubted it. Simon was probably going to be too happy that the clan was bonding with Raphael to feel any disappointment.
“Maybe we should keep it a secret,” Pamela suggested.
Charles just laughed and waved at the vampire beside him. "Look at Xavier, how are you going to explain that face to Simon?"
They both turned to the vampire who was grinning from ear to ear, but with a shy look at Raphael. He was acting like a smitten, awkward child. Raphael cocked his head in curiosity, then gave him his most charming smile. The reaction was instantaneous: a nervous giggle followed by an embarrassed whimper and then a cough.
"Stop playing with him," Julliard said, slapping Raphael's shoulder to show his displeasure.
"I'm embarrassed to call you a friend," Frederick muttered, pulling Xavier into a one-armed hug and out of Raphael's line of sight.
"Even Simon wasn't that bad, and that's saying something, because Simon was really bad," Victoria remarked.
"I don't know. I thought he was cute. Especially when he honestly thought he had us fooled," Pamela laughed.
"Fooled about what?" Raphael asked, and everyone seemed to tense up at the question. This was probably still not a topic they were allowed to talk about freely. However, sensing that his curiosity was genuine - and probably because Raphael and Simon had obviously started getting along better - at least some of the vampires seemed more inclined to give him an answer. He wasn't surprised that it was Cecilia. She thrived on benign chaos, and he suspected that not everything she said was as unintentional as she wanted everyone to believe.
"He tried to hide his feelings for you," she said, "but failed so pathetically it was adorable. Especially since you must have known about it months before he did. And when you started flirting with him, oh, better than any soap opera! He was such a happy, bumbling mess - not as bad as Xavier here, as we've established'."
"Oh! Remember? Simon stayed with his mom for a while and Raphael was pissed, like really, majorly pissed," Victoria chuckled, ugly delight in her voice, "and we only know because Lily complained loudly to anyone who would listen that Raphael was more bitchy than usual."
"Oh, right!" Cecilia said, her eyes brightening. "That's when I thought, 'Yeah, they're going to ruin this. This is going to be entertaining'."
"Bullshit," Julliard said. "You were just as worried as everyone else."
She pulled a face, but then relented, casually, "Maybe a little."
"Fortunately, it didn't take them long to get together after that." Victoria sounded almost disappointed, but Raphael couldn't tell if it was because of a lack of drama or because she seemed to have a soft spot for Simon herself. A line of suitors, Lily had said, and she was right, both in that it existed and in that Raphael was aware of it. He had counted them in his head, and added another line to his mental list. "Mind you, we don't know how, Simon is such a gentleman, but it must have been disgustingly sweet. Because, well, everything about him is disgustingly sweet. So you must be disgustingly sweet, too. Somewhere. Under all that grumpiness."
Everyone looked at Raphael like they were searching for the good inside of him, which was mildly rude, but understandable. He was searching for it too.
Pamela sighed deeply. "He's too good for us. Too good for any of us." Her eyes turned briefly to Raphael and then away as a murmur of agreement followed her words. "But it's his fault for choosing us, so that's, like, on him. Now he's stuck with us, and I won't let him go again. I'll put him in chains if I have to."
Raphael raised his eyebrows. Simon really had a talent for attracting the troublemakers.
They left the conversation there, turning instead to Xavier's adorable behavior when confronted with a Raphael who wasn't composed and untouchable, but rather playful with a devil-may-care attitude. Yes, Raphael had nothing to lose, and saving face was something his older version should have stopped doing years ago when surrounded by a pack of loyal pups. Then again, given his past, it probably wasn't as easy for the old man as it was for him.
Back at the hotel, Simon watched the group enter with narrowed eyes and open skepticism, which vanished as soon as he was presented with a bouquet of trinkets. Raphael barely got a look at him, hidden behind their loot, but he could hear the sound of his warm laugh, the disbelief in his voice as he listened to the excited vampires' embellished explanations of how they had 'convinced' Raphael to play Dance Dance Revolution or Maimai.
Raphael decided to let them spin their web of exaggerated prose and silently made his way back to his room. All this socializing had drained his batteries, and he just wanted to fall into the blissful oblivion that his sleep usually provided.
As interesting as the previous day had been, Raphael's resources were thoroughly depleted, so after getting some blood from the kitchen, he honored his promise by staying in his room, pretending to read up on some contracts, though mostly lazing around by going through all his stuff so he wouldn't get bored. However, he had overheard Arya telling Bernice that she had persuaded Simon to go to a party with them that evening, so he only had to wait until they had left the hotel to wander around again.
It was nearly eight when he finally felt it was safe to leave the room. As he roamed the halls, he was surprised at how many vampires were still around. Usually on New Year's Eve, the hotel was empty, with everyone out to take advantage of the drunken banquet that was offered to them.
So he decided to go to the roof. He usually spent New Year's there, as it was far enough away from most of the noise, but close enough to keep an eye on the hotel. He had a lot to think about anyway, and the roof was always a good place to brood and contemplate in peace. Up there, where he could see the changes in the city in a different light and angle, it was strange to feel a touch of homesickness for the people he used to know in the way he used to know them, especially when they were so much better off in comparison now.
Lily was more vibrant than her former self. She was less devoted to him, didn't listen to every word he said or wait for him to give her a new purpose. She was her own person, with her own opinions and desires; strong, with a moral compass he would never have expected her to develop. Magnus was happy, too. Not the bitter, burnt shell left after a brutal breakup.
Different as they were, it wasn’t for the worse.
He missed his mother and his brothers, even if all he had of them were conversations he overheard on the street corner. He used to be a stalker, following them silently on days when he was weak, when he was struck by sudden loneliness, when he wanted to feel his mother's embrace, to have her stroke his hair and tell him that everything would be all right.
Sinking into his own nostalgia, Raphael quickly lost track of time, but it didn't matter as the fireworks would signal the arrival of the new day. Yet, it left him a bit confused when he heard footsteps approaching. The lack of physical signs told him it was a vampire, but the only reason he thought it had to be Simon was the fact that he was the only vampire in this clan who could suppress a bond - something Simon had done from the moment he had woken up that day.
However his steps carried him differently, off balance, and when the door to the roof opened, Raphael saw him awkwardly juggling a box in his hands, with a blanket over one arm and a guitar on his back. When their eyes met, Simon looked at him with silent surprise, which meant he hadn't been looking for him. The corners of his lips twitched as his eyebrows knitted into a frown, before his eyes widened slightly and he looked away, gnawing on his lower lip until his shoulders slumped.
Anger, guilt, frustration, resignation. It was so easy to follow his thought process just by watching his face.
In retrospect, there were some memories of shared companionship that had been staged right here on the rooftop, and if he had thought about them more deeply, he might have been able to see the pattern of cold and windy days. He had visions of snow, happy times, laughter, kisses, confessions, fireworks, quiet conversations, intimacy, affection, vulnerability - everything associated with Simon.
This was their space. This was their day. Whatever that meant, Simon clung to it, wanted to save it, even as he was willing to let Raphael go.
Throwing his head back in his neck, Simon obviously pondered what to do, because it didn't seem like he was willing to relinquish this place to Raphael. Still, he probably thought the Latino would ruin the memories, would taint what he cherished so much. Raphael couldn't say he was wrong.
"I was just leaving," he offered, getting up from the parapet. A part of him almost expected Simon to refuse the offer, but all he said was, "Uh... sure..."
Guilt again.
There was an audible inhale as Raphael passed him. He didn't think much of it until a hand suddenly wrapped around his wrist and pulled him to a stop. Surprised, he stared at the connection for a moment before meeting Simon's gaze.
"I don't know what they told you," he said slowly. "But..." He swallowed, then released the hand. "You don't have to avoid me." At Raphael's frown, he added softly. "You don't have to leave. I don't want to be alone."
"I don't mind staying," Raphael said, turning all the way around to face the other man. Man. At first he had thought of him as a child. He didn't know when that had changed. "And even though I was told to keep my distance, I wasn't inclined to follow that order. But just now it seemed as if you wanted to be alone."
"I..." Simon fell silent again, his expression changing to a nervous smile. "I actually don't know myself..."
Raphael looked at him for a moment, trying to find out what Simon needed, what he really wanted. He was good at that, most of the time, because it was easy with most people. Not with Simon. Still, even if he couldn't guess, he could at least make him act if he made a decision he didn't like. So, without another word, he stole the blanket and the box from Simon's hands and marched over to a mostly dry spot on the roof. Simon didn't object, but followed him hesitantly, before sitting down meekly.
This was uncomfortable and painful, Raphael thought as he stubbornly ignored the atmosphere and opened the box. Games. As expected. He rummaged through them carefully before choosing one that was still in its original packaging. Hopefully something they hadn't played before and therefore wouldn't bring back any unwanted memories.
"You don't really have to stay, you know," Simon said, as if to make sure he wasn't forcing Raphael to do anything. He eyed him critically in reply before tossing the card game back into the box.
This was New York, a city that never slept, especially not on New Year's Eve, and they were hiding on top of a building like hermits. Yes, Raphael was an antisocial, lazy grump, but Simon was obviously not. Yes, this had been their day, but if it hadn't been for Raphael's old self, Simon surely wouldn't have come here, wouldn't have hidden from the world. Simon enjoyed being with the people he loved.
There was a whole gang of vampires in the common room, just waiting for Simon to give them the word, and they would show him the world, they would do anything to give him the best goddamn day of his life, because they knew how important today was. Being with Raphael, of all people, really didn't do it justice.
"I agree," he said, "I don't need to be here." Simon flinched at the callousness of his words. "And neither do you. There are about twenty vampires downstairs, anxiously waiting for you to ask them exactly what you asked me. To be with you. You don't have to be alone. You don't need to be with me if that's the only reason anyway." Simon gnawed on his lower lip, oozing insecurity. Raphael pulled out his phone and started typing a message, piquing Simon's curiosity.
“What are you doing?”
"I'll tell Jessica to send everyone up here," he replied lightly. "Do you mind?" Simon just watched him, unsure. "I understand that you miss him. Being with me might help, because if we don't talk about anything meaningful, you can pretend, but this," he waved his hand at the whole setup, "this won't help."
"You don't know what helps and what doesn't," Simon replied with an unusually sharp edge, but then he let out a sigh, his body slowly deflating, as if defeated. "But neither do I. It's... kind of trial and error. Constantly. And this... it's just... it's habit, I guess. This - this day - was never set in stone, but... It's the day I realized I was in love with you. This is where you decided to pursue me. This is where you tried to propose."
"Tried?"
"Well... I'm hard to propose to," he replied with a soft laugh. "So you stopped in the middle."
Raphael raised his eyebrows. "And you still wanted to marry me? You have really bad taste."
Simon replied with a look of indignation, even though he should be used to the younger version's low opinion of himself by now. "That doesn't count, coming from you."
"Yeah?" Raphael asked, resting his cheek on his hand and counting on his fingers. "I'm entitled. I'm selfish. I'm arrogant. I'm rigid. I'm stubborn. I'm impossible to argue with. And apparently, I even let my boyfriend down in the middle of a proposal. Terrible taste, mi amigo."
There was more amusement than irritation in his voice when Simon replied. "You know your bad sides so well, but not your good ones. But, yes, you've always been a terrible tease. I think we've already established that."
“Bad—”
“Don’t!” Raphael grinned at the interruption, then lifted the phone again. “So? Do you want me to send this message or not?” For a moment there wasn’t a reply, but almost imperceptible and still with hesitation, there was a nod. “Sending,” he announced, but waited another moment longer, giving Simon time to object.
It took barely a second before there was an audible commotion downstairs. Shouts and shrieks, the mobilization of a vampire clan out to aid their parent in a time of need. Already, there was a stampede approaching from the stairs and from the walls of the building itself.
“This is a day you treasure,” Raphael said, getting up. “So you should be with people who treasure you just as much.”
He barely got to finish that sentence when the door was suddenly flung open. Elliott looked all over the rooftop until he spotted them and threw himself at Simon with a long wail, subsequently pushing Raphael out of his way. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?” he asked, stretching the vowels unnaturally long.
Around them, chaos broke out as every vampire tried to fit through the door at the same time, until finally Jessica emerged from the rooftop of the neighboring building, carrying a huge box on her shoulders labeled ‘Plan F – Rooftop’. “Alright, don’t worry Baby, I’ve got this,” she announced, “I’m prepared for this. I was born for this. Jacob, sweetheart, just like we planned.”
The only thing Raphael could see from Jacob was an arm reaching through the vampires jamming the door. With a heavy sigh Jessica grabbed it and pulled him through. The first vampires who had managed to get through the door and two werewolves who had climbed the wall were already placing gaudy decorations along the parapet.
“Well, that escalated quickly,” Simon muttered, holding Elliott in a hug and petting his head like the other vampire needed the consolation. All the same, Raphael felt sufficiently replaced, so he was prepared to leave the clan to it’s own devices. Simon must have spotted his intention immediately, and a second later he smiled devilishly. “By the way,” he called loudly and everyone froze to listen to his words, “Raphael wants to play basketball after the fireworks.”
After a brief moment that was filled with surprised silence, their clan members erupted into cheers. Elliott finally extracted himself just to give Raphael a pointed look of incredulity.
“It’s my turn to watch you hit something smaller than a football goal,” Simon muttered lowly, his words almost lost over the noise around them. Elliott’s expression lifted at his words, understanding settling into his features.
Raphael crossed his arms with one lifted eyebrow. “I also said I’m going to crush you.”
“I’d love to see you try,” Simon answered, his smile not any less challenging.
Yeah, they were probably a horrible match.
The clan decorated the roof in record time, even for vampires. Ugly, glaring garlands in silver and gold, as well as candles and fireworks decorations hung everywhere along the parapet. Arguments about placement were quickly put to rest with a glance from Simon, who just wanted to know what all the fuss was about. Blood-filled champagne bottles and crystal glasses were lined up on a folding table, next to a few bottles of real champagne and bowls of snacks for the werewolves.
Raphael had tried to leave several times, but his exits had usually been thwarted by Lily, who seemed to keep an eye on him and was always suddenly there whenever he got too close to the edge of the roof or the stairs leading down. It was annoying, but his emotions were just fodder for her smugness, so he feigned disinterest.
He considered it more of a waste of time than an annoyance anyway, but he couldn't say in good conscience that he had something better planned, so it wasn't all that bad.
Until they brought out the karaoke station. He had seen it before, in the corner of a common room, but no one had used it for as long as he had been around, and part of him was hoping that they would find it too cold or too wet when they started setting it up. He had a feeling that he wouldn't get out of this party without participating. So he was all the more surprised when they didn't start bugging him right away.
Everyone knew Arya loved to sing, so she was up there before it was announced that everything was working. Frankly, she wasn't as terrible as the teasing had led him to believe, but she wasn't amazing either. Passion made up for what she lacked, but her voice was nice and she managed to hit most of the notes.
When she was done, she handed the microphone to Bernice, who sang a rock anthem he had never heard before with confidence and mostly just that, before bowing to the clapping crowd. He saw it in her eyes as they landed on him standing in the shadows, a smirk that confirmed his earlier suspicions. Still, she simply stepped down to let the next volunteer sing.
At some point, the karaoke station went unused for half an hour, but no one bothered him or tried to convince him to sing, so he made the mistake of relaxing a little, thinking that the clan wasn't as annoying as he thought they were.
When Maria finished a sweet-sounding country song by Dolly Parton that everyone sang along with, the combined voices almost drowning out Maria's soft one, she started to put the microphone back on the stand, but Cecilia snatched it away and was standing next to Raphael in a heartbeat.
"We both know where this is going, so don't even fight it," she said, not even looking at him as she twisted her hand to offer the microphone.
"No," he said, the word echoing loudly over the speakers and drawing everyone's attention to them.
"I disagree."
"I said 'no,'" Raphael repeated, raising his chin. He knew exactly what she was doing, his eyes finding Simon, who had stopped talking to some of his friends, a frown on his face.
Cecilia turned off the transmission and leaned a little closer. "We've got some oldies in there if you're worried you don't know any of the songs."
Raphael glared at her. "I can't sing."
"Bull. Shit," she laughed.
"I think it's my turn," Simon said, appearing in front of her and snatching the microphone out of her hand. Raphael glared at the woman, who responded with a polite smile. She got what she wanted.
"It's just like him, always coming to the rescue," Cecilia murmured, her arms folded across her chest and her head tilted as she looked at him sideways.
Raphael ignored her.
It took Simon a moment to find the song he wanted to perform, but when the first notes were played, everyone fell silent. As soon as Raphael recognized the saxophone intro, his eyebrows went up to his hairline in surprise before he let out a huffed laugh. The song was from the late 50s, something he hadn't expected to hear, especially not from Simon, who was supposed to be too young to even know it existed. But there were enough old vampires around who had probably danced to 'Diana' themselves. It made him remember that not every day had been filled with darkness and spite. While far and few between, there had been moments of contentment and short-lived happiness, too.
"I'm too young and you're too old, this, my darlings, I've been told," Simon began, earning a few laughs as he pointed to himself and then spread his arms wide to indicate all the other clan members around, acting out the lyrics to his best capabilities. After that first line, Raphael already knew that he was going to change the hook, and when he was supposed to sign the name of the girl he had a crush on, Simon didn't disappoint. Holding every note for as long as he was supposed to, he changed the text to "Oh please stay with me, DuMort”.
It wasn't the best fit, but the vampires whistled and cheered anyway.
Simon on stage was a different person than anything Raphael had seen of Simon before - as clan mother, lover, and leader. He was charismatic, with presence, confident without fading into the background as he usually preferred. He was like a shining light that carried everyone along, and Raphael had to admit that he was drawn to the pure joy he radiated.
In addition, Simon lived the song with body and voice, a constant cheeky smile on his lips as he slightly twisted the lyrics to make it a love song for the whole clan. Everyone ate it up, the sincerity despite the humor not lost on them. Raphael even saw Theo shed a tear of blood when Simon sang the line "I love you with all my heart and I hope we'll never part".
It was funny but heartfelt, and the whole clan shouted Simon's name during the last hook when Simon held out the microphone for them, expecting them to sing "DuMort" as he had done before, but instead receiving a “Please stay with us, Simon!”.
The song faded into Simon's touched silence, but then he added with a broad grin, "I love you, DuMort!", earning another round of whistles and applause.
He bowed gracefully, and as he stood, his eyes met Raphael's. There was a question, really more a challenge, but also a promise that he would stop anyone who tried to force him. Raphael pursed his lips, narrowed his eyebrows, and caught Cecilia's curious gaze out of the corner of his eye.
He had entertained half the clan in an arcade, he might as well do this if it brought them some happiness.
Simon must have read his mind, because he was already grinning before Raphael rolled his eyes to indicate consent. Despite the excitement, Simon stopped the air punch he was about to do and instead slowly approached the Latino, as if he was still leaving him a chance to change his mind.
"Paul Anka?" he asked when he received the microphone. "I pegged you more of a Buddy Holly type."
There was a twinkle in Simon's eyes, as if there was a joke somewhere in his words. "I can do requests, you know. I'm sure you'd like my Buddy Holly. Everybody here can sing 'Everyday' by heart anyway."
"Sounds about right," Raphael replied without elaborating.
"All right," Simon said, stretching the vowel and tilting his head toward the machine, "what do you want to sing?"
"I don't care. Just pick something."
"You want me to choose?" Simon asked in surprise as they reached the touch screen with a list of the Top 10 songs played. A song called "Raise your glasses" in first place, followed by "Who wants to live forever" and "Forever young". The latter two are obviously the result of a macabre sense of humor. "I've never heard you sing before. I mean, I assume you're good because your voice is great and you used to be in a choir, so you know how to hold a tune, but other than that, I have no idea."
"You've never heard me sing?"
"Not once! Which is crazy, because I sing all the time. In the shower. At work. When I brush my teeth. Always. Before I met you, I never thought people like you existed."
"I'm as surprised as you are," Raphael admitted dryly. "Still, it’s not like I know what this thing has to offer.”
Simon laughed. "Trust me, Raphael. This baby has everything you can think of."
Raphael narrowed his eyes at the screen. He remembered a few songs from his time, mostly love songs. Nothing he was interested in performing. Unfortunately, the display didn't offer sheet music, otherwise he could have sung just about anything. "Do it anyway," he finally said.
"Don't leave it to me. I'll pick something like 'La Bamba' by Ritchie Valens, just because it's a secret dream of mine to see you do it."
"As long as you think the clan can handle it." Raphael said, waving his hand at the excited crowd gathered in front of them, following their conversation with palpable anticipation.
“I suppose you standing here is already too much for them,” Simon muttered with a laugh as he went through a few songs. “Jesus. This is hard. I have a feeling that anything too upbeat will break their brains.”
“So no Dodie Stevens for me?” he asked as he saw Simon skip the song ‘Pink Shoelaces’. He probably would have rejected this one anyway.
There was a truly devilish smile on Simon's lips as he finally chose a song that Raphael wasn't quick enough to see. “Perfect,” he murmured in a low voice that gave it a dark undertone.
“It's not Peggy Sue, is it?”
Simon barked out a laugh. “You really know your Buddy Holly.”
“Used to be a fan.”
“Sounds like a type,” Simon joked, the similarity not lost on them.
"Probably," Raphael admitted deliberately carelessly as he took a few steps back to look at the lyrics monitor. Simon sucked in a breath at his words, uncertainty in his eyes, before quickly shaking it off and simply pressing the button to start the song when Raphael cocked his head at him.
As soon as first few notes played and the backing vocals appeared, he rolled his eyes at Simon. "Really?" he deadpanned directly into the microphone.
Everyone laughed at his reaction, but Simon just shrugged with a smirk. “It could have been worse.”
“I highly doubt that,” Raphael added, letting the song start without his vocals. Instead he listened to it for a moment before motioning for Simon to restart the song. It was easy. Typical doo-wop that couldn't reach the musical complexity of classical pieces anyway. He remembered hearing it a few times in the hotel in the sixties, as well. One of those songs that got played over and over again until everyone got sick of it.
"Oh well, I guess I am the great pretender," he half sang, half spoke, just to convey his absolute displeasure, squeezing that little bit of extra text into the lyrics. “Pretending that I'm doing well.”
His voice had changed a bit since he had left the choir, but he knew how to sing and remembered enough of the song to find the right rhythm. "My need is such, I pretend too much. I'm lonely, but no one can tell," Raphael continued, slowly finding his footing in the song to better convey it with a mixture of annoyance and sarcasm.
The Great Pretender wasn't a typical love song, dripping with mush and confessions of love, but it obviously alluded to someone who had been abandoned by an important person or had lost one. Frankly, from what Raphael knew of his time, Simon was right, there could have been worse songs to choose, and this one, as annoying as it was, was rather fitting. He wasn't lonely, at least not often, even if he had a bad day once or twice, when he missed his family and friends, but he was a hypocrite and faker.
There were giggles from a few vampires, not at the singing but the lyrics that everyone seemed to agree were perfect for him. A little farther away he noticed a hint of annoyance. Looking over at the source, he saw Xavier watching him with apt attention, almost reverently. Frederick next to him kept rolling his eyes and shaking him on the shoulder.
The corner of Raphael’s lips turned up, and his voice took on a lighter tone now. Simon noticed the change immediately, then turned to Xavier before sighing deeply and putting a hand to his forehead. "I play the game, but to my real shame, you've left me to dream all alone."
It took Xavier a moment to realize that Raphael was staring directly at him, as Julliard tried to distract him, even stepping between them, but his attempts failed, when Xavier shoved him out of the way in annoyance until he could see the Latino again. Which was when he finally noticed the attention. His eyes grew wide. Raphael smiled. Xavier stumbled over nothing.
Frederick didn't even look at his friend when his hand shot out to stabilize him on the shoulder to prevent him from falling over, annoyed and obviously embarrassed.
Raphael was somewhat curious what the man was like when dealing with his older version. This fumbling would have gotten on his nerves pretty quickly. However, his older self was more composed and less playful it seemed, so occurrences likes these probably never happened.
He finished the song with a shrug and handed the microphone to Simon, who looked at him with narrowed eyes. "I honestly don't know if this is still funny or if it's already bullying and I should stop it."
“Well, I can tell you that it's at least very entertaining," Victoria laughed. "I've never seen Xavier like this before and I love it. Also, he ships Raphael with you more than he does with himself. You know, it’s all about the fantasy.”
Simon send her an annoyed look that she shrugged off as she entered the stage.
“Thank God I didn't go with Dusty Springfield. That would have been a mess."
Raphael tilted his head, trying to remember her songs. "I only want to be with you?" he asked, his lips twisting in disgust at the pure mush. "This is seriously what you would have chosen for me?"
"Of course," Simon said without shame. "This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Even I have my limits."
"That I would have vetoed."
"Xavier would be dead if you wouldn't have. Next time, you get Rock 'n Roll. Summertime Blues or something."
"Next time?" Raphael asked with raised eyebrows.
"The night is long." Simon said it like a threat. “And you were really good. It would be a shame to leave without an encore.”
Raphael hoped he was joking.
The last hours of the year were filled with loud, flat singing that often bordered on screaming, and dancing that came close to breaking bones. Conversation was at times absurdly vulgar, funny, or intimate, depending on the state of intoxication of the participants. Simon seemed to have his work cut out for him, trying to maintain some semblance of order and keep some vampires from jumping off the building on a dare. Raphael wouldn't be able to enjoy such a night, but it was good enough for Simon. Busy was good.
He also sang duets with anyone who asked. It was quite fascinating to see how versatile Simon was in his singing and never doing anything half-heartedly, even if it was obvious that he hated the song, he was performing with everything he had.
Thankfully, he was left alone except for comments about his singing. Funny enough, he had actually enjoyed singing again, even if it wasn't 'Ave Maria'. Music had always been a big part of his life, whether it was choir, piano, or listening to songs on the radio with his friends.
He had just forgotten until he had stood on the stage.
Furthermore, the clan made it easy, not just for him but to everyone taking center place and performing their heart out. Supportive, never condescending, joining in the lyrics when someone messed up to overplay it. This wasn’t about being good, this was just about fun and enjoying what they liked.
Shortly before midnight, a few vampires were preparing fireworks on the roof or handing out drinks to everyone else, and a table was loaded with some presents. Maria's birthday, someone answered his questioning look.
The countdown was as offbeat as the singing, and hopefully someone was deliberately lagging behind or they had a serious lack of rhythm. Whatever the reason, it lasted until the zero, a lonely echo barely penetrating the fireworks and yells of everyone around.
He had hoped that they would forget the lie Simon had told by midnight, but of course they didn't. After everyone was satisfied with their well-wishes and the fireworks, he was ushered through the door into the lobby while they discussed the best location for the game. Raphael, not wanting to participate, especially in a suit, slipped away only to be met by Elliott waiting outside his room.
"This clan once made a promise to Simon," Elliott said. "If he needs something, we'll do it. Even if it means dressing you in a dirndl or something."
"Strange taste," Raphael said without inflection, walking past the other vampire to enter his room. Elliott followed without hesitation.
"Of course it was just an example, but I would love to see it."
Raphael rolled his eyes and headed for the walk-in closet, slamming the door shut before the other man could follow. If he had to play basketball, he wouldn't do it in clothes he had to be careful not to sully. Though it might give him an advantage, because Simon would probably look out for them. There wasn't much in his closet for a street game so he picked the first thing he could find that seemed appropriate: dark blue sweatpants and a dark gray short-sleeved hoodie with deep pockets that were almost hidden by the black tribal patterns printed on the main fabric.
When he emerged, Elliott was plucking the strings of the bass hanging on the wall. "So what exactly - holy shit," he exclaimed in surprise, his eyes wide as he caught sight of Raphael again, his mouth flapping open and shut before a broad smile crossed his face.
Raphael didn't bother to deign his reaction with a reply, but it didn't matter because he was already being dragged out of his room and back into the lobby where everyone was gathered and still waiting for him. There was an awkward silence for a long moment, then everyone collectively decided to ignore what had upset them – namely his dress code – and forced themselves to find a completely different topic to talk about. As if they were trying to avoid making him feel self-conscious. Raphael was used to this whenever he did something he wouldn't have done before, but this time it seemed even more exaggerated.
Letting out an exasperated sigh, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his sleeveless hoodie, and walked out the door. At least he assumed it was his jacket, though given from the way everyone was still staring at him even after following him outside, no one had ever seen him wearing it before. Even Simon gave him surprised looks, rubbed his eyes once or twice and even pinched himself to make sure he was awake.
It was true that the hoodie looked like it had never been worn, but it had been in his closet, on his side of the closet, and it was obviously too small for Simon either, so it must belong to him. It wasn't what he would normally have chosen, but considering that even his casual clothes were too fancy for a basketball game this had been the best choice. Decades might have passed, but he was certain this was still appropriate athletic attire.
"Remember how Simon used to wax poetic about his arms?" Pamela whispered to Penelope, who responded with a quick nod. "Totally with him now."
Raphael turned to them, but instead of feeling slightly embarrassed at being caught, Pamela just met his gaze head-on. "Can I just say, for the record," she added with a grin, "that I never liked that snooty look you usually have? But hell, this one really makes me weak. Aaaand now that I've said it - yes, you're rolling your eyes, you're huffing in annoyance. Right, totally unattractive again. Thank God for your bad personality."
"I don't know," Penelope said quietly, "I still think he looks cute."
Pamela made an ugly sound as she laughed, knowing full well that 'cute' was the last thing Raphael wanted to be called. The Latino just pressed his lips together, disgusted with himself for being so predictable and acting exactly the way she had said.
As soon as they reached the basketball court, Simon put down the net with the balls, obviously excited about the game. Despite being such a nerd most of the time, he was surprisingly active, interested in various sports activities and always willing to try something new.
There were still Mundanes out celebrating the New Year with some fireworks, but for the most part it was quiet in the corner they had chosen. A tiny spot wedged between apartment blocks, it was more of an open space with a single basketball hoop in the middle. Raphael's eyes tracked the graffiti art around them, the shabby benches and the smell of gasoline and smoke, and he was transported back to his younger days, when he used to play half-court streetball with the kids down the block. He had been a small boy, but he had given them all a run for their money - at least when it came to dodging and evading. He had been terrible at shooting.
Since most of the vampires were either too drunk to play or just there to watch, they split up into teams of three. Raphael knew by now that there was a healthy rivalry between Simon and Raphael when it came to games, so he wasn't surprised to end up on opposing teams with him. The rest was pretty much as expected, with Lily and Elliott on Raphael's team and Arya and Bernice on Simon's.
Raphael had never touched a basketball after his Turning, and despite possessing very good eye-hand coordination, if he didn't get right up to the basketball hoop, he wouldn't be able to hit it for the life of him. Even he was surprised how bad he still was.
Elliott couldn't stop laughing and started recording each attempt before making fun of him, then taking the ball and dunking it with his eyes closed and his back to the hoop. Raphael stopped himself from pointing out how much he was playing into the stereotype and just rolled his eyes, which admittedly wasn't any better.
What piqued Elliott's interest even more though, was Lily's rants that started around the third time Raphael missed in a row.
Thanks to Raphael's inability to score and to remember the dribbling rules, the two teams were extremely well matched. Lily was, as always, a powerhouse with her incredible athletic body, stamina, perception of the field, and ball handling. Elliott was surprisingly serious, though he didn't mind Raphael messing up as much as Lily did. In the end, however, they decided that Raphael would only be allowed to pass and intercept, since counting to one and a half was apparently too difficult for him.
Raphael ignored the justified criticism. He was mostly okay when he remembered the rules and didn't try to score. Fortunately, scoring wasn't all there was to the game.
The other team didn't have as much raw power, and Simon and Bernice weren't any better at scoring than Raphael, but they knew exactly how to position themselves to give Arya the best opportunity for a shot. She was good with the ball and more feisty, ambitious, and competitive than anyone else. She was also a cheater, which everyone on her team seemed to conveniently ignore.
"Letting her get away with this is terrible parenting," Raphael muttered when Simon was right next to him and Elliott picked himself up from the ground with a dirty look at Arya. Elliott hadn't called a foul, and he wasn't going to, because that would lead to a very long discussion that no one was interested in, but his eyes promised swift retribution.
"That's your influence," Simon alleged with a grin. "And it's a dead loss. I learned to pick my fights."
Raphael huffed, amused, and figured that he would indeed reward rather than punish such behavior.
Considering the constellation, it wasn't surprising that the games were a mess. There was yelling and cursing at every missed shot, arguing with Arya and Bernice about the rules, and open gloating at every loss by the other team. At one point, the games revolved solely around Arya and Lily, while the rest watched in awe from the sidelines. Simon served as commentator, with Elliott acting as his co-commentator with less factual and more suggestive comments.
About an hour into the game, they had begun to attract a small crowd of slightly tipsy Mundanes who wanted to join the game. Bernice, Raphael and Simon were quickly pushed aside for the Mundanes who apparently had a better understanding of the game and played better even drunk.
It wasn't long before a group of werewolves passed by as well. Suspicious at first, they relaxed when they saw the handful of werewolves between the vampires and the Mundanes. Watching them cheer happily along with everyone else apparently made then decided to join as well.
For the Downworlders it was a disadvantage that they had to keep their supernatural powers low, though Raphael doubted that the Mundanes were sober enough to trust their visions anyway.
As weird as the night was, and Raphael really couldn't emphasize how weird it was, it was one of the most entertaining days he could remember. This was what his older version had been a part of.
Raphael had been so focused on everything else that he had almost forgotten what Elliott had shown him. This was the group - the family - he belonged to.
He was the leader of the clan, with duties and restrictions, most likely self-imposed, but at this moment, he didn't have to be anyone. There were no expectations. He didn't have to entertain or be the center of attention. And yet, even though he was stripped of his title in that moment, he was included, a part of them, even if he didn't participate in any conversations and just observed his surroundings.
Outings used to be work, used to be stressful, used to drain his energy because he was expected to engage and be engaged, because he had to be on the lookout for any subtle machinations. But this was just that - a streetball game with strangers and friends who either didn't know or didn't care who he was.
It was unfamiliar but relaxing, despite the werewolves around, and Raphael found himself letting his guard down a bit. In any other situation this could have cost him his life. But Simon, as focused as he was on the game, was watching out for him and picked up on the change in mood immediately. The clan, boisterous as they were, had shifted their seats a bit, surrounding him with enough space to keep him from being smothered by their closeness. A subtle move, enough to show anyone that they would have to fight their way through them if they wanted to get close to Raphael. Just as they had done in the bar, almost unconsciously.
Raphael had really wronged them, and it wasn't the first time he'd been forced to realize it.
At the end of the night, they returned to the hotel, exhausted and with a dozen new phone numbers stored in their cell phones. They spent the early morning hours drinking blood in the common room, lighting leftover sparklers, and telling the vampires who weren't with them how much Raphael sucked at basketball.
When they finally went to their separate rooms, Simon caught up with Raphael and walked beside him for a moment. "Thanks for tonight. For everything."
"I didn't do anything," Raphael replied almost immediately.
The smile Simon gave him in return was soft and warm. He reached out and took one of Raphael's hands in both of his own, squeezing it lightly, his thumb running over the palm, whatever thoughts crossed his mind a mystery to Raphael. He let go with a quiet "good night" before drifting off to his own room.
Chapter 10: Key of C Minor
Summary:
Raphael finds his answer.
Notes:
Alright, so this chapter got so fucking long that I decided to split it up. The next chapter is already fully written, it's only missing a final edit and betaing, the former I'll do next week. That means this is your last chance to yell at me what you absolutely can't live without in the last chapter, so I can try to work it in somehow, if it isn't already in there.
I'll post the last chapter in about two weeks (I hope).
Chapter Text
C minor is expressive of softness, longing, and sadness; also of earnestness and a passionate intensity. At the same time C minor lends itself most effectively to the portraiture of the supernatural.
~ The Elements Of The Beautiful In Music by Ernst Pauer
Raphael wasn’t sure how much longer he wanted to delay the inevitable. Yet it felt like he was constantly coming up with new excuses because he was afraid of what he would see once his memories were restored. In spite of that, he knew that he wanted them back. All of them. The good, the bad, the horrible. Part of him hoped that it wouldn’t weigh him down as much as it had before, hoped that maybe the fresh memories of the lighter days of the past few weeks would lighten the burden, though in truth he didn’t even know whether they would remain or be erased and replaced by the old ones.
Seeking an answer, he visited Magnus to ask for details of this so-called backup plan.
Apparently it was a deal with a greater demon—which one Raphael hadn’t revealed to the warlock. Mammon, Magnus suspected, because if there was anything Raphael would use as a trade currency, it was something concrete like money or valuable items. It made sense. Mammon was the most predictable demon, focused on wealth rather than games. Magnus claimed that, as rare as it was, it also wasn’t the first time he’d done business with him. He was the only greater demon Raphael ‘trusted’ as he could always count on his greed. Mammon would always keep his end of the bargain, everything else was bad for business, and there was nothing worse than a stain on his reputation.
Nevertheless, for the right price, he would also sell anyone out just as quickly. He was fairly straightforward and predictable that way.
Young as Raphael was, he already knew there was always a price to pay when dealing with demons. Granted, not everyone was as annoying and deceitful as Asmodeus, Magnus’ bastard of a father, but they weren’t all sunshine and candy either. If Raphael had been willing to protect his memories in such a manner, it meant that they weren’t as worthless to him as he had first assumed.
Apart from his personality, Mammon also made sense as thanks to Camille, Raphael had many valuable items at his disposal as bargaining chips that would make the demon salivate if he knew they were in his possession. Camille liked to brag, but she was smart enough to keep the rarer treasures to herself, sitting on them like a dragon on its hoard.
A device that stored memories was a piece of cake for Mammon, who was always working on ways to keep his fortune safe. Honestly, what status, what reputation, what influence his older version must have had to be allowed anywhere near a great demon.
Raphael saw the device for a moment when Magnus held it out, a wooden sphere whose darkness sucked out the light like a black hole. Supposedly his memories were in there, right up to the moment he chose to synchronize with it. A copy of everything he wanted to keep. Precious. Dangerous. Locked with a spell so that only Raphael could open and use it.
Magnus confirmed that using the device was much safer and more successful than trying to recover the memories by mundane or magical means, which offered little chance of success. What Magnus didn’t know was whether the last months would remain. Raphael had almost expected as much. Just to be on the safe side, he would write a letter to tell his older version what an asshole he had been. However, even he couldn’t tell if Raphael would read it instead of throwing it away. He briefly considered using Lily as a messenger, assuming that she would be more than willing to help chastise him. Though that would mean telling her things he’d rather keep between Simon and himself, so a letter would have to suffice.
When Raphael left Magnus’ apartment after half an hour of playing chase with Max as a bat and arguing with Rafael over his history homework, he was at least a little more convinced that his time should come to an end. Soon. Otherwise, his departure would leave yet another scar on the clan, on everyone he knew and had met and avoided with excuses or silent absence. The people he interacted with were slowly getting used to his ‘new’ personality, the more adventurous side that wasn’t afraid to try something new, that wore different clothes and behaved in ways they weren’t expecting. The cliff between their personalities grew wider the longer he stayed.
Moreover, Simon was pulling away from him—a sign that he was uncomfortable with their growing closeness. Raphael had noticed this after their fourth or fifth date. It was to be expected. He had known from the beginning that a relationship with him wasn’t something Simon really wanted. Now it just seeped through their interactions. Furthermore, although Simon never refused his invitations, he never initiated them either.
This was not his world. It would never be his world. Neither the clan nor Simon would ever belong to him. It wasn’t his work that had forged this home. All he could do was protect it as he had before, but it would feel empty to him. Not because the clan would reject him, but because he would stand in his own shadow, unable to accept their friendship and devotion as his own. It would always be something that had been handed down to him as a substitute. He hadn’t worked for it. Instead he had tried to destroy it.
No, it was finally time to release his hostages.
He could have done it right then and there, after receiving the information from Magnus. Yet it didn’t feel right to leave without a word. Then again, maybe this was just another excuse to prolong the inevitable.
To prove himself wrong, he decided to at least share his thoughts and decision with Simon.
It was early morning when he returned to the hotel, but Simon was still in the library, surrounded by thick books, poring over a legal letter. Reading them was usually Raphael’s job, since he didn’t have to do as much research as Simon had to do. Allegedly. Raphael had never thought that he would ever be the type to bother with the justice system of the Shadow World. He also had the feeling that Simon didn’t need to research as much as he did, and was only too afraid of missing something important, so he double- and triple-checked.
Hardworking. Diligent.
When Raphael had wondered what kind of girl he would have to marry unless he opted for the priesthood, it had mostly come down to ‘hopefully not annoying’, ‘gentle’ and ‘someone his mother would approve of’. Simon wasn’t exactly quiet, and he could be stubbornly annoying, but there was no doubt that he was gentle, and that his mother—neglecting the homosexual factor, as he honestly didn’t know how she would have felt about that—would have approved.
Leaning against the door to the library, Raphael crossed his arms, following Simon’s movements. The way he stroked his temple and shoulder, touched the back of his neck, rubbed tired eyes as he yawned. His shape and behavior had become so familiar after only a few months.
Raphael had learned a lot in that time, not only about the clan, but also about himself, about the life he had built for himself and the person he had chosen as his lover.
This life he led, despite some threats and dangers, was quiet and ordinary, and he felt accepted by the people around him as he was, not as he pretended to be. Raphael had never really felt like he could be himself, and even if his older version had put restrictions on himself, they weren't really necessary. This wasn't a problem with the clan, but with himself, and if he were to grow older in this environment maybe barely any of his current restraints might even remain years later.
Furthermore, his sexuality, whatever it was, whatever it was called, something that had always silently alienated him from his peers, was not only known among the clan, but also accepted by them and his lover.
Frankly, Raphael didn’t know if he’d never wanted a lover because circumstances hadn’t allowed it, because he genuinely didn’t want one, or because he’d told himself it was something he would never have, something impossible with his affliction because no one wanted a partner who didn’t want to have sex. This world moved so fast when it came to love, romance, and sex and he had never thought that anyone would be willing to wait for him to make up his mind, let alone engage in a relationship to test his limits. He had also never met anyone interesting enough to make him want to see if it was possible, so he had never bothered to look closely at his own feelings and thoughts on the subject.
To have that now with another man, who was not only willing to stay with him for years and put up with his quirks and bad sides, who not only accepted and embraced them and loved and cherished him, but who was also willing to commit to him through marriage, was something he’d never imagined. Maybe it had been a stroke of luck that he had met someone like Simon, whose loyalty even to a seemingly unrequited love didn’t lead him into the arms of another person, which unwittingly gave Raphael the time to make up his mind before the choice was taken away from him.
Simon, on the other hand, must have been subjected to the same deliberations as Raphael had been. He couldn’t count how often he had been told that it was a shame he wasn’t dating, that he was missing out and wasting time, even though it had never felt that way to him, even though it had never been a big part of his life. He had heard words like that directed at people like Simon, too. People who, instead of chasing a new love, stayed faithful to something they didn’t have a claim to.
However, if Simon had started dating or getting involved with another person because he thought he didn’t have a chance with his love interest, Raphael might have just ignored his own blossoming interest and they would never have happened. Or maybe his older self would have been more assertive, wouldn’t have cared, and just tried to get Simon out of his entanglements if he decided he wanted him.
He wondered if he would do it now if Simon turned to someone else, because right now he figured that he was probably more the type of person who would suppress his thoughts and feelings until they were gone and he could forget that he had even considered something so foolish.
Still, even though Raphael was beginning to understand the reasons why he was drawn to Simon, he still didn’t understand the sex part of their relationship. He figured it was like cleaning the apartment for his mother. He didn’t like it, frankly, he hated it, no matter how much of a neat freak he was, but it had made her happy when she’d come home from a long day at work and realized she didn’t have to cook or do laundry or tell her kids to clean up their room, so it was ‘whatever’.
For Simon sex was more than that. Maybe it was for Raphael now, too. He couldn’t tell from the glimpses he’d seen, he didn’t know how much he did for Simon’s sake or because he actually enjoyed it. Not just the intimacy, but everything else that seemed so at odds with his personality: playing bass or participating in clan activities like dancing and pottery. Was it because he had opened up and found it interesting, or was it just to make everyone around him happy?
“Is there anything I can do for you?” Simon asked, pulling Raphael out of his musings. He wasn’t turning away from his literature at first, but then he looked at Raphael—sleepy, defenseless, mildly curious. Mostly sleepy.
“Do you think you can find some time tonight?” Raphael asked, not moving from his spot.
“How much do you need?”
Raphael shrugged. “Two or three hours?”
He didn’t say the word ‘date’ but that must be what Simon was thinking. Though they usually had those later, or rather, earlier in the day. Simon worried his lips. There was indecision in his expression, as if he didn’t know how to refuse the invitation. Raphael wasn’t going to push the issue. If Simon turned him down now, it wouldn’t matter what he had to say anyway.
“Might be good to get away for a while,” Simon finally replied, “Today around eleven?”
Raphael nodded briefly before tilting his head towards Simon’s work. “When is this due?”
“Next week.”
“Do you want my help?”
“No. I’m calling it a day, too,” Simon said, rubbing his temple again. “My brain is already boiling over.”
“I’m not surprised, given its nature.”
Simon just shrugged and moved to collect the materials without picking up the conversation. Raphael waited a beat longer for another reaction, but then turned away with a mumbled good night, a heavy silence following him back to his room.
He had a feeling that Simon already knew.
Raphael stole Simon away on the motorcycle without a specific destination in mind. He took the airways on his demon bike until they had left Manhattan, then switched to the roads as soon as there was less traffic. Simon was quiet behind him, and if it weren’t for the pressure around his waist and behind his back, he would have almost forgotten he was there.
Raphael enjoyed the ride, the sound of the engine he could barely make out over the wind, the shifting of gears before accelerating, the sheer power he controlled easily with his body. He used to have a keen interest in motorcycles and cars, might even have chosen mechanic as a career path in his earlier days if it had paid enough to support his family.
They ended up a few miles out in a state park and left the bike in a parking lot before walking through the woods. There was still no destination in their steps as they simply followed the trail signs until they found a lake. It was almost romantic if it weren’t so eerily quiet.
Raphael was used to the constant noise of the city: heartbeats, music, voices, construction, barking, traffic, sirens, that random drunk talking to themselves. Manhattan was never quiet. Here, in the middle of what seemed like nowhere, he thought he could hear his own thoughts for the first time, the silence broken only by the occasional rustle of the wind through the bare trees and other sounds of nature he had only ever heard from Maria’s meditation tapes.
It was cold, even if he couldn’t feel it on his skin or see a cloud of breath in the air. Yet there was a glimmer of crystallized fog on the last leaves still clinging to the branches and a fine layer of snow on the frozen ground that crunched beneath their shoes. Simon seemed to enjoy those little things, taking in the beauty of nature even in the dead of night, while the clear moon cast a cold light on their surroundings.
They walked in silence, and sometimes Raphael wasn’t even sure if Simon was aware that he was walking a few feet behind. He let him be, clearing his mind and watching over him, even though the only threat around them so far was a few nocturnal animals hunting for prey in the distance. The animals close to them remained silent in the face of the danger their presence posed, wearily following their every step. There was a hint of a supernatural presence very far away, almost dismissable, that Raphael would worry about if it seemed to be getting closer. Until then, he would push it to the back of his mind.
They made their way around the lake until they reached a great wall of rock that led to a cliff, sculpted by nature and wear. Sense of adventure awakened, Simon spontaneously decided to climb it to the top. Raphael briefly considered just flying up there, but then followed the same way. The rock under his fingers was unyielding, sometimes slippery or loose and Raphael couldn’t remember the last time he had to work physically for something. Yet, even with his demonic strength, climbing rock, especially finding the right foothold and grip, became a challenge to his untrained body.
It was almost a relief when they finally reached the top.
Simon stretched out his arms, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath before opening them again and took in the view of the park with a serene smile. A moment later, for the first time in a long while, he turned to Raphael. “I love this place,” he said. “The air is so clean and it’s so quiet. You only get that in the wedding room, but it feels more like sensory deprivation there.”
Raphael remembered the room with the strange name. It had been Camille’s playroom, and when he had tried to see how it had changed, it had been occupied. “So it’s for catharsis,” he said rather than asked.
“Yes,” Simon confirmed. “I kind of forget it even exists sometimes. Although vampires like Maeve couldn’t live without it. Her senses are much sharper and harder to control. She’d probably go crazy without it.”
This national park was like a vacation for their senses, too. The smell of animal blood was not as pungent as that of a human. It didn’t stir their baser instincts, didn’t linger in the back of their minds like a constant temptation, didn’t distract them as much at first whiff. In this place, away from highways and cities, there also wasn’t the omnipresent smell of gasoline, smoke, dirt, and food.
“Have we been here before?” Raphael asked curiously, because it sounded like Simon had.
“Not together,” Simon replied as he sat down on a patch of moss and crossed his legs beneath him. “A few miles over there is Lazar’s territory.” He pointed in the direction of the lake where Raphael had picked up the supernatural presence. “I spent a few weeks there. Years ago, when Camille escaped from Idris. It’s a shame, really, that we were never here together.”
Sitting down next to the other man, Raphael looked at the reflection of the moon in the lake and the shadows of the trees, dark spots even to his eyes.
It seemed somehow familiar.
“I know,” Simon began slowly after a moment of silence. “That there’s something you want to talk about. And I know it’s something you think I won’t like.” Raphael raised his eyebrows and watched as the other man turned his head towards him. “He’d do it. Take me to a secluded place where we can talk in peace.” His voice was soft, somber as he probably remembered all the times this had happened before.
Raphael chuckled softly at his own predictability. “Seems like a scary habit.”
“Potentially, yes,” Simon replied with a grin that slowly faded. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”
“I wouldn’t call it leaving,” Raphael said, not surprised for a moment that he already had an inkling. “I’d say going back to the way how things used to be.”
“Is that decision already set in stone?”
“Pretty much.”
Simon was calm, neither happy nor angry, as if he didn’t know how to feel himself. Despite everything that had happened, he would get his husband back, and if everything went as planned, just as he had let him go. The clan would get their leader back as well. Raphael had expected at least a little more enthusiasm, but he didn’t doubt that somewhere deep beneath that deadly stoicism, Simon must be thrilled, excited and scared.
“What changed your mind?”
Raphael shrugged. “Do you know the story behind the hoodie I wore?”
Surprised, Simon arched his eyebrows. “I don’t—I—Is there a story?”
“I don’t know. It’s in my closet. It belongs to me. It looked like it had never been worn. It is my size. But when I wore it, even you looked at me as if you saw a ghost. So why is it in my closet? Did you even know it was there? Did I ever wear it as a disguise? Then why didn’t I throw it out?”
“I don’t understand.”
Raphael tilted his head and huffed again, trying for a better explanation. “My room, the hotel, my life is full of things I don’t understand. I could pretend they don’t matter, but I think they do. These questions, they haunt me. Decades of questions, whenever I think of something, I wonder why? How? But there’s no one there to give me an answer. It feels...”—hollow, empty, lonely, scary, confusing, disturbing—“unsettling.”
Simon tilted his head in thought, listening intently to his words, and his genuine attentiveness made Raphael want to elaborate further.
“We both know I keep secrets all the time, especially about something bad. I can’t even remember what secrets I might have kept from you. There may be things that have happened to me that even you don’t know about. There may be monsters out there that I’ve never told you about. There may be good things I’ve never told anyone either because it never occurred to me to share them. The truth is, Simon,” Raphael said imploringly, “You’re all giving me this chance to find myself, to live the life I want, and I know—or at least I believe I know what a huge sacrifice this is, but I’ll never be able to truly appreciate the gesture, because I don’t even understand what I’m giving up. It feels like I have nothing to lose. But I have something to gain.”
“That’s because you don’t understand the burden you carry.”
“Yes, I don’t,” Raphael admitted. “But I know what I’ve accomplished under that burden. I know I’ll be able to pick it up again.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“And that’s very generous of you, but I do. And frankly, if you had all turned out to be horrible people, it might have been easier to accept this gift. Not that you would have offered it to me if you were horrible.”
Simon snorted a laugh. “Excuse me?”
“I could have hated you,” he said dismissively, “realized that everything I had done was wrong, and that none of you were worth my time and effort. Instead, you were helpful. You were exactly what I needed, what I wanted, what I’d always been looking for, what I had never achieved. I put you all through so much trouble, but you never let me down. So you deserve better than half the version I could be.”
Simon opened his mouth, closed it without saying anything. It took him a moment to find his voice again. “If you’re doing this for us, then don’t. Everything will be fine. Even if you don’t love the clan as much as you used to, I know you’ll accept it. And I see them loving you, and I know you’ll learn to love them, too. You don’t need to do this.”
It was so like Simon to have what he wanted so close he could almost taste it and still try to think of someone else’s interests first. Raphael wasn’t like that at all, and hoped that his older version canceled out Simon’s altruism, was hopefully fiercely protective of the man who couldn’t protect himself from the people he loved and cared about.
“And what do you mean half the man? I mean, you’ve done great,” Simon continued but without any urgency. “You’ve worked so hard to learn everything and fit into this world. Everything you have done, everything we have done, was to make this possible for you. It may take some time to relearn, and there will be a shift in your personality, but that’s nothing you have to worry about.”
Raphael rolled his eyes, but his voice remained calm. “Simon, it’s not just you. I deserve to know my mother’s last words. I deserve to know what was in the letter my brothers gave me when she died. I want to know why there’s a hoodie in my closet that I wouldn’t normally wear under threat of death. I want to know why you held me to your chest and led me through several ballroom dances while the Shadow World watched. I want all my memories of Ragnor, Lily, Magnus, my family, you—everyone. I want to know why my clan—my family—would go to such lengths to give me something that would hurt them. I want to know how Ragnor and I parted. I want to know all the sad and terrible things, just as I want to know how I became a person who could build a sanctuary, a home. I want to know everything that I don’t even know that I want to know. So yes, there will be bad days. I’m prepared for that. I don’t want to be a person who only takes and destroys and never gives.” He left a pause, a sign that he wasn’t sure if he should say the next part or not. “However, I do regret that everything you have endured was for nothing.”
Simon’s expression shifted between sadness, understanding, resignation, relief, and shame. When he spoke, his voice trembled. “It wasn’t in vain. We gave you this choice, and this is the choice you’ve made. If everything we’ve done has helped you come to this conclusion, and you don’t have any doubts or regrets, then it was not for nothing.”
“To be honest,” Raphael admitted, “I don’t know if this is the right choice. I don’t know if there is a right choice at all, or if I’ll come to regret this. All I know is that I don’t want to forget, and I couldn’t be happy knowing what I took away from people who cared about me. And I couldn’t be happy with myself. I can’t imagine us being happy either. I’d always wonder who you would see when you look at me. If you would rather have him around. When I fail, I will always wonder if he would have done better, would have been smarter. I cannot be jealous of the person I used to be, and I cannot be distracted by such petty thoughts. Not when I can do something about it.”
Simon listened to his words and considered them carefully. “I don’t know what the right choice is either,” he said slowly, “And I can’t give you an opinion in good conscience. I always thought it was best to do what you want. And if this is what you want, I’ll support you.”
“Well,” Raphael drawled. “If it helps, it’s what I want. But it’s also what he wants.”
Simon frowned in confusion. “How do you know?”
“You know how I thought I didn’t care about my memories because I didn’t take any protective measures?” It was a rhetorical question, but Simon nodded anyway. “Seems I was wrong. I talked to Magnus. There is a backup plan in case my memories were corrupted.” A myriad of emotions flickered behind Simon’s eyes again and Raphael could not fathom the betrayal he must have felt, considering that he had not been involved in this plan, although according to him they had no secrets from each other. “Are you angry?”
Simon’s mouth opened and closed as if he couldn’t find the words to explain how he felt, but then he gave an almost imperceptible nod.
“Then I suggest you aim for my pretty face when I wake up,” he offered with a crooked grin. “I deserve it.”
Simon choked back a shy laugh, then loosened his tense limbs before slumping forward, breathing in as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He was still silent, his head hidden between his shoulders, his chin tucked in. Raphael couldn’t tell how overwhelming this conversation was to him, how conflicting emotions were pulling him in different directions and trying to tear him apart.
They sat no more than two feet apart, Simon’s hand between them, and Raphael had the urge to take it as a gesture of comfort, but he doubted it was wanted. He didn’t know how he felt about it either. But then there was a small sound that Simon tried to stifle and Raphael pressed his lips together before awkwardly reaching for the hand.
Simon’s reaction was instantaneous. His whole body jerked as if struck by lightning, but when Raphael wanted to pull away, Simon’s fingers locked their hands together. Something settled inside Raphael, the feeling so familiar to his body, to his mind, that it calmed him instantly.
Raphael had thought that Simon was on the verge of crying, but now that they were looking at each other again, he seemed surprisingly composed.
When the Latino had woken up, he had thought that Simon was weak. Lily had tried to tell him that he wasn’t, that he could defend himself, that he was strong, not just in a fight. He had witnessed the truth of that statement himself over the last few months. Even if he showed his feelings openly, even if he left himself wide-open to attacks, he did it because he could handle it.
The weak one was Raphael. Even in their relationship, his older version was probably inferior to Simon’s strength. Although he could pin him to a mattress ten times out of ten fights, he would always lose to him one way or another.
He wouldn’t have been able to take the blows, either, if Simon had abused his knowledge as much as Raphael had done when he had talked about Derek. If Simon had used some of the memories that had come back to him, Raphael would have snapped and barked and destroyed like a dog backed into a corner. Weeks ago, he had tried to explain himself to Simon, even though he didn’t need to, because Simon always knew what motivated him. Yet there was something he hadn’t had the courage to do, and this was probably the only chance he had left.
“I’m sorry for everything I’ve said and done to you.”
He hated the phrase, but this wasn’t about him, and he knew that more socially adept people needed to hear those words sometimes. Though Simon would probably laugh at the mere suggestion that he was considered ‘socially adept’. He was. At least compared to Raphael.
Simon looked at him in surprise before his expression softened into a smile. “I know,” he murmured, squeezing his hand. “But thank you.”
Raphael smiled in return, his thumb brushing over the last knuckle of Simon’s ring finger, the gesture coming naturally to him. It must have been a common way of touching between them, because Simon didn’t seem to pick up on it, either.
The moment felt tender.
Too close to something neither of them wanted.
Pulling his hand away again, ignoring the confused expression he received in reply, he jumped back to their previous conversation. “I was going to ask Magnus this week. I just didn’t want to change without tying up some loose ends.”
Simon blinked at him. “So soon?”
“What did you expect?” Raphael said, amused. “That I would announce it and sit around for another month? It’s better this way. Otherwise Xavier will never get over this crush. And I don’t want things to get more awkward between us.” Simon’s expression closed at those word, showing how deeply the remark hit him. Mildly surprised at the intense reaction, Raphael decided to defuse the situation. “I didn’t mean that as an accusation. You don’t need to feel guilty. You were married to him for a long time, and being with me in a romantic capacity must be confusing. It’s perfectly normal. So it’s no surprise that you decided to pull away. Although I would have preferred that you had told me instead of waiting for me to figure it out.”
“Actually,” Simon said, his voice shaking as if he was afraid of something. “It’s not that.”
Raphael narrowed his eyes.
“The reason I’m... This is going to sound so horrible.” Judging by his expression, Simon was about to reveal that he enjoyed torturing kittens and puppies as a hobby. “Okay, this—goddamn it—it’s fun being with you!” He said it as if he had just revealed the best kept secret of this century, but Raphael was sure that award went to some politician’s secret second family. “I mean, it’s not the same with Raphael. Even now, he still makes my stomach flutter. And when we plan to go out, I’m still nervous—the good kind—and giddy all day. He’s still good for surprises, and he still does things that make me love him even more. I don’t have that with you. You do things differently too, sometimes unexpectedly, but it doesn’t affect me as much because it’s not, you know, him. Still...” He paused, swallowed. “Sometimes I feel like... I could be closer to you than I ever was—am to him.”
Raphael didn’t know how to respond, but as the silence stretched, it didn’t appear like Simon was waiting for him to fill it either.
“I never...” he started again. “I never thought about our age difference. It was never a problem, and frankly, I always assumed that most of your personality had nothing to do with it, but... you’re so much younger, and it shows. You make more mistakes. You’re hot-headed. You’re more open to new experiences. When we went out, I felt like it was easier to connect with you. I mean, you... you jumped in puddles with me! You played Guitar Hero with the clan. You let the clan bully you into playing DDR! You even sang karaoke. And you don’t mind being worse at something than me. I mean, he never said anything, but I could tell that he hates it with everyone, but especially with me. That sounds awful.” He mumbled into his hand, obviously guilty of harboring thoughts that seemed rather logical, at least to Raphael. “Oh God, I love Raphael so much. I don’t want to change anything. I don’t regret—”
“Simon,” Raphael said before he had a chance to spiral. “No one with half a brain will ever doubt that you love him. I don’t need a whole preface. Just take a breath and say what you want to say.”
Simon did as he was told, his voice slowly dropping in pitch. “I don’t know if it’s all Camille’s influence or just your age, but sometimes it feels like there’s a wall between us, like he needs to be in charge or be the more mature person. Sometimes I feel like I have to work harder to catch up and keep up with his expectations. And with you... I don’t feel like I have to be better than I actually am to reach that pedestal you stand on. Or you put me on. Being with you is... it’s easier. And I hate that because it shouldn’t be this way.”
Raphael had not expected this answer, if he was honest. He had thought that his more childish side would make things more difficult, especially where the clan was concerned. “I see,” he said thoughtfully, because that was all he could say at the moment.
“And, you know, I want to go out more with Raphael. Not just in our room or Magnus’ music room, but out in the world. So I’ve been a little annoyed at how much you have asked me out. I know he doesn’t mind me going out alone or with friends, but I want to go out with him. And he indulges me, he does, I know. He gives in to my whims, but I know he only does it for my sake, so I don’t ask as often as I’d like.”
“Maybe you should ask him more often.”
Simon sighed. “There’s no point if he doesn’t want to be there. It’s the same with touching. Well, actually it’s not, because I literally cannot go for days without touching him, and that’s another difference. Honestly, why are you so quick to touch?” Raphael expected it to be a rhetorical question, so he didn’t even bother to prepare an answer, and Simon just carried on anyway. “I mean, he told me he just wasn’t used to touching anymore, that it felt forced and unnatural to him after all this time and I thought he was just being considerate, but now I think it really was the truth.”
“Has that changed?"
Simon looked at him before nodding his head. “Yeah. I mean, at first we didn’t touch much, at least not for a few months. Though I had something.” He didn’t elaborate, and Raphael didn’t ask. “It took him some time to get used to it, not in the sense of getting comfortable with it, or maybe a little of that, too, but mostly to realize that I needed it, and what I needed. It was baby steps all the way through.”
“You didn’t mind?”
“I didn’t not not mind,” he said, confusing Raphael with the phrasing for a moment. “I knew, after all. When we got together, he told me he didn’t know how far he wanted to go. I was afraid of ruining everything between us, so I held back. He—You were more important. But with everything he has given me, I became greedier and didn’t want to live without it either. So I guess it was good that it only happened a handful of times that he didn’t want something after trying it once. He was indifferent to most things, some things he liked, some things he really didn’t like, but, you know, that’s the same with me. There are things I don’t like. And things I don’t care about.”
Simon sighed deeply, hanging his head again.
“I don’t really hate the way you are or the way you used to be, but it makes me think that if I had met you ten or twenty years ago, maybe things wouldn’t have been so challenging when we started dating. I don’t regret anything,” he hurried to clarify. “I would never want to go back in time, I wouldn’t change anything, but seeing you so close to me, being more tactile, sometimes it brings up all these ugly thoughts and I hate myself for them. Sometimes I think, why couldn’t I have been born earlier? Why couldn’t I have met you before bad things happened? I could have been there for you, I could have helped you.”
Raphael tilted his head and pursed his lips. “Did you think that way before I lost my memories?”
Simon looked at him evenly, eyes narrowed in thought. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Then I don’t see the problem,” he declared with a shrug. “And I think you might be right to some degree. Some things might have been easier with me, others—maybe not so much.”
“I’m not right,” Simon said. “What came easy for me was a struggle for him. But he made it possible for me. And I never want him to change, I love him as he was—is, with everything. I love kissing him, and I love the way he kisses me, but if he didn’t want it, I would give it up in a heartbeat.”
“But it wouldn’t be easy.”
Simon swallowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Not anymore.”
“Simon,” Raphael asked, almost bored. “Have you always been this prone to self-flagellation?”
“What?”
“I’m just saying, my life might have changed. Or maybe not. I’m not trying to minimize your part, but it seems like Camille was a bigger factor in all of this than you could have been if you had been there. And yes, there are things you think could be better, so you’re unhappy with some aspects, isn’t that normal? Just talk it out with each other. You’re being terribly melodramatic.”
Simon stared at him, stunned, then laughed. “You have the nerve to call me melodramatic?” he asked. “You? Seriously?”
Raphael grinned. He was well aware of the irony. “You want to know what I think?” he asked, changing to the tailor’s seat, eyes glancing towards the lake while Simon was still trying to get over his shock. “You should tell him what you told me when he wakes up. Whether or not you actually want anything to change doesn’t matter, it obviously bothers you that you have these thoughts. If he loves you half as much as you love him, I’m sure he’ll want to know so he can think about it.”
Simon leaned a little to the side as if he wanted to bump their shoulders before deciding otherwise. “Of course he’ll want to know. But I’m not that pathetic.”
Raphael just shrugged. This wasn’t his relationship. He had given his two cents and if Simon was content to just complain to him, then he wasn’t going to force the issue. Their relationship had worked for almost ten years and still seemed to be going strong, so they must be doing something right.
“Before I forget,” he said, changing the subject less than gracefully and pulling the necklace out of his pocket. He had been carrying it around since Simon had given it to him, unable to get rid of it or just leave it in his room. “Take this back.”
“Didn’t you destroy this?” Simon asked, surprised.
“I thought about it.”
“At least you’re honest. Well, in a way, you always have been.”
“That ‘in a way’ does a lot of heavy lifting in that sentence.”
Simon chuckled, then reached out tentatively, hesitating before cupping it carefully in his hand as if it were the most precious item in the world. His expression was filled with affection as he looked at the pendant and pressed it to his chest. “I remember when you gave this to me,” he began softly. “You thought I wanted to take on Camille alone.”
“I suppose I was right?”
“Yes, you were,” Simon admitted without shame. “I hated her more than anything. For what she did to the clan and to you.”
“We did it to ourselves,” Raphael said. “We always had a choice. We could have left. Or chosen death. Not exactly a worse option than what she had to offer, if you ask me.”
Simon looked at the pendant quietly. There was a heavy silence settling over them before he chose to continue without any transition. “I think I fell in love with how you genuinely wanted to change the clan for the better.” Raphael stilled, confused. “It was the first good thing I noticed about you. That you loved the clan, that you wanted to take care of them. You called them your family.”
It took Raphael a moment to realize that this was the reply to a question he had asked many times before. A question Simon had always refused to answer.
“I loved how you loved the city, the streets, and all the people who lived here. Picking up trash, giving the homeless something warm to drink in the winter, protecting the territory without asking for anything in return. You cared for them in your own way, but hardly anyone knew. I think what really made me fall in love with you was the kindness you showed through those actions.”
Raphael wet his lips before turning away in embarrassment. He had always been bad with praise. “I was bored.”
Simon smiled. “You could have done other things with your time.”
“Street people always make the best informants.”
“Yes, but you didn’t have to treat them nicely,” Simon insisted. “You could have used Encanto.”
“Too much trouble.”
Simon laughed, his voice somewhat warmer. “Yeah, I fell in love with that side too.” Raphael pressed his lips together as not to pout, but Simon probably noticed anyway. Still, he didn’t press the issue, but continued. “I love how you are unintentionally funny and intense. How you’re charming and awkward at the same time, just like you are right now,” he teased again, much to Raphael’s dismay, who wasn’t used to this type of constructive and tangible flattery. It was a weakness, but instead of acting shy or coy, his defense mechanism kicked in immediately and he felt his hackles rising as indifference attempted to surface.
“I love how you don’t treat everyone the same, how you’re indifferent to people you don’t like, and how kind you are to people you care about. I love your arrogance because it’s for a reason. I love how you can’t and won’t accept help and how stubborn you are. I love how selfless you are, even though you act like the most selfish person on earth. I love how you have the confidence to take your time no matter who you are talking to or what you are doing. That’s still you, that’s all you, Raphael, the way you were and the way you are now, things that have never changed. The reason I knew I could fall in love with you again is because that’s you.
“But I also loved how he was always there for me, no matter what. I loved the Raphael who showed me his vulnerable side. I loved how much he wanted this relationship and how much he was willing to make it—us—work. I loved how he used the word ‘we’ when he was talking about problems, because he meant it. He wasn’t saying ‘we’ that was supposed to be a ‘you’, but really, that we would deal with something together. I kind of loved how he didn’t use pet names. Like, he only called me nicknames when he wanted to annoy me or when there were other people around. Other people have code words like Alpha Dragonfly or Lazy Fish, we had endearments. I always knew something was up when he called me mi sol or mi cielo.”
Right. Raphael couldn’t imagine using pet names. They felt impersonal, like a collective term for people whose names he didn’t bother to remember. To him they had always been disrespectful. He also knew that he was about the only person around who felt that way.
“Though there was one word, that was just for me,” Simon added softly.
“Which one?”
Mischief crept into his smile. “That’s only for me to know. Your right hand.”
Raphael furrowed his brow. Surely he didn’t call his husband ‘right hand’ or ‘mano derecha’ [right hand]. That would be absurd, but he didn’t know what else to make of it. He had never read anything close to that in their chat history either.
Curling his lips into another moue, he decided to ignore it for now. “So?” He asked instead, mildly curious. “What was your code word for me?”
“Well,” Simon drawled with a chuckle, “I call you Delilah when I’m mad at you.”
“Delilah?”
“Yeah, because Magnus always calls me Samson?”
Raphael snorted. “Delilah was Samson’s weakness. Are you saying I’m yours?”
Simon replied with a grin of his own before dropping the question altogether. “I called you Lunita when you were being a dick, but I still thought you were cute. You absolutely hate it when I try to call you Raph or Rafa. I do it sometimes just to annoy you.”
Unimpressed, Raphael raised his eyebrows. “My younger brothers called me that, and half the neighborhood answered when they yelled it from our apartment down to the street. Do you have any idea how many Raphaels used to live on our street? And all of them were called Rafa with some sort of descriptive attribute. Rafa chiquito, Rafa grande, Rafa con lentes, Rafa güero.” [Little Rafa, Big Rafa, Glasses Rafa, Blond Rafa].
“Which Rafa were you?”
Rafael grinned. “Rafa guapo.” [Handsome Rafa]
“Yeah, I guess now I know where you got that confidence from,” Simon chuckled. “I mean, it’s true, but come on, there must have been more handsome Rafas around?”
“None as handsome as me.” Simon continued to laugh in utter disbelief at his arrogance, but Raphael just thought it was kind of nice that there were still things about him that Simon didn’t seem to know. “Anyway, I hated it. None of the grown-ups ever took me seriously. Being called Rafa just undermines my authority, especially since I look like I’m fifteen. Just like any other term of endearment.”
“Actually,” Simon started again, “I don’t like terms of endearment that much either. Honey, darling, babe—it kind of makes me shudder, now. I mean, I once thought I would like it, but then I realized that nothing comes close to the way Raphael says my name. How it changes depending on his mood.” His eyes glanced off into the distance, and as he spoke, he sounded more like he was talking to himself than to Raphael. “Simon [’saɪmən] when he was talking to me. Simón [siˈmon] when he was being a tease because he knew how much I love the Spanish accent. But I always loved his angry version best: Simón [saɪˈmon].” Simon repeated his own name, mixing the English and Spanish versions by emphasizing both syllables. “I don’t think he even knows he’s doing it.” His lips tightened, darkness flickering over his expression. “You do it, too.”
The Latino raised his eyebrows.
“You did it when we were fighting about Derek. You said my name like that, too. Saɪ’mon.” He repeated it again. And again. “It was painful to hear it from you. It was so much like him—you. I almost wavered. I didn’t think I had the strength to do this anymore, to keep fighting and struggling with you.” Simon’s eyes met his, and he wasn’t crying, but there was sadness prickling at the corners of his eyes. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come back, if something had happened to you, if we had continued to fight after that. There is so much of him in you, and you in him, that I want you to understand that there is no need to be jealous of him, or to feel inferior to him. You’re different, but everything that I’ve loved, everything that other people love about you, what you’ve done for them—that will never change. And I’m sure you would make the same decisions and would inspire the same loyalty. After all, it has always been you.”
“Are you trying to change my mind again?” Raphael asked, a little annoyed. “I thought we were past that.”
“No, I’m not,” Simon said. “I just don’t want to let you go as long as you think you don’t deserve anything you get from us.”
Raphael really didn’t know what he had done to make someone love and appreciate him so much. He would have understood lust, he was handsome after all, and he had used his looks often enough to sweet talk someone into doing his bidding. He would have understood loyalty through fear or dominance of pure strength, but neither would have lasted for years. The same, he thought, applied to the clan. Even though he had been a complete brat to them, they hadn’t turned against him. They had been angry, and rightly so, but they had never abandoned him.
Had Camille still been alive, he might not have survived the first night, or he might have become just another plaything or bargaining chip.
It was almost unfair that he might never really know how much they had supported him during this ordeal. Maybe he would be able to sense it, maybe they would tell him and explain what had happened, but seeing was believing, especially in Raphael’s case.
“It’s not like I would exist after all this.”
“It’s not about who you’ll become again, it’s about how you’ll go. I can’t let you go through whatever Magnus will do, thinking you have to because you’re not worthy of our protection, gratitude and love.”
Listening to these words, a part of him wished he could find out what it felt like to fall in love with Simon. He imagined that it might be a bit like what he was feeling now—like the rug was being pulled out from under him but someone was there to catch his fall. A little scary, but with Simon by his side, he had a feeling he wouldn’t come to harm.
Raphael had never felt safe with anyone before. He had trusted Ragnor and Magnus and Lily—but he had never felt comfortable showing himself intimately to them, revealing everything he was and everything he wanted to hide. Simon, on the other hand... Simon made him feel secure. It was such an absurd thought, considering he had only met him three months ago.
Raphael huffed and shook his head. “Simon Lewis, you are a weirdo.”
“Excuse me,” Simon exclaimed, “The weirdo in this relationship is definitely you.” Raphael rolled his eyes, then choked on nothing when the other man added, “And it’s actually Simon Lewis-Santiago.”
Simon and Raphael returned to the hotel early in the morning, and decided to inform the clan beforehand. Despite their always gracious nature, Raphael had expected everyone to be more excited about the news. However, just like Simon, they assumed that he was only doing it for their sake and asked him to reconsider.
“I really hate how everyone assumes I’m doing this for someone else,” he said, his voice dripping with contempt. “This is for me.”
They looked at him before exchanging glances. “Yeah,” Victoria said eventually, “That’s exactly what you’d say to reassure us.”
“There’s no winning with you, is there? The only reason you think I’m being nice is because Simon keeps suggesting it.”
“Hey,” Cecilia snapped, uncharacteristically offended, “Not everything is Simon’s doing. We knew how selfless you were long before he joined our clan. No offense, Simon.” Her voice returned to its usual bittersweet tone with the last words, and Simon simply waved her off. “It’s just that you’re also kind of an asshole, and you hate it when people point out your good sides, so we usually don’t.”
“Yeah, like when you tended to the sick after—you know what, I’m not going to explain this again. I’ve done it too many times in my life,” Arya added. “Just this: you’ve always been there for us, so we’ll always be there for you. We’ve told you a million times. Get it through your thick skull!”
Simon turned his face away from the scene, but it was still obvious that he was hiding a laugh at the exchange. Raphael rolled his eyes at them. Nothing was ever easy with this clan.
“I don’t know. His distrust in the beginning was well-founded, as we all know,” Xavier began seriously, destroying any kind of amusement. “So maybe it’s hard to accept our good will. And I mean, as angry and pissed off as the werewolves were after your stunt, we still defended your behavior because we know, because we were there. We’re not soft on you. We just know that you’ve been working with the premise of how it had been sixty years ago. We know what we’ve been like, and we’ll carry that shame with us. We also know it’s our fault that you’ve become so cynical after only ten years with Camille’s clan.”
“It’s true,” Pamela admitted quietly. “It’s not easy for us either. We’ve always known that we took something from you, but we never understood what it was until we saw it with our own eyes. Every time I see you now, I’m reminded. It makes me want to protect you even more.”
“It’s partly our fault that you’ve become what you are,” Jessica added. “So seeing you like this made me realize the damage we did to you and to each other, really. But there is nothing in the world we can do to make it up to you. Giving you a choice, when you’ve never had that luxury in the past, is the least we can do.”
“I never even noticed at the time,” Maeve commented. “Because you made it easy to ignore it. You always refused to show how much something bothered you. I can’t count how many times I thought ’it’s just Raphael, he doesn’t care anyway’.”
“Or worse,” Daniel said, “‘It’s just Raphael. What do I care?’”
“Listen,” Frederick spoke up now, quelling the other voices that were chiming up in agreement. “If this is really what you want, then go for it. But don’t do it because you think it’s best for us, or because you think it’s what we want. What we want is what you want. We’ll be fine with whatever you decide.”
“It’s our turn to take care of you,” Charles agreed, sounding as bored as he looked. “So just do whatever.”
Raphael gave himself a moment to let the words sink in, to think about them and reevaluate his current position. Even if he didn’t believe that this would change anything.
Of course, he understood what they meant, remembered it better than they did - after all, it had only been a few months for him. Back then, there hadn't been a strong bond between the vampires. There had been small groups that had shared living space out of necessity, and whenever Camille had called, they had been at her beck and call, all loyalties lost. Cecilia had been Camille's personal pet, she had free reign over the hotel and could do as she pleased, and it was only a coincidence that she was more interested in her experiments and research than in any of the vampires living in the hotel, otherwise things might have ended like they had with Raphael's sire: a cellar full of corpses.
Just like her, everyone had else been out to protect themselves first, and enjoy their own eternal life to the fullest without any morals.
And yes, at first he had assumed that things were still like that, but he had quickly realized that they weren't, so that honestly didn't work as an excuse, even if he wanted to, which he didn't.
“Even without you in the equation,” Raphael explained calmly, despite feeling ambushed by emotions, his mouth dry and his voice raw, “I would have chosen this.”
“But you seemed so much happier now,” Theo remarked. “Why would you want to throw that away?”
“I’m not throwing anything away, I’m merely postponing it. I—Raphael has changed with even more burdens, and he will continue to change. It may just take him a little longer to come around, but with all of you, I’m sure he will.”
There was a pause, until Victoria picked the conversation up again. “All we’re trying to say, after listening to our point of view, just give it some more time. Just another week. If you are still for it, fine, do it. And if you’re not sure, then just take another week. Maybe even another. Until you are 100% sure you know what you want. Not what you think we want or need, but what you want.”
Raphael really hadn’t expected to have a fight with the clan about this. He had expected it from Simon, but not from them. He had expected them to say ‘whatever’ or ‘yes, finally’ because admittedly, he had always suspected that Simon was the driving force behind their decisions regarding him.
However, Simon had his eyes studiously averted, didn’t seem at all engaged in this discussion, just listening in silence, his expression carefully blank. Not once did anyone in the clan look at him as they spoke, never giving the impression that they were even slightly concerned for his well-being, even though Raphael knew how much they cherished him and valued his happiness.
This was for Raphael alone, and they tried to make that clear.
At first, Raphael hadn’t been able to bring himself to care for people he didn’t know and who seemed to feel entitled to a different version of him. Yet the more he learned, the more he realized how much life had changed in all those years. He knew this wasn’t his time, this wasn’t his place, it was time to let go of something that wasn’t supposed to be his in the first place. He wasn’t going to change his mind, but he was going to give them the assurance that they wouldn’t have to blame themselves for what he was going to do. So after a moment, Raphael let out a sigh before turning away from the group.
“Fine,” he relented. “I’ll give it another week.”
There was no satisfaction, there was no regret, there was only unpainted silence as he walked away.
“You’re late,” Magnus greeted as soon as he stepped through the portal into the DuMort. “I expected a message from you weeks ago.” But then his eyes found Raphael and he almost stumbled over his own feet in surprise. “What are you wearing?”
Raphael grinned, radiating pride as he looked down at himself in light blue jeans and a Hawaiian shirt. He had thought about wearing brightly colored shorts instead, but even he had his limits. This was already doing enough damage anyway. He hadn't even bothered to brush his hair after waking up as well. Too bad he wasn't able to see his own face of horror after waking up.
Honestly, he knew he was being petty, but he thought he deserved this little victory.
“I got held up,” Raphael replied, completely ignoring the last question. “The clan urged me to reflect again.”
Magnus stared at him a moment longer, raising an inquiring eyebrow at Simon, who shrugged in reply. But then he sighed, like he could guess what was going on. “Well, I guess I shouldn't be surprised they did.”
It was quite interesting to see the different reactions between Magnus and the clan to his decision. Though of a different opinion, the warlock had respected the clan’s and Simon’s determination to let Raphael do as he pleased, perhaps frowning and obviously disagreeing, but never challenging, thus showing more restraint than Raphael would have expected.
Magnus used to be the closest person to him after Ragnor and Lily, but that place had been replaced by the new entity that was the clan. The warlock knew and understood its new position—of course he did. He had a family of his own, and Raphael, had the circumstances been reversed, would have respected any decision made by Magnus’ husband and sons more than he would have insisted on his own opinion.
“Really?” Magnus finally drawled with a hint of a smile, like he wasn’t even remotely surprised. Well, it seemed that Magnus knew Simon and the clan better than Raphael had previously thought. “Oh dear. Didn’t you say that Simon would be the most challenging to convince?”
“Obviously I was wrong,” Raphael conceded, not hiding the annoyance behind his words.
Despite his amusement at the exchange, there was a hint of worry and sadness in Simon’s expression as he watched them banter for a few more moments. As soon as Raphael met his eyes, those feelings were quickly pushed back and veiled, his lips curving into a reassuring smile that failed bitterly.
Raphael tilted his head, before turning back to Magnus. “So how does this work?”
With a twist of his hand, Magnus pulled back the edge of his long, wide sleeve to reveal the tiny wooden sphere in his palm. It still looked astonishingly unspectacular. For what it contained, it was almost plain, a dark black with crudely carved veins, as if made by an amateur. Perhaps intentional, to make it easy to overlook or discard.
“Take this in your hands and all will be revealed,” Magnus said with flourish, before his voiced dipped in disdain. “Or at least that’s what you told me when you gave it to me.”
Raphael looked at it, but didn’t move.
After a moment where time seemed to stand still, Magnus raised his eyebrows and gauged his reaction.
“Would you mind giving it to me?” Simon asked eventually, offering his hand.
Casting a questioning glance at Raphael for confirmation, which the Latino responded to with a brief nod, Magnus let Simon step forward to take the orb, no larger than a tennis ball. His expression was unreadable. Not because it was blank, but because it showed too many emotions at once.
“Would you mind leaving?” Raphael asked the warlock, only earning himself a frown and a huff.
“I think I should stay.”
“Then wait outside the room,” Raphael replied, clearly showing that his early question had been a courtesy and not a choice. Noticing the harshness of his statement though, he added a quiet “please”.
Magnus glanced between them before rolling his eyes, clearly unhappy but, aware of the sensitivity of the situation, willing to give in. “Alright. I’m just on the other side of that door. Don’t hesitate to call me. I mean it. If I don’t hear from you in ten minutes, I’ll storm this door.”
“I’ll call you,” Simon promised, but he didn’t look at the warlock as he spoke. Magnus heaved another deep sigh and muttered something about ungrateful rascals. Just as he was about to leave the room, he stopped, turned on his heels and confidently approached Raphael, pulling him into a very surprising embrace. "Stay safe," he said before promptly but stiffly exiting the room with a pompous pout.
Both vampires looked at each other in stunned silence, before snorting a laugh at the unexpected behavior.
“Make sure I’ll treat him well,” Raphael said to Simon, feeling a little awkward for the request but aware that maybe his friendship to the warlock needed some more work. According to almost everyone, he was something like a father figure to him, and maybe his old version was taking that too much for granted, just like the ungrateful child he tended to be.
Simon seemed surprised at first, but then nodded. “I’ll remind you every now and then.”
“Good.”
They stood for another awkward moment, until Simon decided to speak first. “He's going to be so pissed when he wakes up and sees himself in these clothes.”
“I think so too. I hope he screams in outrage.”
Simon's smile was sad again, but then he nodded at the orb in his hand. “Do you want it?”
“Not yet.”
Raphael tried to hide his feelings of restlessness and doubt. He thought he had made up his mind—he did—there was just a tiny spark of hesitation as he remembered the words he had been told. He could have an easy life in the clan, could have whatever he wanted, could do whatever he wanted without having to sacrifice his mind to trauma. How much did he really need those memories anyway? He had been doing fine.
But then he thought of his mother and brothers, Ragnor, Magnus, his family. They all made him take a breath before he confidently approached Simon and held out his right hand, palm up. He didn’t say anything, but Simon knew, and steeling himself, he took the last two steps to meet him.
“Hazme un favor,” [Do me a favor] Raphael said, causing Simon’s hand to pull back just as he was about to place the artifact down. “Hit me really hard when I wake up.”
Despite himself, Simon stuttered a laugh. “I can’t promise you that.”
Raphael smirked. “Well, good thing I asked Lily the same favor, then.”
The smile stayed a moment longer, until they both just looked at the device. So small. So inconspicuous. So important.
Raphael honestly didn’t have any witty last words—and that term made it sound so final, like he was dying instead of just changing. Still, there was nothing left to talk about. This was the choice he had made, and he was going to do this. He had promised himself he wouldn’t hesitate, wouldn’t run from his responsibility and past.
So, without any reason to drag this out any longer, the corners of his mouth twitched as his body tensed.
Then, without another word, without a goodbye, he reached for the orb.
Chapter 11: Key of A Major
Summary:
Comfort. Love. A kind of wedding. You'll see...
Notes:
I hope you enjoy this nightmare of fluff. I had a lot to make up for.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
A major, full of confidence and hope, radiant with love, and redolent of simple genuine cheerfulness, excels all the other keys in portraying sincerity of feeling.
~ The Elements Of The Beautiful In Music by Ernst Pauer
Raphael was not the lead actor in one of those trashy telenovelas that had become his guilty pleasure thanks to Simon. Absolutely not. No matter how much the situation begged to differ.
The situation being: Magnus and Lily hovering over his bed with worried expressions on their faces. No sign of Simon or anyone else, and it took him a moment to realize why he might be in this situation as he tried to figure out the last thing he remembered.
Feeding the orb with his memories.
Great.
They had to use the memory box, which meant that Magnus’ spell must have screwed up something. Hopefully this sacrifice wasn't in vain, for the information these Nephilim were praising seemed spotty at best rather than flawless and trustworthy. Not only had the memory storage contract with Mammon cost him two very valuable books, but he would hate to have caused himself or the clan any inconvenience just because he was too weak to handle seeing his sire again. Or, less likely, because of some incompetence on Magnus' part. He seriously doubted the latter, but dealing with memories was a delicate process, and even the best could make mistakes.
“Are they safe?” he asked, his voice raw with disuse as he sat up. “Her children?”
Relief flooded their expressions. In addition, Magnus was stinking up the room with emotions as a smile settled on his face. Honestly, if Raphael didn’t want his room to smell like him for weeks, he would have to throw him out as soon as he had all the information he wanted. This room was too small for the scent of a warlock’s heavy emotions.
“Yes, they are,” Magnus replied.
“So it worked.”
The scent soured, but was still overwhelmingly overshadowed by relief. “No, it didn’t.”
“Wrong information again,” he stated rather than asked, his hand running through his hair until it stopped when he realized it was not in its usual shape. Confused, he looked at his friends, who watched him almost tense. Some time must have passed, enough for them to decide to move his body to the bed, because a simple armchair didn’t serve its purpose well enough, so he wasn’t surprised to wake up in his bed, but he was a dead body, so even if he had slept, he should still have woken up somewhat in the state he must have been in before. That is, in the same clothes, with the same hairstyle.
Yet when he looked down at himself, he was wearing clothes that insulted every sense of fashion—bright yellow and red that almost screamed at him, the collar unbuttoned to the last button, revealing his chest; jeans so tight that they clung to every inch of his body down to his feet, disgustingly constricting—and his hair was free of any products.
He could almost hear his subconscious snickering at the disgust, and he fought hard to hide the anger in his expression.
Lifting his chin, he searched the room for Simon instead, even though he already knew he wasn’t there. When they stopped at Simon’s nightstand on the other side of the bed, he found it empty. Eyes widening again, he began to search the room for signs of his husband, pulling the blanket from his body as he swung a leg across the bed to finally stand up, fear creeping up his spine.
Almost every trace of Simon was gone.
There were no comics, no books, no clothes—all the nick knacks that Raphael sometimes complained cluttering up the place were gone, too. If it weren’t for the bass hanging on the wall, he would have suspected that he must have dreamt him.
Cold dread festered in his gut as he took in the empty room—not empty. Everything he owned was still there, but what was most important to him was missing.
His hand went to his chest, searching.
He wore his mother’s cross, but Simon’s pendant wasn’t there, nor was the wedding ring on his finger, yet he was too afraid to ask what had happened. Raphael wasn’t one to keep physical memories of lost loved ones—at most an item or two, and if he had to choose one thing to remember Simon by, it would have been the bass. More likely Simon’s own—worn and tattered, marks of use on the fine wood, showing how much he had loved the instrument—not the one Raphael had been gifted.
The only things that calmed him down were the very faint scent that still lingered, almost drowned out by Magnus' emotions, and a collection of folders on the floor next to his bed.
“Where’s Simon?” he asked, containing his worry, but still not brave enough to open his bond and face emptiness or coldness in return.
“I sent him away a few hours ago,” Lily replied calmly, but her expression was sympathetic. “He hasn’t left your side in four days, so I hope he’s sleeping. Figures that you’d wake up when he’s not here. Just to make things worse.”
Raphael stopped himself from taking a breath. Simon was still alive. He had also been asleep for at least four days. That didn’t explain why his room was empty, why Simon had obviously moved out, but it didn’t matter—he could deal with that later.
“You’ve been asleep for a week,” Magnus explained. “It seems that returning a lifetime of memories takes quite a toll on a body, even a supernatural one like yours.”
“Before that,” Lily added, “Let’s just say for about three years, you acted like the brattiest 30-year-old I’ve ever met.”
“Lily!” Magnus admonished before Raphael could even process what she had told him. “It was only three months!”
“Was it really? It felt like years,” she replied with a shrug. “Anyway, you were thirty again for those three years.”
“Months!”
“You didn’t remember a lick after 1960.”
“1962,” Magnus corrected again, as if those two years made any difference.
Raphael stared at them for a long time before he pulled his lips down into a frown and ran through his head in as much detail as possible what that must have meant. Raphael had been insufferable in his thirties. An obnoxious, arrogant kid who thought he was smarter than everyone else, a know-it-all who always pretended to be superior—much like he was now, only more childish and without actual experience to back his arrogance.
“By the way, before I forget,” Lily said.
He felt the punch before he saw it, stumbling a few steps back and bumping into the bedside table behind him as he reached out to steady himself after the blow. His lip cracked against his incisor, a drop of blood on his tongue before the wound closed as if it had never been there, while the pain lingered, spreading to the rest of his face. Raphael leveled her with an angry glare as he touched his jaw, his eyebrows drawn down in anger, while Magnus just stared at them, stunned.
“That was for the clan,” she said unapologetically, holding her fist in her other hand, a sign that more was to follow. “You better grit your teeth, because the next one is for Simon.”
Raphael did it almost on autopilot as he braced himself for another blow. He didn’t know what had happened, but he knew who he used to be. Lily’s expression softened a little at his willingness to accept the punishment, but he still flinched as she stepped closer, instinctively trying to protect himself from the pain. But then she was too close to swing at him, and the next instant she had her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace. “Niño tontito [Silly boy]. Simon would never want me to hurt you. Especially not in his name.”
Raphael froze for a moment, giving Magnus an exasperated look before he deigned to tentatively return the hug. They didn’t do that often. Usually only when Lily was down in the dumps, but for the last few years, at least, Lily’s life had been blissfully uneventful, except for Derek’s death. During that time, though, Lily and Simon had licked each other’s wounds and been there for each other more than they had relied on Raphael for comfort.
“The clan wouldn’t want it either, so that punch was for me, not them,” she admitted as she finally let him go after an uncomfortably long moment. “For keeping me out of the loop. For keeping Simon out of the loop.” She punched him in the shoulder this time. “You asshole.”
Raphael rolled his eyes, but let her be. Despite her age, she still wasn’t very good at handling anger, but it wasn’t like he had the right to lecture her. He wasn’t very good at handling any emotion apart from anger.
“Would you mind filling me in on urgent clan matters?” he asked instead as he went to the bathroom to at least get some semblance of order back into his life. After everything he had already learned, it appeared the styling choice was petty revenge.
“Am I the only one having déjà vu?” Magnus muttered, pretending to get a headache.
Lily just looked at him confused. “Wouldn’t you rather have Simon do that?”
When he opened the mirror cabinet to get his hair products out, his eyes immediately fell on a letter resting against the hairspray, a simple ‘Jodete’ [Fuck you] written on the sleeve. He immediately recognized his own handwriting. Picking it up with a frown, he remembered that he had been asked a question, so he folded the letter and shoved it into his jeans pocket before he replied, “No. If I see him now, I won’t be able to get anything done for the foreseeable future.”
Obviously, he didn’t know what exactly had happened, but the empty room painted a clear picture, so Simon deserved more than a quick ‘Hello, and back to business’. They would need time, and Raphael would take that time, come what may. He just wanted to make sure that they could take all the time they needed without any disturbances. Three months was a long time, and he had no doubt that they managed to deal without him for a while, but there could still be some emergency.
He hoped there wasn’t, because all he wanted to do was walk out of this room and right into Simon’s arms.
Lily grimaced as if reading his mind. “You’re going to have a lot of groveling to do.”
“I intend to do just that.”
“Can’t imagine, but good on you.”
“Are you really not going to ask what happened?” Magnus exclaimed. “We had to use your weird demonic device. You’re welcome, by the way! When did I raise you to be such a heartless child? Honestly!”
“Priorities, my dear friend,” Raphael replied with a grin and did a quick fix of his hair before returning to the room.
Magnus huffed, but it wasn't as if he'd expected anything less from him. They had known each other for decades, the warlock had watched him grow up, supported him through many wounds caused by Shadowhunter torture and difficult situations that were mostly of his own making. They understood each other, sometimes wordlessly, even if Raphael still tried hard to remain unreadable.
Still, even though he had noticed his scent and his behavior, he hadn't really thought that anything had been different for Magnus, who had known him for about a decade in 1962. But it seemed he was wrong in that assessment, and instead of going his way, he had a moment of pause as he looked at his oldest friend.
“It must have been difficult,” Raphael said, “and I would like to talk to you about it in more detail later, but right now I want to deal with any immediate crisis so I can give my husband some much needed quality time.”
The argument, as true as it was, might have been a bit unfair, as there was almost nothing Magnus valued more than making sure his own husband was taken care of, so of course he understood and decided to let him go with a quick hug and a kiss breathed to the top of his head. Raphael tried not to roll his eyes at the affectionate gestures, something Magnus was usually only allowed to do when Raphael was in the throes of pain, but still understood that the warlock had to follow his fatherly instincts by trying to soothe it with magic and tender touches.
Raphael did need a moment to compose himself and find his way around his usual belongings. There was a phone on his nightstand—one that didn’t belong to him—or hadn’t, at least. His first instinct was to use his mother’s birthday as a pin. When that failed, he used it backwards and it unlocked.
Apparently, social engineering would have worked wonders on him.
The phone was mostly empty. No contacts, no messages, no incoming or outgoing calls. If it weren’t for the very elaborate browser history, he would have suspected it had been wiped. He raised his eyebrows at a few keywords and then just threw it back on the bed. Simon must have used his real phone to conduct business and fulfill his obligations, so it was probably with him.
Three months.
He paused and glanced at the calendar.
Almost four, actually.
He had missed his calls to Eira and his dinner reservations with Elaine. He had missed Christmas and New Year’s. He had missed Lazar’s exchange and the Christmas parties. The latter he wasn’t too upset about, the rest he was, especially his dates with Simon.
Still, he shook it off. It was too late to worry about such things. He was going to do what needed to be done—as always—and then he would make it up to everyone, starting with Simon, then the clan in detail, then Magnus and family, then Simon’s family—and the rest could wait their turn until he deemed them important enough.
Before Raphael left, he threw another look at the mirror, snarling at what he saw. He had briefly considered leaving the clothes on until he had met Simon, but he just couldn’t force himself to leave the room.
“Excuse me for a moment,” he muttered before disappearing into the walk-in closet, carelessly ripping the Hawaiian shirt from his body with such force that the last button ripped from the fabric, bounced off a drawer, and dropped into a corner somewhere.
He was already hating his younger version for that defiant act alone.
He shimmied out of the uncomfortable jeans, cursing and wondering how the hell he had gotten into them in the first place, fitting as if they had been molded to his body, before losing his temper and kicking them off with his feet.
He would have to fix his hair after this again.
When he left the closet, he was wearing his usual outfit and a sour expression on his face.
Lily and Magnus followed at his heels as he made his way through the corridors of the hotel to his office. Word of his return had spread. He could hear the whispering and typing on the phones, and saw the increasing number of clan members assembling along the way. Gathered in the lobby were the werewolves and Marcelline, held by Felix’s leash no matter how hard she tried to get to Raphael.
Raphael paused.
Right, werewolves. That must have come as a shock to him.
They were tense, their scents tentatively hopeful but cautious, until Raphael beckoned Felix closer. “Don’t worry, I don’t have any treats in my pockets,” he said in answer to the werewolf’s hesitation. Obviously, this wasn’t over their year-long argument about how much Raphael spoiled the dog, but about how he would react to their presence. His words were still as much a sign that he was back to himself as any other reaction would have been.
The werewolves relaxed immediately and then Felix let Marceline go. Even though it looked like she was about to pounce on him with all her weight, she was more well-behaved than that and stopped abruptly in front of him, planting her rear on the ground as soon as Raphael ordered her to sit, her tail wagging excitedly.
“Good girl,” Raphael praised. The tail wagging increased. Even more when he placed his hand on her head. “Did you miss me?”
“Yes!” some of the members replied.
Raphael cocked his head, then grinned at them. “Flattered.”
There was silence, and a second later everyone started talking at once. Raphael could barely follow half of what was being said. Already annoyed, he grimaced, but since these were extenuating circumstances, he allowed them to talk a mile a minute at him without rolling his eyes, just as he had allowed Lily’s and Magnus’ hug. Even though he stopped listening to what was being said. It was impossible to decipher one sentence from another anyway, and nothing made sense to him anyhow.
Somewhere amid the chaos Magnus took his leave, holding him true to his promise, that Raphael was going to honor, but now he had a clan to patch up.
Lily watched the turmoil for another few minutes, as if waiting for him to make them shut up. When he didn’t, she started shooing them away. “Go away. Tell him later. Dear God, he hasn’t even seen Simon yet.”
There was a beat of silence and then the chatter started again, but instead of trying to tell him everything that had happened, they just talked about how he had to go and find Simon. Stat! The rest could wait. Lily rolled her eyes, although that was exactly the reaction she wanted. “Well, you heard them. Looks like you don’t have a choice now.”
“Are you sure?” Raphael asked, ignoring the collective, exaggerated “Yes!” from everyone in the room—and that one bark.
“Dear God, you’re both so strange,” Victoria complained, throwing her hands in the air to show her exasperation. “I mean, we know Simon wants you to look after the clan first, too, but there should be a limit to how much you two prioritize us. Stop it! It makes me feel disgustingly indebted to you, so go away!”
“Right! There is no war. No deadline for any paperwork for the next four days. The Shadowhunters have been suspiciously quiet—Alec’s work, I suppose—and there’s no monster or enemy of the year. Just go!” Jessica snapped, pointing up the stairs.
“Trust us, Simon had everything in his capable hands,” Jacob assured. “There are no immediate fires you need to put out.”
“Or at least no wild fires,” Elliott corrected, “I mean, there are a few people waiting for a call, but they’ve been waiting for a while, they can wait a few more days. If they ask for you, I’ll offer my own charming self as conversation partner. Or more.” He wiggled his eyebrows playfully.
“How very generous of you,” Raphael replied dryly.
“Responsibility is a fine quality, my boy,” Theo said, still looking as old as Raphael actually was and therefore demanding a little more respect than the rest. “But now is really not the time for virtues. Go find your man! Seriously!”
Raphael lifted his chin to give them one last chance to change their minds, but when no one brought up a matter that needed his attention, he turned to leave.
“Call if you need blood. We’ll leave it at your door!” Elliott shouted after him. Raphael briefly considered being annoyed, but then figured it might be an offer he would actually take them up on, depending on how much damage he had done to their relationship.
Tentatively, just to get an idea, he opened his bond.
He had closed it as soon as he had woken up, didn’t even think about it anymore as the act was second nature to him after all these years, and if not for Simon telling him it was open when he slept, he might have assumed it was closed even then.
He had never before felt the urge to check Simon’s feelings, not through his bond at least, as they were usually plainly written on his face. Though at times, before he had decided to marry him, Raphael had been uncertain and wary for a while, testing Simon again and again, just waiting for him to wake up and realize that he was wasting his feelings on him. It wasn’t until he had come close to losing Simon—to his own anger, to Camille, to revenge, when he had witnessed Simon’s hesitation, finding his eyes amidst the chaos of fighting—that he had understood—really, profoundly understood—that for him it would always be Simon, and that Raphael would always belong to him—even if they fought, even if they disagreed, they would always choose each other in the end.
The clan’s reaction led him to believe that the same was true for Simon, yet he drew a shuddering breath as he felt that now familiar warm glow in his chest, exactly where his heart should be. Soft tendrils reached out and searched until they found what they were looking for. Simon—calm, stable, a steady pulse he recognized as sleep, for Simon’s emotions were never quite as quiet when awake. They were bright, erratic, constantly changing, and as exhausting as that sometimes was, it was comforting at the same time, because it meant that he was close, that they were still connected, that everything was alright.
Raphael was about to close the bond when he suddenly felt a response. Simon must have been dozing instead of sleeping if he was already reaching back to him. Then a flood of emotions washed over him like a storm, fear and excitement and hope and anger—Raphael had no doubt that he would have seen all these expressions on Simon’s face if he had been standing in front of him.
His feet carried him with purpose now, and the door to Simon’s room flung open just as he reached the corridor.
Simon stared at him, eyes wide, caution and fear tugging at his insides, as if he still wasn’t sure who was standing in front of him, or maybe he just didn’t dare hope.
Raphael approached him almost casually, forcing himself to remain calm even though he wanted nothing more than to wipe that expression from his husband’s face. There was always a way to make a sulky or disgruntled or upset Simon smile at him again, but the way he held himself, cautious and reluctant, told Raphael he shouldn’t touch him carelessly. There were words, too, but Raphael couldn’t tell how effective they would be, so all that left his mouth was his name. “Simon.”
“Raphael,” Simon replied, reaching forward but stopping himself. It reminded Raphael of the first months of their relationship, when Simon had made sure that every touch was allowed and wanted. He still did that from time to time, when he sensed Raphael’s mood. Occasionally there was something new, too—there always was with Simon’s natural curiosity—but this, hugging, holding hands, kissing, that hurdle of finding their boundaries was something they had long since passed. So it upset him a little to realize that he had hurt his partner so much he felt the need to confirm it again.
“Mi pareja,” [My partner] he said gently, arms raised in welcome. As much as Raphael liked to call Simon marido, as much as Simon liked to hear it, pareja, in his opinion, described him better. It was the word he sometimes used, even when other people were around, to introduce him to his mother—for he had become just that: his other half.
It took a fraction of a second for Simon to realize that he was talking to his husband of ten years, not his thirty-year-old counterpart. His head snapped up at the word, or maybe just the intonation, his expression breaking before he lunged forward and threw himself into Raphael’s arms.
They stood for a long time, holding each other, Simon’s face nestled in the crook of his neck. He was grateful that the clan kept their distance, though he could feel their excitement through the bond. Still, they stayed out of sight, giving them their privacy, even if Raphael didn’t care at that moment, wouldn’t have cared if the whole world was watching.
“I’m sorry,” Simon murmured after what felt like hours, still holding Raphael so tightly it almost hurt, the same way he’d held him that very first time ten years ago, “but can you bear with me a little longer? After that, we can go back to business.”
“I’m going to do more than that,” Raphael said, and without warning, lifted Simon up bridal style, before he continued with as much dignity as possible, “I’m going to cuddle you.” He ignored the squealing of some of the vampires who had heard him, and carried Simon confidentially to their room. “And I won’t let you go until you’re sick of it.”
Simon made a sound of surprise, pushing against his shoulder as if trying to get him to let go, before his hand fisted into the fabric of his clothes and he was suddenly clinging to him. Then he just gave in and wrapped his arms around Raphael’s neck, hiding his face in his shoulder and breathing in his scent. Raphael quickened his pace, and kicked the door closed with little restraint when he finally entered the bedroom. Then, he carefully lowered Simon onto the bed.
It irritated him how little it smelled of him, of them.
“Wait,” Simon said, sitting up immediately and sliding to the edge of the mattress. Raphael paused, then stepped back to give him space, watching him curiously. “I—” Simon stopped. Raphael was used to it, knew that he took a little longer to sort his thoughts and find the words he needed to convey what he wanted, if he didn’t want an unintelligible mess coming out of his mouth with his thoughts running too fast for him to catch up at times.
Then, with a sigh, Simon eventually took Raphael’s hand in his own. “Just.” Raphael stood still as Simon first looked at their interlocked hands, then up at him, tracing every millimeter of his face. “It’s been so long. It feels... weird.” He placed Raphael’s hand against his cheek and leaned into the touch, letting out a small noise of content. “And nice. Having you look at me like that again.” Then he smiled, looking straight into Raphael’s eyes. “Bienvenido a casa.” [Welcome home.]
It was unfair that for Raphael it had been mere minutes since he had last seen Simon, while for Simon it had been months. It made it difficult to fathom what he had been going through, difficult to relate—but what helped him now, what he did knew was how alone and abandoned Simon had felt after all the times Raphael had pushed him out of his life at those dark days when he felt empty inside, when nothing mattered, when he simply played being Raphael Santiago.
Lowering his voice to a whisper, he used what he would never dare mutter outside their bedroom. A name so sickeningly sweet but so disgustingly perfect, because this was what Simon meant in his life: something vibrant, erratic and distinct standing out in a sea of chords, that one part of a song Raphael couldn’t get out of his head. “I’m back, mi melodía.”
Simon’s eyes widened, and his smile was blinding as he accused, “You’re not playing fair.”
“I never do.”
A small laugh followed his words, and Simon moved a little to the side, pulling Raphael down to sit beside him before snuggling into his side, their fingers intertwined between them. The Latino ignored how much he hated that he couldn’t feel the cold metal of Simon’s wedding ring, ignored that his own was missing as well. Later, he told himself. He wasn’t going to push. “I keep thinking this is a dream,” Simon said slowly, “That you’ll be different when I wake up.”
And with that he meant younger, spiteful, angry, insecure.
1962.
While he had a general idea of who he must have been back then, it was hard for him to understand what exactly he had been like in the present, how he had reacted to all the changes in his life—especially having a husband. Back then, he had been scared all the time until he had become numb with anger, he had been insecure until he couldn’t afford that feeling anymore, he had been so much weaker compared to now.
He had probably lashed out at the people closest to him, tried to push them away so they wouldn’t know how little control he actually had over his own life. His bond would have been open as well, his younger version still too selfish to understand how to control it. Closing it had been as much about protecting himself as it had been about protecting others, when he had been afraid to drag them down with him on his dark days. The same reason Simon had finally managed to do it—not because he wanted to hide from his loved ones, but because he wanted to protect them from his own grief.
“What happened?” Raphael asked.
There was an intake of breath and Simon hesitated before answering vaguely, “Nothing I didn’t expect.”
“Will you tell me?”
“You were,” Simon began slowly, his grip tightening before loosening again, and Raphael lifted their hands to press a tender kiss to the back of Simon’s, “...so cold.” He spoke softly, free of anger or sadness, more like he was lost in thought. “I’ve never seen you so cold. Not when we first met. Not after the clan gave me a second chance.” Simon looked up and found his eyes again, “You hated me. But you were also quick to adapt. You were carefree—comparatively speaking. And a little easier to control. At least for me.”
Raphael chuckled. “You know me so well. And I didn’t know anything about you.”
“Yeah.”
“Did you use that knowledge to manipulate me?”
Simon looked almost offended. “Of course not. I never lied. And I never tricked or misled you. I just knew how to act so you’d consider your options instead of blatantly rejecting everything.”
“Simon,” Raphael said with raised eyebrows, a sly grin on his lips. “You don’t have to apologize. You know I like this shrewd side of you. Even when it’s used against me.”
Raphael had realized that a few years into their relationship when Simon had talked down to a delegate from the Manchester clan who had threatened the DuMort with veiled comments. Simon, who never tolerated threats against his family, had not only boldly called them out on their behavior, embarrassing them in front of the other assembled delegates, but in his anger he had also dropped a few quick-witted remarks and assessments that made it clear that the Manhattan Clan knew about their questionable relationships with other groups and factions as well as their shady dealings.
Raphael had loved that confidence, that anger, that wit and cunning—the way he had known how to phrase his words so that only those involved would understand their true meaning. Simon was still awkward when surrounded by people he didn’t know well, still preferred to stay in the background and let Raphael handle the talks, but the way he had stepped up when the clan had been attacked, albeit verbally, revealing how brilliant and dangerous he really was, all for the DuMort, had really struck something primal in Raphael.
As always, he had remained cool and unaffected, while waiting impatiently for everyone to be escorted out of the office and the hotel. It had taken far too long. As soon as everyone had left, he had slammed the door shut and pinned Simon against the desk. Simon had just been about to apologize for running his mouth instead of letting Raphael handle the situation as smoothly as they both knew he was perfectly capable of, but had stopped when he had noticed the intensity in Raphael’s gaze.
It had been Raphael’s rule: except for a stolen kiss or two the office was off-limits for any intimacy. And yet he had broken that rule himself, as he had so many before that. Always for Simon. Always because of Simon.
It shouldn’t really have come as a surprise to him. He had always known that as sweet and loving as Simon was, he could also be a downright menace when it came to protecting his friends, and Raphael had never particularly minded that character trait, as long as he wasn’t on the receiving end of it as he had been thanks to Clary. Though that had been long before they had gotten together, long before they had really gotten to know each other. He had always loved it when Simon used dirty tricks, when he got angry, when he held a grudge, when he took revenge in petty ways—especially when it was on assholes who threatened their clan.
However, it was the first time he had felt the hunger, the desperation, the desire to take Simon apart—it was the first time he had almost said ‘screw it’ and just taken Simon’s blood right then and there, despite the fact that Camille had still been alive. Instead of blood he had gotten drunk on the next best thing—Simon’s weak whimpers, stifled moans, soft curses, and faint whispers, until Raphael had been close to begging him to please, please sink his teeth into his neck.
As always, between the two of them, Simon had the most control. It was something Raphael had never imagined, as his self-control was something he used to pride himself in. However when ever it came to Simon, he was so easy to give in, always so utterly willing to fulfill Simon’s own.
That day Simon had stopped them, and Raphael had fallen in love even more, and then he had dragged Raphael into their bedroom because Simon was better at abiding by their rules, better at remembering their promises, better at respecting their wishes even when held hostage by desire. Every time Raphael had been denied, it wasn’t because Simon didn’t want something, but because he knew they weren’t in a state of mind to give proper consent—just like the first time he’d taken Raphael’s blood, when Raphael had felt exasperated and cherished at the same time as Simon had left to acquire some blood.
Simon could be a mess, something that would annoy Raphael at times, who was so composed most of the time himself, but he never failed to protect, to support, to make Raphael feel at ease and safe with him, never failed to brighten his day or show him his own shortcomings.
Leaning in, Raphael playfully nipped the top of Simon’s earlobe. “Yeah, I really like it.”
“You’ve always been a weirdo like that,” Simon stated with a laugh, but still rolled his eyes.
“So?” Raphael asked curiously. “How often did you have to use it?”
“Maybe a handful of times,” he finally relented. “Nothing compared to how many times you have wrapped me around your finger to do your bidding. And I never used it to influence your decision. You know, to stay or to get your memories back. Just to get you to behave, to be a little kinder to the werewolves, to yourself, to the clan.”
“Did he notice?"
Simon shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. It doesn’t matter, because I honestly wanted you to find your own happiness. I told him. And I meant it. I prepared myself for the worst—that you might never regain your memories. That you might even find someone else, someone more suitable. I thought about how I would react if he ever found a new partner. I thought about taking a vacation, you know, to sort out my feelings. Even better, I would make him take the vacation so I could work. To keep myself busy.”
Raphael furrowed his brow and pursed his lips in annoyance. “Very specific. You really thought about that.”
“Of course I did. It was a possibility, after all, and a lot is riding on our relationship, not as in us being together, but that we get along.”
“Simon,” Raphael said. “It took me seventy years to find a partner. What made you think that would happen anytime soon?”
Simon seemed to shrink into himself, and Raphael lowered his voice again, forcing himself to hide his irritation at those words. They were married. He had made that commitment because he knew that Simon was the only one for him, and he had hoped that his husband knew that as well.
“You were different,” Simon said. “And you told me yourself that you didn’t know if you didn’t want a relationship before because you thought you couldn’t have one, or because you really didn’t want one. Now you had a chance to find out. And, I mean, whatever. Just... I wanted to be prepared.”
“Was that really the first time you thought like that?”
Simon tensed a little before shrugging as if it didn’t matter. “I mean, not like, seriously. Just sometimes I see you with someone else and I think, ‘Damn, my hubby is hot.’” Raphael rolled his eyes affectionately at the grin that was shot his way. “And then I think, ‘Damn, they look really good together, that should be illegal’. I mean, 50% of the pair is you, so I’m probably biased, but still.” His voice soured a bit as he continued. “And sometimes they flirt with you. Even when I’m standing right next to you, like, come on, how rude! But you shoot them down so fast they don’t even get a chance. It’s brutal.”
“Are you saying you want me to cheat on you?” Raphael asked confused.
Simon’s mouth dropped open before he forcefully replied, “I most certainly emphatically am not saying that. I’m just saying that you have many admirers—that if he wanted to be with someone, it didn’t have to be me. Your younger version could have his pick of anyone he set his eyes on, just like you. Maybe there are people out there who’d be better for you. It’s not like there is only ever just one person.”
Raphael would have liked to disagree with that statement, but it wasn’t like he gave anyone else the time of day to find out. Besides, he would be a hypocrite if he said he didn’t feel the same way sometimes. It only ever came up in passing, maybe the same way it did for Simon, when he saw him with Maureen or Maia and wondered if maybe it would have been better if he had never responded to Simon’s feelings. He was curious if such thoughts would ever stop, or if it was a good thing that they didn’t as they made him remember to never take Simon for granted.
“Maybe we should get mirrors,” he stated suddenly. “Right there.” Nodding at the wall to the left of their bed, he followed it up with the ceiling above it, and then continued, “Big enough to cover them whole. So we both can see how good we look together.”
Simon’s eyes went wide, and if he were still a mundane, he would probably blush. “Pass,” he said. “I don’t need to see myself.”
“Pity,” Raphael drawled. “Because I can’t get enough of how alluring you are when you melt under my touch.” Simon’s eyes dropped to his mouth, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips before their gaze met again. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter if there might be someone else out there because I’m not looking. I don’t care. I have you. My happiness is with you. My life and my heart are yours as long as you want them. Maybe I’d do well to make you remember that.”
Just as he should remember that Simon had chosen him.
“Raphael, can I…? Would you…?”
“Anything you want,” Raphael interrupted softly.
Simon hesitated a second, before he murmured quietly, “Can I touch you?”
“I’ve been touching you all along, haven’t I?”
“We both know that doesn’t always mean I’m allowed. I’m just… I just like to make sure.”
Raphael turned around and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, gently combing his free hand through Simon’s hair as he looked him in the eyes. “Touch me however you like.”
It took him a moment, but then Simon tugged at his hands as he moved further up the bed, kicking off his shoes less than gracefully, maneuvering Raphael until they were lying down, Raphael half draped over him as Simon snuggled into his arms, slipping his hands under Raphael’s shirt. “I really missed you.”
Raphael rested his chin on Simon’s head and let his hands run down his back soothingly.
Simon could have asked for everything, for all the things Raphael had denied him over the years—physically, emotionally, morally. The Latino would have given it in a heartbeat, but it was so like him to be offered everything and only ask for the one thing he would never have denied anyway. It was infuriating at times, but they wouldn’t have been together—let alone for eleven years—if Simon had been the type to exploit windows of opportunity. Raphael would never have allowed himself to trust Simon if that had been the case. Yet Simon had proven to be the right choice time and time again. Even now, when Raphael wished he would be more selfish, he still wouldn’t cross any boundaries they had established.
Raphael had once believed that this would ruin their relationship, had assumed that he wasn’t willing to give more than was asked of him, had assumed that Simon would never ask for what he wanted and would get frustrated and leave him. Raphael had never considered that he was, in fact, willing to offer more of his own volition, and that Simon would be patient enough to wait until he was ready.
It seemed as if the relief drained the last of Simon’s anxiety, and with it his energy, as he slowly fell asleep. It was always subtle when Simon was stressed, as he tended to hide behind a mask of smiles and love, but Raphael had sensed it through their bond, had caught the shadow in his expression, the millisecond he lagged behind to express his emotions. He probably hadn’t gotten much rest, not just in the last few days, but in the last few months, and Raphael didn’t mind just holding him and being there for him, even if it felt surreal to him.
To him, their last interaction had been in the office. They had talked about the upcoming exchange, who to send along with Arthur, who they expected to accompany Madison since she had become a fundamental piece of their alliance. They had talked about how much she had grown and how much she was still learning. Both had ignored the fact that Raphael would be leaving in an hour to go to Magnus to have his memories explored, had ignored the fact that they had argued earlier that morning because Raphael didn’t want Simon to accompany him.
The day before, Raphael had left to strike a deal with a greater demon to secure his memories, remembering how he had used a time slot when Simon was meeting with Clary and Maureen. He had acted with calm confidence, despite his own worries about what it might mean to face that moment again, his death, the death of his friends—his sire.
There was no telling if and how the memory loss would have affected his brain—if it would have been spotty and he would have simply forgotten certain things—things no one would ever notice, things he wouldn’t even remember he once knew—things he might not even have cared about, or things he might have cared about if he had remembered. Or it might have happened as it did in the end.
Raphael couldn’t tell what would have been worse, fragments lost without ever noticing or simply forgetting everything.
What he did know was that if there was even the slightest chance of something going wrong, he wanted to be on the safe side. He didn’t want his brain to be affected in any way, so he had prepared the artifact right after leaving the hotel. Even though he probably wouldn’t have been sad to lose anything related to Camille, the last ten years with the clan and with Simon were worth much more than the decades with her, and if he had to choose, he would always choose to keep everything.
Raphael checked a few times to make sure Simon was really asleep before reaching into his pocket for the letter. The message on the envelope was telling enough, but the letter itself was printed, and if it weren’t for the last few handwritten lines, he would have doubted, at least to some degree, that it was from him. It felt like his younger self wanted to spite him for still writing letters by hand, or just to spite him, period. He was despicable like that, even to himself. The letter was written in Spanish because he had always been better at expressing himself in his native tongue, especially when he used a foul mouth like he did to insult himself.
Honestly, any doubts he might have had about who might have written the letter were gone with the first line. “Hola pinche pendejo, espero que hayas terminado de atender las necesidades de tu marido y le des a esta carta la atención que se merece.” [Hello fuckface, I hope you’re done tending to your husband’s needs and give this letter the attention it deserves.]
He muffled a groan, wincing at the thought that his clan had been stuck with this for three months. He was almost embarrassed at times when he remembered how he used to behave in his youth, but he had always thought that everyone felt that way. Not many people, however, had the pleasure of reading a letter from themselves sixty years younger.
The first two paragraphs were like a tirade against himself, how stupid he must have been to do what he had done—and he realized that no one had probably explained what had happened, and he had likely never asked for details himself. The brat described in great detail, as if he didn’t want to forget, as if he wanted him to remember how he had felt during the first few days and how he had acted toward the clan, not in an apologetic or boastful manner—simply describing.
Raphael’s grip tightened as he read that he had deliberately tried—and most likely succeeded—to hurt Simon, that he had lashed out and been cruel. Every spiteful word he remembered, he had put down in writing, not only to Simon, but to everyone else, too. To Magnus, to Lily, to the werewolves, to the clan. He paused when he read about Derek, about the spat that had sent his younger version into a sulking fit.
Derek had been Simon’s best friend in the clan, and his pain had been immeasurable when he had died. Even years later, he was still haunted by guilt and anger, by the fact that they had never really found out what had happened that day, that they had never found his ashes. All they had had left had been grief, an empty room and an abandoned gym that everyone had avoided for weeks.
Soon, the anniversary of his death would come, and just like every year since, Simon would go through a difficult time. Something that Raphael could relate to, as he, too, had his own troubles around the time his mother had passed or Ragnor had been murdered, even though the pain had dulled over the years, and so would Simon’s.
However, this time he had missed Ragnor’s death anniversary because he had been young and didn’t remember. Usually Magnus would call him over and together with Catarina they would reminisce, but he couldn’t say that he was all that unhappy to have missed the occasion—he liked to mourn and remember in peace, something impossible with both of his warlock friends in one room.
As Raphael read on, it started to feel more like a dairy. Sometimes Raphael wanted to shake Simon awake to ask for confirmation. Sometimes he thought he remembered, or maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him, reconstructing what he had read into a memory of his own, because he could just picture Simon’s expression and the pain he must have felt.
There was also a paragraph that scolded him for being so jealous. Raphael raised his eyebrows at the claim.
While he was more the jealous type, Simon had never given him a serious reason to be justifiably jealous, and he would never show it to the point of making them fight over it. Furthermore, Simon wore his feelings on his sleeve, and even if he didn’t, Raphael trusted him to never betray him. No. It was never really jealousy that caused their fights. Mostly it was anger. Anger at Clary for still taking Simon for granted, for never appreciating him as he deserved. She loved him, no doubt, but he was always an afterthought, always second fiddle, first to her, then to Jace, and now to her children.
Anger at Maia, who Simon had gotten too close to once when Raphael had pushed Simon away, when he couldn’t let anyone get close to him—a story from a long time ago, when Simon hadn’t come to him for advice, but instead gone to her. He had felt inadequate, but it had been easier to blame her. Even though he had to admit that she had always acted in their best interests and had put them back on the right track.
More than once his younger version mentioned that he had never understood why he had chosen Simon, yet that he might have begun to understand—but he would never have known if it could have been love.
He mirrored Raphael’s own confusion as he had struggled with his understanding of romance and love, as he had struggled to find out what it was he really wanted from Simon and what he wanted to give, and if he could really use the word ‘love’ as he used to understand it.
He had known that there was more to his feelings than friendship, though, when he couldn’t bear the thought of Simon being with someone else, of his attention being snatched away by another person. He wanted Simon to be his, to come home to him, to confide in him.
He had known it was more when he had taken Simon’s hand, when it had felt so normal and natural that he had never wanted to let go.
He had definitely known it was love when he had misunderstood Simon’s relationship with Maureen. When he had thought that Simon had chosen her over him, that he might have been in love with Raphael but didn’t want to be with someone who wouldn’t give him the intimacy he craved, or maybe just because he was a man—a boy, really. He had been angry and disappointed, and he had decided to take Simon up on his offer to go to the club where they were supposed to meet, just to see them together. It would have made it easier for Simon to turn him down, he wouldn’t even have had to say anything. Raphael would have picked up on the gestures and their interactions and known, and more importantly, Raphael wouldn’t have had to hear an explanation.
Then she had introduced her boyfriend, and he had felt stupid and confused and hopeful.
He had been disgusted at the way he had behaved, the way he had jumped to conclusions—so unlike his usual manner. He had felt even more disgusted with himself at the thought that he had felt smugness creep up on him whenever Simon’s finger hooked around his own to get his attention, whenever he looked at him and smiled in a way that told everyone around them that he only had eyes for Raphael. Whenever Simon’s attention shifted to the music, Raphael could have easily drawn his attention back to himself with every little thing he did, if he had wanted to, instead he had enjoyed watching Simon being enraptured by the tunes.
For the first time he had found that dubious line between friendship and more.
After all, while Lily had been important to him, he had never felt like he wanted to fulfill her desires. He had looked at her, had realized that she was beautiful, that other men would kill to be with her, but there had never been more than that. Furthermore, he had felt uneasy when she had looked at him, knowing what her gaze had meant.
With Simon it had been different.
He wanted to be the only one in Simon’s eyes.
He wanted to be the object of his love, affection, and desire—even if he hadn’t known if or how he would be able to respond.
Knowing that Simon would rather go to Derek for advice, would rather talk to Clary about his feelings, would rather share his happiness and pain with Maureen or Arya—even though Raphael had signaled his willingness to be there and support him—it had been infuriating.
He had been so unbearably disappointed every time he realized that Simon hadn’t come to him for help.
It was the realization that he didn’t want to let Simon go, that someday someone else might claim the space he occupied in Simon’s life, that he didn’t want to share it, that he didn’t want to give up that place—that he wanted even more, that made him realize that it was love. He had never felt this way about anyone before, not with Lily, not with Ragnor, not with Magnus—not with anyone else in his life. Disgustingly greedy, possessive, jealous—just like his father had been.
He had tried to hide these thoughts, this monster in him, and since neither Simon nor anyone else noticed, he had at least done a good job.
Still, when he had realized that Simon wanted him, he had selfishly accepted it, and Simon had adored him even more for it. If Raphael had been a little less self-conscious at the time, he might have realized that there had to be more to Simon’s reluctance and struggle than he had assumed.
His younger self would have had an advantage in this regard, not that he would have appreciated it. Then again, the content of the letter betrayed that he had indeed been on his way to accept Simon’s feelings, even if he hadn’t sorted out his own at that time. Despite that, the brat still acted like he knew everything about them. Which was something that annoyed Raphael immeasurably about the letter, apart from everything else he had been up to during that time—especially the dates with Simon.
“Simon no es tu subordinado. No es tu estudiante, es tu marido.” [Simon is not your underling. He’s not your student, he’s your husband.] The last word was actually written in italics. “Si confiaste en él lo suficiente para casarte con él, creo que puedes confiar en que se quedará contigo aún después de ver cuánto apestas en los juegos de pelota. Deja de actuar como si fueras el centro del universo y todos estuvieran esperando que falles. Yo soy la prueba de que no es así, porque fallé terriblemente en todo desde dardos hasta hockey de mesa.” [If you trusted him enough to marry him, I think you can trust him to stay with you even when he sees how much you suck at ball games. Stop acting like you’re the center of the universe and everyone’s just waiting for you to fail. I’m your proof that they’re not, because I failed hard at everything from darts to table hockey.]
After that, he went off on a tangent, admitting that he didn’t know what had happened to him over the years—according to everyone, it had been bad—and reluctantly conceding that letting go was probably something that wasn’t easy for someone who hadn’t been able to do it for a very long time.
Five pages later, both sides printed, Raphael had finished the letter and didn’t really know how to feel about it. It had been enlightening at least, sometimes irritating, mostly peculiar, but he was sure that with its help he had learned more about the last months than anyone would have been able to tell him, let alone willing to, especially concerning his own feelings. Young Raphael had really wanted him to know everything. Or at least everything he thought was important.
Most of the time, he couldn’t believe how careless and carefree he had been, but that was probably a given seeing how the clan had been so protective of him. Raphael knew that they were, he just never let himself indulge in it. He knew they liked to act as a shield, and he might allow it for a moment before stepping out of their shelter again. Therefore there was no doubt that the clan had enjoyed being allowed to act on their instincts, and it was clear from the letter that young Raphael didn’t realize how much that must have meant to them.
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust them to keep him safe, it was just that he didn’t want them to feel responsible, to take on the burden if something did happen. It was far too easy to die in this world, and he was frankly amazed that he was still standing. One wrong word, one deal with the wrong person, one step into the wrong borough and he could be dead in an instant.
He shouldn’t get into the habit of relying on anyone else, and he shouldn’t put the responsibility on anyone else either. Though maybe he should let them spoil him a little, just give them an inch—it wouldn’t be the first time Simon had suggested something similar, and it seemed like his younger self had just taken it for granted.
“Looks like he was thorough,” Simon muttered, his eyes still closed. He couldn’t have seen the length and pages from his position, so he must have heard the pages turning, indicating that he might have been awake for a while, which also meant he must have heard Raphael’s muttered complaints.
“You tell me,” Raphael replied, holding out the letter.
Simon didn’t move, remaining in their embrace. Just when Raphael thought he was falling asleep again, Simon finally held out his hand blindly searching for the pages as his temple was still pressed against Raphael’s chest. It wasn’t until the Latino placed the paper in his hand that he pulled away from the embrace and rolled onto his back, his eyes quickly scanning the pages.
“I suspected he would do something like this,” Simon said. “He was afraid you wouldn’t remember.”
Raphael studied his expression as he read, but there seemed to be nothing in it that surprised him. Still, as he neared the end, there was a hint of a smile on his lips.
“You seem pleased,” Raphael remarked.
“He didn’t write everything.”
“Such as?”
“He left out what I said about us.”
“Which was?”
When Simon didn’t answer, Raphael pursed his lips, racking his brain to find something, hoping he might have retained those memories somehow, but after a while he just gave up. Even if his brain came up with something, there was no guarantee it wouldn’t be made up. “I must have acted like an idiot.”
Simon was silent for another moment, his hands crossed over his stomach as he stared at the ceiling. “You were scared. You were confused. You did nothing wrong.”
“I was an insecure, arrogant brat who was too stupid to see your worth. I think I got a lot of things wrong. Especially you.”
“To be honest,” Simon replied firmly, “there were moments when I was hurt, but it wasn’t all bad. I got to see a different side of you. And I’ve always been envious of Lily and Magnus, who have known you long before I did. I guess this was my chance to find out who you used to be before we met.”
“Always be careful what you wish for.”
“What are you talking about? You were delightful.”
“Liar.”
Simon chuckled slightly. “No, seriously, all things considered, it was… challenging, but I feel like I’ve learned a lot. About you, about us, and even about me.”
Raphael turned on his side, gently threading his fingers through Simon’s hair in a soothing motion. “Will you enlighten me?”
Simon made a sound of thoughtful consideration, briefly closing his eyes at the caress. “How much I’ve forgotten, for one thing,” he explained quietly. “There were things we used to do that just stopped, and I don’t know why. Like reading together. You used to leave notes for me in the books you read. And I can’t believe I used to woo you with office supplies.”
Raphael chuckled and took Simon’s hand with his free one, sliding his fingers through Simon’s before locking them together. “Why not? I felt sufficiently wooed.” It wasn’t just the gift, but the hours of research Simon must have put into it, the amount of thought that went into everything Simon chose for him. Raphael had never been interested in the monetary value of objects, but there was so much behind what Simon had done that he had not been blind to, that he had acknowledged and respected and truly begun to appreciate. “And I think you knew more about fountain pens than I ever did.”
“Yeah, I didn’t know there was so much to know about ink flow, paper, nibs and personality,” Simon laughed. “And oh my God, the fights I had with Jacob over paper and ink prices. Pays for your bloody suits without blinking an eye, but fights over a few cents more for a sheet of paper.” Simon turned his head, smiling, his eyes sparkling. “And do you remember the post-its we used to leave around? I totally forgot about them until I found them when I was... cleaning.” They both ignored that he meant ’moving out’. “I read them every night.”
It took Raphael a moment until he did, and a moment longer to remember how it had started. “You prepared them as an Easter hunt.” He remembered getting undressed at the end of a terribly long night and finding the first note in the box where he still kept his cufflinks. “You were visiting your mother and left them all over the hotel.”
“Yes,” Simon said. “And you found them all.”
He did.
At first he hadn’t known what to make of it when he had found the first note, then the second one in his bathroom, until he had felt like he was following a trail laid out just to catch him. He had been annoyed at himself for being so predictable in his routine, but Simon was probably the only person on the planet who enjoyed watching him every second of his daily life, let alone the only one who was allowed so much insight in the first place.
The messages on the paper had been surprisingly sweet and awkward, and he had imagined Simon writing them down, fussing over the wording, trying to use his best handwriting, because Raphael knew Simon’s usual handwriting and on his best days it was barely readable, especially when he was in a hurry. Raphael had imagined him going through the post-its four, five times until he had finally been satisfied, imagined him going through their lives in order to come up with thirty characteristics he valued.
Raphael had never felt overly self-conscious, but with Simon and their relationship, there had been a growing restlessness that he might be inadequate, that he had to do better to be half the man Simon trusted him to be. Those notes, however, had shown him that Simon didn’t see him as a hero who had saved him, didn’t see him as something he wasn’t—he had felt somewhat humbled and curious and flattered. He had felt seen for what he was, not for what he pretended to be. So he had chased them until he couldn’t think of any other place, until he had hoped he had found them all. And then he had sat in his room and read them over and over again, feeling disgustingly bashful and smiling to himself like a besotted fool.
“Among all the things I’ve forgotten,” Simon continued their earlier conversation. “I also realized that there was so much more to learn, that there are still things we don’t know about each other yet. Like, I didn’t know you were called ‘Rafa guapo’ in your youth.” Raphael rolled his eyes at the old nickname he only remembered the moment Simon said it with a cheeky grin. “And there’s a hoodie in your closet that confuses me, too.”
“So the little rascal found it,” Raphael muttered disgruntled.
“Why do you have it?”
Raphael rolled over, covering half of Simon’s body as he crossed his arms on his chest and smiled down at him with a crooked grin. “Do you really want to know?” he asked, “Because it was supposed to be a surprise, and I don’t want to spoil it. Though I guess I have to find something new anyway.”
“Surpri—ohhh.” Simon let out a long groan, the back of his head hitting against the bed a few times. “I should have known as soon as I saw you. You looked like something out of one of my fantasies.”
Raphael hummed in reply, a little annoyed that he couldn’t use it anymore, but still smug that it would have been a success. “I know,” he murmured, feeling deeply pleased with the reaction.
Just as Raphael liked to see Simon dressed up in expensive suits, Simon liked to see him in dressed down in casual clothes, so at times he would indulge. If the hoodie was out of the question now, he still had an ace up his sleeve for their wedding anniversary. Simon had never stopped wearing Raphael’s jackets, and Raphael didn’t mind because he liked to see him in them. And he was sure Simon would kill to see Raphael in one of his own graphic shirts.
It was an easy enough fantasy to fulfill.
“Anything else?” he asked intrigued.
“A lot, but mostly,” Simon caught his gaze and wrapped an arm around his waist, “How much I still love you. How I never looked back or regretted any of my decisions. I always said you were worth every trouble you ever put me through, but that’s easy to say until the time comes to prove it, isn’t it?”
Raphael raised his eyebrows in curiosity, prompting him to continue.
“You once told me that I would be disappointed that it wasn’t love at first sight for you. That you didn’t look at me and it was—bam, love! That you wanted me in your life more than you needed me.”
“Not my words, but go on,” Raphael remarked dryly.
It had been a few days before their first wedding attempt when Raphael had had a moment of doubt that he would ruin the rest of Simon’s life if he allowed him to go through with this commitment. Raphael had always worried about Simon’s understanding of love and how it should develop and feel. He always worried that while he could be a sweet talker, when he was serious his words sounded anything but romantic, especially since he knew his views were more realistic. He didn’t believe in love at first sight, or love after a week, or even a month. He didn’t believe that love ever happened quickly—infatuation, lust, interest, curiosity, desire, yes—but love had to grow and be nurtured over time.
Simon was a romantic, and he had always assumed that if he told him how he had decided to go out with him, how logically and calculatingly he had approached their potential relationship, weighing options and possibilities and wondering if it was worth it, instead of letting emotion and desire sweep him away, that he would be disillusioned. He had been afraid that if Simon ever found out that Raphael didn’t need him, not in the way Raphael thought people wanted to be needed and desired in a relationship, that he would realize that something was missing in their relationship.
It was true, though.
Raphael didn’t need Simon to be happy and content with his life, to feel whole or fulfilled, even if that was what he had believed for a long time—that he was broken, that he wasn’t human, that he was lacking something because he didn’t seek love, romance, sex, a partner, someone else in his life. As if there was something he just didn’t understand when people chased it with all their might. Even Magnus, more burned and burdened and hurt, had never truly given up. However, being with Simon had made him understand that he had never been lacking, that he had never been wrong.
Being with Simon had shown him that life wasn’t better or worse, that a relationship wasn’t part of his path to fulfillment. He had been fine and content with the way things had been before, and he was fine and content with the way things were now. Just because he had taken Simon as a lover, life didn’t magically change for the better—or for the worse, for that matter. It just changed. It made some things easier and others a little more difficult, because now there was someone else in his life, someone he had to compromise with, someone he could share ideas with, someone who was there when he needed him—in a way that was more intimate than just friends. There were ups and downs, like everything else. He didn’t know if he would have taken a lover if Simon had never entered his life, and he couldn’t bring himself to care, because it wasn’t a lover he had wanted, it had been Simon he couldn’t let go of. And at some point, being friends had no longer been enough for him.
“You laughed and told me it obviously wasn’t love at first sight for you either,” Raphael replied in wry amusement. “After all, I held you upside down and then at gunpoint. More or less.”
“Not the point!” Simon said. “Don’t distract me. I’m trying to be sincere and serious here.”
“You always are,” Raphael asserted, but lifted himself up a little to look at Simon better, tilting his head expectantly, trying not to smirk at the pout he received in reply.
“You know,” Simon continued, “I didn’t know how to respond back then, for many reasons, and it was just one of those things that got forgotten after a while. To tell you the truth, I was never disappointed. I was always proud and flattered that you chose me. That you got to know me and decided that yes, this mess was something you wanted to spend your life with. It made me feel secure in our relationship, but it also made me feel ashamed because I never felt like I could honestly say I didn’t need you.” Simon’s voice dropped to a mere murmur for a moment, and when silence fell, Raphael waited patiently for him to continue. “Of course I wanted you in my life, but I always thought I needed you. That I couldn’t go on without you. I always thought that my feelings were inferior to yours, that I was always dependent on you.”
Raphael caught the tremor in his voice, aware that this was a difficult subject for Simon. “I always knew that when I needed you the most, you wouldn’t be there. When Magnus opened a portal to our office and I didn’t see you, just him—and when you didn’t wake up, I was so scared. And when you finally did wake up and had forgotten all about me, I didn’t think I could handle it.” Simon swallowed, then looked at him with grim certainty as he powered on confidently. “But the clan gave me strength I didn’t think I had without you. It helped me focus. It gave me meaning when I needed it. And I understood what you were trying to tell me, because I realized I didn’t need you to function, I didn’t need you to care—but I did miss you. Every day. Every night. Every waking moment I searched for you, your voice, your eyes, your touch. I didn’t need it, but I wanted it, I wanted to be with you.”
Slowly, Simon’s hand snaked around Raphael’s neck, as if to prevent him from looking away. “Even after eleven years, Raphael, I really, really, really love you. I’m not staying with you out of habit or necessity, but because I want you in my life. I never want to lose you again, but if I have to, I want you to know that I’ll be okay. If it ever comes to that, I don’t want you to worry about me or the clan. I’ll miss you. It will be painful. I will mourn you for years to come, but that won’t stop me. I will do what we talked about. I’ll be able to prevail, and I’ll be able to protect what we’ve built. I promise you that.”
Simon had never sounded more certain, and if these months of loss had any value, it was that Simon finally understood what Raphael had always known: that he was stronger than any of them. Even stronger than Raphael, because what Raphael had never told him during those conversations was that he had no plan for when Simon might be gone. He could endure breaking up with Simon as long as he could see him happy, he could endure him leaving the clan as long as he knew he was thriving—but dying was something else entirely.
Raphael honestly didn’t know if Simon’s death would be as painful as his mother’s and Ragnor’s, or if it would be worse. He didn’t know if his willingness to sacrifice his own life for Simon’s came from not being able to see another loved one die, or from having lived a long life while Simon’s had just begun.
There had been a time when Raphael had hated what he had become, when he had never been satisfied, always angry, always scowling, always wishing for the final death he never dared ask for because he had to make up for lost lives. Over the years, that feeling had changed, and the dark voices, while not completely gone, had diminished and become easier to deal with.
“That being said,” Simon finished, the hand on Raphael’s neck moving to cup his cheek, “don’t ever leave me again.”
“I can’t promise you that I’ll never die,” he said honestly, “but I can promise you that I’ll make it as difficult as possible for anyone who tries to kill me.”
“I know.”
They were silent for a moment, lost in their own little world where words weren’t needed, but the tender moment was interrupted when Simon’s expression suddenly turned serious. “Now, I still have a question, though, and please answer honestly,” he said with a somber tone. Raphael was already steeling himself for what was to come. “Do you like me with my glasses because I kinda look like Buddy Holly that way?"
Raphael raised his eyebrows at the comment, while Simon just tried to hold back a grin. Then he huffed, and snorted a laugh as he pressed his forehead against the other man’s shoulder. The question was completely ridiculous and unexpected. It took him a moment to even remember what Buddy Holly looked like, and if it hadn’t been for Simon’s hint, he might have had a harder time.
“If he looked anything like you,” Raphael said lightly, “then he must have been very handsome.” Simon didn’t seam satisfied with that answer, so he sighed before continuing. “I like you with glasses," he murmured against Simon’s shoulder, his lips grazing the patch of free skin with feathery touches, before he slowly made his way up the neck to his ear, so that he could whisper, his voice seductively low, “because that’s how I first met Simon Lewis.” He knew what he was doing, felt Simon’s fingers tighten in his clothes, pulling him inadvertently closer. “Simon,” he murmured again, in the way he only called him when they were alone. “I like it because it reminds me of the person you used to be, and it reminds me of how much you’ve grown and changed while still retaining that goodness and sincerity. It reminds me of the Mundane, reeking of fear but still trying to come up with a plan to escape. And sometimes I think that even though that knife missed, you still struck my heart the first time we met.”
Simon choked on nothing, before smiling, bashful—and if it weren’t for their constitution Raphael would see him blushing. Frankly, Raphael had moments when he would like to be human again with Simon, to feel his beating heart beneath his hands or see that enticing shade of red running up his neck in embarrassment.
“So you do believe in love at first sight?”
“I believe in love at first throw maybe,” he relented, amused.
“You’re such a twisted romantic.”
“No le digas a nadie.” [Don’t tell anyone.]
“No one would believe me anyway,” Simon chuckled. “And you don’t have to lay it on so thick. I’m already wearing your ring.” The sentence wasn’t supposed to mean anything. It was something they sometimes said to each other. However in that moment it struck home, especially when he wiggled his fingers and there was no ring. Nor was there one on Raphael’s hand.
“Or not,” Simon added in an awkward grumble.
It really shouldn’t be so charming.
Simon looked at his hand for another moment, his expression calm, then lifted it slowly to his chest, a clear sign where his ring was, probably even Raphael’s, maybe even the pendants.
“If you don’t mind,” Raphael began slowly, drawing his attention. “I’d like to wear it again.”
There was a beat of silence and Raphael almost believed his request would be denied, but then Simon sat up as he pulled out the necklace from beneath his shirt. Raphael mirrored the movement, crossed his legs beneath him as he turned to face Simon, waiting patiently for him to open the clasp and fiddle with the two rings on the silver chain.
“This feels weird,” Simon remarked as he slowly took Raphael’s hand in his own.
“I can recite my vows again if you’d like.”
“Do you remember them?”
“Of course I do,” Raphael replied. “I remember everything. Especially how adorably beautiful you were that day.” Ignoring Simon’s noise of objection, he just continued. “Tan perfecto, no podía quitarte los ojos de encima. [So perfect. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.] You have never been more seductive than when you were masterfully delegating that chaos.”
Though their wedding day had been surprisingly uneventful, it had still been their third attempt as the first two times had to be postponed due to supernatural interruptions, which, if asked, Raphael was blaming completely on Fairchild. However, even if the world around them would have turned to ashes, Raphael wouldn’t have let it happen a third time. He hadn’t gotten engaged to Simon to remain his fiancé. No, he had wanted to become his husband, had wanted to proudly wear that ring that was linking him to Simon and if some greater power seemed to have a problem with that, he would just have to defy it.
Yet, there had still been the usual chaos they both had gotten used to in their lives—and even though they had wanted to keep it as small as possible, with the clan itself and the ever-growing assortment of Shadowhunters—big and small—and associates like Lazar’s clan and several beloved business partners, it had been impossible to keep it that way. Especially since everyone felt entitled to show up, invited or not. Well, where Raphael came from, that was pretty much the norm, so he wasn’t really that alienated compared to Elaine, who had been completely flustered when there hadn’t been enough space for everyone to sit.
Compared to the grooms, though, everyone had been stressed out trying to make it the perfect and most memorable day of their lives. Of course, Simon had taken the mishaps in stride. With that eternal smile on his lips and a few quick-witted jokes, he managed to bring order to the chaos and calm down even the most neurotic minds, which were almost going crazy with fear that they had now ruined the whole event because of a minor inconvenience. To make matters worse, Raphael had unintentionally scared everyone just by looking at them as soon as something went wrong.
Honestly, he had to postpone the wedding twice. As if he really cared if the flower arrangement was gerberas or daisies. He would have married Simon in the backyard of a fast food restaurant with only Magnus as a witness, or in the middle of a bloodbath fighting demons if it had to come to that.
Still, he was the perfectionist, the control freak, and everyone thought he would blow up at the slightest mistake. With him being hard to approach, even when he didn’t want to be, and the clan’s past memories of Camille’s unpredictability, he was used to it. Simon used to be the only one who broke through his walls and didn’t shy away from his moods.
It had always been Simon who easily disregarded the boundaries set by others. From the moment he’d walked into the office and acted as the bearer of bad news when the clan members were too afraid to do it themselves, even though they should have known better, that Raphael wouldn’t attack them like Camille had been wont to do. From the moment Simon had ignored Raphael’s bad temper and anger at him and instead stood up in his odd, shaky confidence that told him everyone he was working on pure courage. A courage that had carried him through his weakest moments, when he did what he always did best: tear down walls as if they were nothing, without even realizing it.
That was Simon’s most frightening quality, especially because he wasn’t aware of it, and Raphael had felt his guard slip around him slowly—again, and again—carelessly, almost naturally, and whenever he had noticed, he had had to forcefully rebuild it, resolutely putting distance between them, because it was so easy to let it go again.
On their wedding day, Simon had proven once again that if it weren’t for him, the clan would still be wary of Raphael, would still prefer to hide rather than confront him, would still prefer to grumble in the dark rather than tell him the truth to his face. Raphael was glad when they teased him, when they argued and fought with him—as annoying as it could be, it showed that they trusted him and that he could trust them as well, because nothing was more suspicious than a constant yes-sayer.
“I remember your vows too,” he added, picturing Simon in his white tuxedo with the black wide lapels, the black tie and white shirt. Clothes he had been running around in all day long because there had always been something coming up and at some point he had been afraid that he would have to stand before the altar in jeans and shirt if he didn’t get changed. Raphael wouldn’t have minded, but Simon wasn’t the only one who had made a fuss at the mere suggestion.
As they had held each other’s hands, Simon with a nervous smile overshadowed only by his happiness and Raphael with an almost impatient air because he had been waiting far too long for that moment, he had let go just to reach for Simon’s lapel, straightening it, then sweeping a lost lock of hair out of his eyes, his hand lingering a moment too long on his shoulder as he remembered Simon’s first words when they had started talking about their wedding arrangements.
He had just thrown the words out there, in a totally casual way, in between talking about the style of decorations and the color scheme, and musing on how comfortable they both were with Elaine’s insistence on combining Catholic and Jewish traditions. ‘Oh yeah, by the way, I already told Magnus to leave out the standard ‘you can kiss’ part, because we’re not going to do that. Have you decided when to talk to my mother yet?’
Raphael had been stunned by the remark. It was obviously true that he didn’t like touching in public, let alone kissing, because he considered intimacy to be personal. He had become bolder over the years, a little more open in his affections, but still a ways of from kissing Simon in front of a room of people, and his soon-to-be husband seemed to take it as a given that they wouldn’t kiss on their wedding day.
Raphael had told him that it was fine and Simon had just observed him for a brief moment before letting him know that they could kiss, but they were still going to leave out the words. It was Simon’s way of giving him an out in case he decided at the last minute that he didn’t want to.
Yet, as Raphael stood there watching his future husband, he would have almost done it before they had even exchanged their vows. And when the moment had come, he had drawn him into a slow kiss, and Simon had smiled against his lips, pulling him closer to his chest and hiding their faces as best he could while murmuring ‘I love you’s on his skin. The words were almost lost in the sudden cheering, whistling, cat-calling, and clapping that had broken out after the initial surprise had settled.
Raphael had wished them all gone.
‘Crazy kids,’ he had muttered, looking into Simon’s eyes once more before they both turned to face their guests.
“I remember every second, every word,” he reiterated, and Simon looked at him expectantly, almost as if challenging him, and Raphael was not above answering. He was quite confident that he would get it right, because their wedding vows had been recorded.
Whenever he felt that the whole world was against him, he watched them. He watched them when they fought and argued. He watched them when he was having a bad day. He watched it every time he looked at his ring and remembered the phrase etched into the metal. And sometimes he just watched it when Simon was gone for a few days. And every time he witnessed the exchange of their vows he was filled with a certain kind of wonder that after all these years, Simon still looked at him the same way as he had done, when he said ‘yes’ to Raphael for the rest of his life.
“Raphael Santiago,” he said, trying to do his best impression of Simon and failing utterly, judging by the laughter he received in response. “I started writing these vows long before we got engaged, and even up until this moment I kept changing them and tearing them apart because nothing was ever good enough. Not good enough...”
“Oh God, you really remember that?” Simon asked scandalized, still holding the ring in his hand. When Raphael raised his eyebrows, he relented. “I mean, I do, too. Mostly. But I wrote them and memorized them so I could recite them in my sleep. Like, trust me, I asked my sister to wake me up and ask me to repeat them.”
Raphael chuckled. “Really?”
“You know how bad I am with words when it counts,” he muttered, even as he smiled. “But when I was standing in front of you, it was surprisingly easy.”
Raphael could relate.
Throughout their relationship there had been countless promises, beautiful words wrapped in actions to prove them. Yet when it was time for Raphael to write his own vows, he, like Simon, had struggled to put them together. Raphael was good with words, knew how to articulate his thoughts, especially when he had time to prepare. There had been so many confessions of love, admiration, and adoration in his first draft of the vows, but they had felt too intimate for an audience, so he had erased word upon word until it had just felt empty and dull.
Simon probably wouldn’t have minded if he’d kept his vows light and short, but Raphael would have. It had been either nothing or everything, and nothing had honestly not been an option. So he had put the words back in, decided that for once he didn’t care if the whole clan and everyone present got a glimpse of the person he was when he was alone with Simon. Baring his heart, just this once, was a small price to pay to have Simon beam at him as proudly as he had.
“Simon Lewis,” he began suddenly, wrestling his wrist free and now taking the other’s hand, his free one reaching for the ring as he added softly under his breath, ‘Santiago’. “One thing I’ve learned about you over the years is that you love to prove me wrong.” As understanding settled into Simon’s expression, he looked down at the ring for a moment, then back at Raphael. “There are so many things I didn’t think were possible until I met you. I never thought an alliance between Shadowhunters and Downworlders could last. I never thought werewolves and vampires could live together in peace. And I never thought I would fall in love with anyone. But in you, I have found a friend, a lover, a partner, and a home.”
Simon’s expression melted slowly with each word before he decided to take the ring from the keychain and place it in Raphael’s palm, and Raphael didn’t let on how relieved he was, how much he had feared that Simon might refuse or try to delay. So he continued reverently, “You love me when I’m at my strongest, when I’m at my weakest, when I’m at my most willful, and when I’m at my worst. And you have come to love and accept not only me, but also our annoying, bratty, troublesome, but still very precious fifty brats.” Simon snorted a laugh, just as he had on the day of the ceremony, the sound having been accompanied by stifled sniffing and snickers from the audience. “You have been an amazing mother to them and I know you will continue to be their support and anchor.”
The clan had squealed and cheered in agreement until Simon had quieted them with a simple “shush,” to the amazement of everyone who had never seen how much authority this scrawny, awkward mother hen had over every single vampire in the clan.
“I admire and look up to you for all the good you’ve brought to the Shadow World, but especially to our clan. Together, we’ve survived crazed, power-hungry vampires, ill-planned kidnappings, short-tempered Shadowhunters, and, most notably, the Shadow World Christmas parties. All of this has helped us build the strong foundation upon which our relationship now stands. Through all of our struggles, you’ve shown me your unwavering love, your constant support, and your unparalleled strength.” He paused for a moment, adding something that hadn’t been in the original vows, “And I hope—I am sure—that these last three months of our lives will bring us closer together as well instead of tearing us apart.”
There was a hint of sadness behind Simon’s eyes, but he still nodded, still let his fingertips run along his knee in physical confirmation.
“I know loving me isn’t always easy,” he continued, back to the original, “but still you continue to stand by my side. Simon Lewis,” holding their gaze, Raphael lifted the ring to Simon’s finger. “Like music without bass, life without you would be thin and empty. Like the bass, you bring out the best in me and make me better. Como te he dado mi mano para sostenerla, te estoy dando mi vida.” [As I have given you my hand to hold, I am giving you my life.]
Simon swallowed as he looked at his hand, his fingers wiggling for a moment as if the feeling of the metal was unfamiliar. Then he suddenly sat up straight, his free hand still clutching Raphael’s wedding ring.
“Raphael,” Simon said, “No words will ever be good enough to convey my feelings for you. Not good enough to explain what a miracle it is to me that of all the people you’ve met in your life, you chose to be with me. Even more, to marry me. You’re always there to support and encourage me, always giving me the push I need and offering a helping hand when I stumble and fall. You’ve been my savior—don’t frown, we know it’s true.” Raphael groaned when Simon even repeated that particular part, because yes, despite wanting to help himself, he had always hated that ‘savior’ label, because he wasn’t, and Simon knew that, and Raphael had the feeling that he had put it in there intentionally. He had barely refrained from rolling his eyes, even though he knew Simon would have gotten a kick out of it. “You’ve been my mentor, my friend, my lover, my anchor—and many things more. With these vows, I promise to always be there for you when you need me, and even when you don’t. I promise I’ll always cherish you, and I promise I’ll always cherish and value myself just as much.”
As he slipped the ring on, he added. “And I promise, I’ll be there for you when you don’t even remember me, and I’ll be there for you when you do.”
With the ring back on his finger, the world clicked back into place and Raphael couldn’t help looking at it for a long time, then back at Simon’s smiling face.
“Well,” he drawled, pulling him close now. “It was close to the original, but I remember some more stuttering.”
“Asshole,” Simon quipped, but just fell into his embrace.
"You are everything to me, Simon," Raphael murmured into his ear, tightening his embrace. “You know he was starting to develop feelings for you? It was only a matter of time before he fell as hard for you as I did. I almost pity him—as I do the rest of the world—for never knowing what it’s like to be loved by you. 90 years on this planet, and I only had eyes for you. Twice. I guess that means I have a type.”
“Stupidly loyal?”
“No.” Their hands intertwined again, and Raphael peppered Simon’s face with light kisses, the touch pure affection when his lips lingered a moment longer on his mouth as he breathed his next words. “Simon Lewis.”
They kissed again, slow, searching, questioning—as if it were their first. Simon breathed a sigh of relief against his lips, the brush of air shattering, before he pressed his forehead against Raphael’s and closed his eyes.
“Are you moving back in?” Raphael asked into the gentle silence.
“I just got married to you again,” Simon laughed. “I guess moving into your room should be next on my list. Though I guess it might take a few days to feel normal again.”
“If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”
Simon didn’t reply immediately, but when he did it was with a sultry voice, his fingers playfully tiptoeing up Raphael’s arm to his neck, where he wrapped his hand around it. “There is something,” he muttered, catching Raphael’s eyes. “Fuck me.”
Raphael paused, then knitted his eyebrows in displeasure, because Simon knew exactly how much he hated that word. “My dear Simon, are you tired of me already?”
Simon tried to look serious, but then his features broke into a grin. “God, that face. As if I’ve thrown your favorite jacket in the trash can of a fast food restaurant.” Close enough, Raphael thought. “I love that reaction,” he said, making no sense but quick to add an explanation. “You know, he didn’t mention it in the letter, but he called himself a ‘fuck toy’. Said, we were just fucking. That I was just using you. It was... painful to hear. Especially since you don’t say things like that even when I ask you. I mean, your dirty talk is extremely spot on, but that’s just something you refuse to say.”
“Because I don’t ‘fuck’ you, Simon,” Raphael said, using the Spanish pronunciation for the name, knowing what kind of reaction it would illicit in that moment. “I worship you,” he continued, leaning forward to press his lips against the sternum, slowly making his way along the neck and behind the ear as he continued to speak. “I worship you. I love you. I’ll give you anything you want. I’ll even acquiesce to your daddy kink if you want.”
Simon froze for a moment, obviously confused, before understanding finally dawned on him. “Oh God, that’s so not fair! He totally caught me off guard with that question! Like, how was I supposed to expect him to take that away from our conversation?” Raphael let him rant for a moment longer as it was usually the easiest way to get some confusing but enlightening information out of him. He also really liked listening to Simon’s voice, which carried so much emotion which could change with every word. “I mean, he suddenly asked about your kinks and he seemed really curious and I didn’t know how to answer and one thing led to another and then there was daddy kink. Also, I’m kind of not sorry, because I was hoping it would bring Elliott to the floor so we could stop talking about it altogether, and that at least worked. Why the hell would that be my kink anyway? He thought it was yours.”
“You could have just told him that I’m very attracted to your fiercely protective side. So I was wondering if maybe there was more to it.” Raphael said, raising his eyebrows in question.
“What? No! No one can know that, they’ll just use it.”
“It’s not like it would work on me unless it’s you.” There was a pout on Simon’s lips, barely hiding the delight at those words, and Raphael continued in a drawl, “I don’t mind if there’s a little truth in it. If you want me to call you Daddy, I can.”
“Oh God,” Simon repeated, and Raphael couldn’t tell if he was merely mortified, amused, or somewhat interested.
“Maybe you’d prefer Mommy?”
“You’re terrible.”
“I don’t think I want you to call me Daddy, though,” Raphael added, feigning thoughtfulness.
“Please stop saying ‘daddy.’”
“You are right. Aunt would be more appropriate, I guess.”
There was a beat of silence, and then Simon burst out laughing, and did so for the next five or six times he tried to look straight at Raphael again. It probably didn’t help that every time he did, the Latino changed the version of the word to ‘aunty?’ or ‘tía?’.
“Stop that.”
“I just want you to know that I’m open to your preferences.”
Which was the truth. Even though it took time and preparation, mostly mentally, and preferably with an early enough warning, in the end he had always agreed to try new things with Simon and usually didn’t mind repeating them if he felt comfortable with it. Some things he was more comfortable with than others, and some things he actually excelled at, even if he didn’t particularly care for them. Still, while he would sometimes give in to Simon’s wishes to talk dirty—especially in Spanish—and to treat him a little less gently, with a little less care, on days when Simon preferred it rougher, he never liked it as much as when he could take his time to take Simon apart and give him his full adoration and attention.
“I know. Thank you.” Simon lifted his hand to caress Raphael’s cheek, smiling fondly, wonder in his voice as he spoke. “I can’t believe you can say that so easily, but ’fuck’ refuses to leave your mouth.” Furrowing his brow, as if the thought crossed him for the first time. “Where did you even learn to talk that way?”
“Fanfiction,” Raphael replied dryly.
“What?”
“Don’t act surprised. You introduced me to the world of Spiderpool and ABO.”
“It’s SpideyPool and you know it.” Raphael shrugged, but the left side of his mouth lifted into a crooked smile at how easily Simon could be offended, just like when he deliberately left out a hyphen in Spider-Man. “And God yes, I remember explaining ABO to you, and you started that whole argument about humans acting like they are better than animals but apparently having a thing for helpless little breeding machines and mindless heats and ruts. It’s called fantasy for a reason, you know? I’m not having this argument with you again,” he tacked on in an annoyed mumble that gave the impression he was talking to himself.
Raphael clicked his tongue as he lifted his chin and looked down at Simon with disapproval. “I don’t think an Omega should talk back to his Alpha.”
Simon’s mouth fell open and he stared for a moment before he finally found his words. “Jesus Christ, that came out of left field.” His eyes were wide in surprise, but he didn’t look very opposed to it, but they both know it had more to do with the fact that he liked Raphael being assertive in the bed room. “You have no idea how conflicted I feel right now.”
“Why is that?” Raphael asked as he looked at him with searching eyes, pursing his lips as he tried to figure out if Simon had been joking with his request or had been seriously asking to sleep with him. Raphael had learned to give his husband what he didn’t ask for, to read him well enough to know when he craved intimacy far beyond what Raphael was sometimes even inclined to share in certain moments, but this time it seemed that Simon wasn’t really interested in going any further, content with teasing and flirting.
It could also mean, that Simon himself didn’t really know what he wanted.
Used to this dance, Raphael knew the steps perfectly to find an answer.
“Or perhaps you would prefer to be my Alpha?” he asked, as he gently, carefully, always prepared for a change of mind, pushed Simon’s back onto the mattress, meeting his eyes to gauge any reaction. “And I can be your willing, submissive, and needy Omega, here to serve you, to do what my Alpha wants and needs. What do you say?”
A smile spread over Simon’s lips. "Sorry, really not my kink," he replied with ease, which was such a lie because he liked Raphael being submissive even more than he liked him assertive. Still, he grabbed Raphael’s wrist to pull him closer, before muttering in his ear. "How about you just bite me.”
Raphael paused, finding his gaze again. “Are you sure?”
As much as Simon enjoyed drinking his blood and even being drunken from, he actually preferred straight up sex for his pleasure. Furthermore, after everything that had happened, he worried it might be a touch too intimate for Simon.
However, Simon touched his cheek, sliding his thumbs across Raphael’s temple to soften the lines of worry as he looked up at him, his expression open and sincere. “Yes,” he said. “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed your touch. But... I need you to look at me. I need you to want me. And I know you don’t want me sexually, but I know you desire my blood. It sounds pathetic, I know.”
Raphael hushed him gently. “It’s not pathetic.”
He knew how insecure Simon had felt at the beginning of their physical relationship, when he had scrapped together the courage to ask for sex and been turned down, even though Simon knew it had nothing to do with his attractiveness, even though Raphael had tried to compensate with cuddles and kisses and Simon had understood. Yet, knowing and getting his brain to understand and accept were two different things. Raphael knew this because he had the same problems with various issues. He knew that Simon was attracted to him not because of his body but in spite of it, but it had still taken him a moment to reconcile that with his mind.
There was a lot in his life that he could fake, things that Simon understood he was doing for him but didn’t mind, but true desire for his body, as much as he loved and adored Simon and was willing to do, was not something he could or wanted to fake. Yet the desire to drink his blood was impossible to deny.
Raphael had never understood desire and hunger in those terms until he’d felt his self-control slipping away, barely clinging to every last ounce as Simon had sunk his teeth into his neck for that very first time. Back then he had been denied to return the favor, and it had come as a shock to him in retrospect how willingly he had given up control to Simon, how willingly he had let him do whatever he wanted and would have let him take advantage of their situation.
Still, even high on Raphael’s blood, when he was in that floating space, Simon had been sharp and relentless in his determination to protect him, so he had done what he always did: he had kept Raphael safe and had protected him even from himself, had made sure he was taken care of.
“If you’re sure that’s what you want,” Raphael said, “I’ll gladly oblige.” Of course he wasn’t averse to it, quite the opposite. It had been a few months since they had last done it, even longer for Simon, and Raphael had definitely planned to dress up in that hoodie and tempt Simon into it on New Year’s, when the hotel was empty and he could open his bond for Simon to feel everything.
“Just that or more?” he asked. Whenever Simon drew his blood, it tended to happen during sex. Not always, but often enough, perhaps because he knew it made the act more pleasurable for Raphael, who had found out that he was, at least in that regard, a true vampire.
Simon’s left hand found Raphael’s and pulled it next to his head, his right arm wrapping around Raphael’s neck as he moved him closer to his throat. “Just like this.”
A knowing smile settled on Raphael’s lips as he surged forward, catching Simon’s upper lip between his teeth, teasing and nipping, before his tongue followed to lick into his mouth, catching on the sharp incisors. Just as Simon was beginning to respond, he pulled back and sat up, positioning himself more comfortably over Simon’s body.
Simon was a sight of beauty, already looking ravished, his hair and clothes disheveled from sleep, his hooded eyes staring back at him through a fog of love and temptation. Raphael settled on his thigh as he removed his shirt in one fluid motion, giving Simon the opportunity to run his hands over his bare skin, feeling it under his fingertips as nails dug half-curved indentations into the flesh as he anchored himself in pleasure. Raphael didn’t like pain or scars, but at times he wished he could keep those marks for just a moment longer than the few seconds it took to heal again.
Taking Simon’s hand, he pressed his lips against the palm, before placing it over his heart and opening the bond, letting their emotions meet in a hurricane of devotion. Simon gasped, the first few seconds overwhelming, but then his feelings took over, wild and impetuous, leaking into every fiber of Raphael’s body like he was being possessed.
“You’re too beautiful for this world,” Simon whispered, and Raphael, not realizing that he had closed them, opened his eyes to meet his gaze. Simon looked at him like he was a priceless work of art, instead of the traumatized mess he pegged himself to be.
Raphael hoped he returned the adoration tenfold.
“Where?” he asked, as he calmed the storm in his body.
“Here,” Simon replied, lifting his chin and offering his neck.
Raphael hummed, then sliding lower, taking Simon’s jeans with him and tossing them aside, before settling between his legs. His fingertips brushed against the left ankle in a ticklish caress, before firming his grip, planting slow open-mouthed kisses along the calf up to the knee.
“Yeah, okay, fine. That’s an option, too,” Simon breathed with a light chuckle.
Raphael lightly bit into the firm flesh with blunt teeth, as if in punishment. "What did I tell you?”
There was a brief moment of silence, the confusion apparent in Simon’s voice as he spoke. “I don’t know. We talked a lot. Can you be more specific?”
Raphael moved higher, lavishing his affection on the inner thigh with little nibs and kisses, his teeth growing longer as he teased the skin that he wouldn’t break, fingers following the trail he left with his lips in sure but feathery touches, words vibrating against the skin as he spoke. “I said I’ll worship you. So let me do just that.”
While Simon had asked for desire, it didn’t mean he couldn’t show love in a way he learned his husband did appreciate—if he wasn’t teasing him too much.
It was remarkable, the long way Raphael had come since the first time he had initiated sex, sheer willpower pushing him through his own insecurities and doubts, lacking any understanding until that moment how vulnerable he would feel exposed to Simon like that, or the humiliation he would feel when Simon had stopped him. It wasn’t until he had listened to Simon’s explanation, that he had understood it was the right choice, that determination shouldn’t be the motivational factor. At that time he couldn’t believe that his feelings for Simon could still intensify, unquestionionably strong as they already had been.
Furthermore, Raphael had assumed that he would be the only hurdle in their sex life. He had never thought that it would be both of them, that Simon had his own reservations and reasons for hesitating.
In all his glorious prejudice, Raphael had never thought it was possible for a sexual person—allosexual, he heard Simon’s voice with a chuckle attached to it, because there just had to be a word for everything—to have any reservations about sleeping with someone who didn’t feel sexual attraction. He had never thought that it looked like they were taking advantage of a person, had never considered the dissatisfaction some harbored from not being desired. However Simon had taught him that sex wasn’t as selfish as he had always perceived it, that it could be more than just a means to satisfy basic urges, that it was about a connection, a connection that Raphael didn’t need, but was willing to provide. He had understood that they both had a lot to learn about each other, but also that their different views didn’t mean they couldn’t have a healthy relationship.
They didn’t have to follow a plan, didn’t have to abide by why was considered normal or acceptable by society, they didn’t need to rush, didn’t have to see in colors of only ‘black and white’, in weights of ‘no or yes’, as long as they were both comfortable. So just like Simon had learned that he could always bring new interests into their life, Raphael had never felt pressured to go along with them. Just like Raphael had never felt like he couldn’t say ’no’ even when they had made plans, Simon knew he could ask even beyond those scheduled dates.
Honestly though, apart from a few things that did disgust him, he was mostly fine with anything, even if not as thrilled or into it as Simon. His husband was pretty vanilla anyway, and preferred cuddling over extreme sex.
Although the telenovela role-play had been doomed to fail, because neither of them could take it seriously the whole time. It had ended when Simon had called Raphael Armando, the male protagonist of La Soy Betty. Raphael had both been terribly annoyed and amused.
It had still been a very effective mood killer, so they had called their activities off and instead watched the first episode of La Soy Betty again in a moment of nostalgia. Raphael had felt even more compelled to complain about the comparison after that, because yes, the guy was still as disgusting as ever.
Raphael had never believed he could be so comfortable with his own sexuality. Not that he had ever been uncomfortable with it, as he had just downright ignored it. It had always been this little thing in the back of his mind that had separated him from other people even more than he already was because of his childhood, his heritage, and his personality. His sexuality hadn’t changed, but he had come to accept it in all the colors it wanted to show itself. He still wasn’t overly interested in sex, still had to be reminded with the help of their calendar or sometimes by Simon himself more often than not. That didn’t mean he was any less enthusiastic. As long as he could spend quality time with Simon, Raphael didn’t care too much if they watched a show, went for a ride on the bike, or he got to spoil his lover with touches.
As long as Simon was with him, whatever they did was worth it, no matter what his sexuality was called—grey, aro, ace, demi, simon-sexual, he didn’t care. He didn’t need a name. All he needed was the knowledge that he could be free to be whatever he was with Simon in a way that made them both seen, heard, acknowledged, and loved.
“Raphael, come on,” Simon urged softly, pawing at his shoulder, voice and action almost desperate. “At this rate, it will take you forever.”
"Forever well spent,” Raphael hummed. With his ministrations he had made his up achingly slow, lips and tongue trailing over the hipbone as hands caressed the sides, massaging almost without thought as he lost himself in the shuddering of Simon’s body, in the little moans of pleasure and sighs of relief.
"Normally I wouldn’t mind, but...” Simon bit his lip to stifle a groan as Raphael moved up, pressing their hips together to add intentional friction. Looking down at him, features wrinkled in concentration, mouth slightly agape, Raphael couldn’t resist capturing those lips in another kiss. One hand wrapped lightly around the throat, caressing the side of his neck before he followed with his mouth, lining the line of the tendon with kisses and shallow nips, teeth grazing the skin from time to time in teasing anticipation.
Raphael had drank a lot of blood in his life, but none had ever tasted as delicious, as sweet, and strong as Simon’s.
He still remembered vividly the first time he had been allowed to drink from Simon, when he had stolen him away from the clan for a few days. He had barely managed to control himself, hadn’t believed how strong the urge would be until he had been free to give in. The first times had been messy, the puncture wounds from his bites lining Simon’s neck as he had lapped up the blood that had spilled from them before biting again. And again. He had been like a man possessed, and Simon had just held on, one leg hooked around Raphael’s waist, arms clinging to his shoulders, head thrown back to give him better access.
Later, when his head had cleared, Raphael had apologized, with kisses, with words, with blood packs, while Simon had looked at him happily, satiated, serene, smiling, the emotions pulsing through their bond, confirming what he had been seeing in his expression. Then Simon had told him that seeing him lose control was basically the hottest thing ever.
Not for the first time, Raphael had thought that maybe they were really made for each other.
Now, he was more careful, at least in the beginning, when he finally gave in and pressed his teeth into the skin. He listened to every sound that left his partner’s lips, paying attention to every shift in their bond to notice if maybe he would change his mind after all. Simon’s hand flew to his shoulder, gripping tightly, as he let out tiny gasps between ‘oh God’s and repeating Raphael’s name in a moan, the relief and warmth and pleasure bouncing back and forth between them.
Raphael felt the hunger return in full force, felt his control slip as he sank his teeth deeper into the vein with each new moan. This was what Simon wanted. Wanted him desperate for more, more, more, and Raphael always wanted more. There was never enough. He was never satisfied with just once. Simon wanted that loss of control, a little flirt with danger that usually led to a pause so Simon could replenish his own blood levels, leisurely, almost absentmindedly sucking on Raphael’s neck while the Latino waited impatiently, bridging the time with the next best thing, kissing and licking into Simon’s bloody mouth when it wasn’t occupied draining him.
It should be disgusting.
Raphael would never have done that with blood they had bought, no matter if it was human or animal, never felt the urge to kiss Simon just because he had a little blood at the corner of his mouth from drinking one of the blood packs. Yet there was something about Simon’s own blood that was addictive, and it was even better when it was their second or third round, because then it was their blood.
It was an absurd thought, but he wanted Simon’s blood to mix with his own, to keep it in him as a reminder, as a sign that they belonged together, even if no one would ever know. But he knew, and Simon knew—and that was really all that mattered.
So he gave in, letting his control slip, trusting Simon to stop him, because that was what this meant—always. When they had sex, Raphael was in control, no matter what position he was in, whether on top or on the bottom, whether he was submissive or dominating, he was in charge, he controlled the pace and the flow. However when they drank each other’s blood, except for the first few times, it was Simon.
That was what Simon had been looking for: not only the desire, but also Raphael’s willingness to let go. Maybe after these months of having Raphael act like a stranger, more than his own release, more than his own pleasure, he needed to know that Raphael was putting all his faith in him, trusting that he would be there to catch him whenever he jumped off the cliff.
They ended up staying in their room for hours, and at one point Elliott sent him a message that he had left blood outside the door. He hadn’t bothered to reply. Unfortunately, Raphael knew they couldn’t lock themselves up all day, so when Simon got restless and wanted to go out and see how the clan was doing, Raphael grudgingly gave in. He cleaned Simon’s neck and mouth with a wet washcloth and ignored the giggle that it tickled. After, he held their hands, staring at the matching rings before asking, trying to hide his concern, if Simon would be back at the end of the night.
Every now and then, comments were thrown their way, wondering why they still had separate rooms. Even though they stayed together in Raphael’s most of the time, they both enjoyed the chance to just not. It wasn’t even about having a place to avoid each other when they had a fight, they actually made a point of staying together and talking it out, unless it was a big fight—but then Simon just went to his mother or sister anyway. It was about having a place they could call their own, and Raphael didn’t mind sharing his space with Simon, but sometimes he still just preferred to be alone, and Simon accepted it with the same understanding attitude, as he did most other things.
Now, though, it made him uneasy thinking Simon would decide to stay away, even if he understood.
“Yeah, of course,” Simon replied as if it wasn’t a big deal, though it probably was.
Raphael embraced him quickly, kissed his cheek, and then they were back to business. Simon handed him the phone and gave him a quick rundown of what had happened in the last few weeks and who he should probably call before he left to do his clan mother thing and spread the word that everything was apparently back to normal.
As Raphael made his way through the corridors, he was approached by several clan members who wanted to welcome him back. Still the hotel seemed surprisingly empty.
“Where is everybody?” he asked curiously.
“They left,” Lily said with a shrug, without giving any further information, but Elliott was quick to elaborate. “They fled because they felt Mommy and Daddy doing the nasty.”
“Doing the nasty? Really?” Eugene asked, rolling his eyes. “Are you ten?”
“Sometimes,” Elliott replied with a grin. “Sometimes I’m a baby, too.”
Raphael ignored the collective groan. “Nothing has changed, it seems.”
“Oh, you know us. We’re a very stable group,” Charles answered. “But we’re glad you’re back, and that you had a very warm reunion.”
“Could have been a little less warm, if you ask me,” Lily replied, looking angry, but he was used to it by now, knowing how much it affected her when Simon’s and Raphael’s bond were open and firing from all sides. “I’m not even talking about me,” she added. “The feedback loop was insane. What with all of us connected through one of you. No wonder you only ever do it when most people are away.”
“Yeah. Thank God you’re not in a poly relationship with Lily,” Elliott interrupted with a smirk. “That would screw things up real bad.”
“Ugh, just imagine all those emotions amplified by three,” Frederick said, sounding disgusted. “Maybe seven times, just because Simon’s in the mix.”
“Never gonna happen,” Lily said as if Raphael had just propositioned her, and he would have liked to second her words. The Latino didn’t care what other people did in their relationships, but investing in more than one person was absolutely impossible for him. It would drain his energy faster than staying in bat form during the day. He was probably as monogamous as it got. Luckily, so was Simon, for that matter.
Really, sometimes Raphael felt a little smug, a little conceited, when he thought about how good he was at choosing a partner, because he couldn’t have found anyone better if he had roamed the world twice.
Raphael stood a moment longer, letting the others banter and talk about a hypothetical poly relationship between everyone at the top of the clan hierarchy and its possible effects on the clan. He knew they needed that little moment of reassurance that he was back to his former self, so he simply let them be.
Behind the group, though, slightly hidden from view, was Xavier, looking strangely self-conscious as he glanced back and forth. Raphael raised his eyebrows, ignoring the ensuing snickers from the other members when they noticed.
“Anything I can do for you, Xavier?” Raphael asked calmly. His young version had spent a few sentences on him and his crush, even mentioning the fact that he had supposedly sung karaoke for him. Raphael had been very displeased that young Raphael would toy with someone’s feelings—it not only disrespected Xavier, but Simon as well.
Raphael knew he could be a flirt if he had to, fake as it was, though he had never done it once ever since he had signaled his interest in Simon. He was probably a little too old-fashioned, but flirting, even when there was nothing behind it, seemed like a disservice to the person he was genuinely pursuing.
Xavier looked flustered at being spoken to, before he cleared his throat and gave everyone a withering look when they seemed rather gleeful at his predicament. “So... how much do you remember?” he asked, his voice neutral.
Raphael looked at him, not moving a muscle in his face as he replied, “I don’t remember anything.”
After all, there was a difference between knowing and remembering.
“Really?” Charles asked, “So you don’t remember Xavier leaving you alone to dream.” Xavier choked up, trying to silence Charles, who easily managed to dodge his attempts. “Ah, but don’t worry, you know he’s still around.”
Raphael pursed his lips, not really getting the joke—and he had a feeling that was going to happen a lot unless someone decided to fill him in. As detailed as the letter had been, it obviously couldn’t have covered every interaction.
“Is this going to be a thing?” Frederick asked, horrified. “Please don’t let it be a thing.”
“If you’re referring to Charles and Xavier, I’ve been waiting for this to happen for twenty years,” Raphael drawled before finally moving on, ignoring the yelp of indignation that followed.
“I really don’t think that helped!” Frederick called after him.
“I think you just froze their brains," Cecilia added, sounding rather amused, but Raphael didn’t bother to check. He had always been good at picking up on such things, and if Charles acted less like the schoolboy who bullied his interest and Xavier got over his own superficial interest in appearances, they might be good together.
Not that it was any of his concern. He was busy enough with his own love life.
As soon as Raphael entered the office, he closed the door and took in every change. They were small. His desk was rearranged, but for the most part everything was still the same. Unlocking his phone, he decided to call the first person on his list—and maybe he should feel a little guilty that it wasn’t Elaine.
Eira’s voice was sweet as honey as she answered. “Hello Simon, my dear.”
“Actually, it’s Raphael,” he greeted.
“Oh.” Her tone flattened immediately. This was the Eira only Raphael knew—the one who clicked her tongue at his name and spat on the floor when she felt insulted. Despite that, they had a pretty good relationship, all things considered, she was just very protective of Simon, had adopted him almost as her own child, and had even befriended Elaine since they had met at their wedding. She adored Simon and it showed in her actions. Raphael didn’t really care that she believed Simon deserved someone better, even though after his weddings vows that view had drastically changed and was only ever an old joke between them, but even if it wasn’t, he preferred to keep business and personal separated anyway.
So when Raphael had read in the letter that they had met during the Christmas festivities, he already knew that they couldn’t have fooled her, because even Simon didn’t know how they talked to each other when they were alone.
“Well,” she drawled, “it seems you have recovered from your, shall we say, predicament?”
“It’s been a few hours already. Word hasn’t reached you yet?” Raphael asked, a pleased grin in his voice that she couldn’t see but hear. “Are your spies getting sloppy?”
“I do believe so. Might be because they have become quite attached to you,” she agreed with only a hint of annoyance. “Maybe they agreed to let you give me the good news. Still, how tactless of them. They are fortunate to be one of my favorites.”
Raphael had known for a long time that Eira had her own way of getting information about the clan, but he didn’t mind them staying at the hotel, even feeding them a little cheese every now and then to keep them on his side. In return, they kept away from the office and other places he had warned them about.
They used to have rats in the basement of the hotel, just a few, because they didn’t provide enough food for them, but it was a safe place for them for the most part. Unless Camille felt like feeding them to any of her playthings. After Camille had been gone, the rats had disappeared as well, replaced by a handful of mice that roamed the hotel.
There was nothing special about them, but Raphael had noticed the change immediately. He had left them alone, watched them—sometimes feeling ridiculously paranoid—but his gut had told him that something was wrong with them, and when Lily had made a rather casual remark regarding the rodents, he knew that she had felt the same way.
Where there were mice, there weren’t rats, and the mice couldn’t have driven out the feisty beasts. He hadn’t known they belonged to Eira until after Simon had made the deal, when Raphael had felt her give off a familiar sensation, the mark of her magic.
“I could have sworn he would not have gone through with it.” She let out a sigh and Raphael pictured her on the large French-style turquoise settee that he knew was in the middle of her luxurious open-plan apartment, surrounded by more plants than one could care for. “Oh, well, he was cute, trying to act all grown up. He made me remember the first time I saw you with Camille. He was so full of anger and confusion. Such a bad mix.”
Raphael dropped into his office chair, inspecting the desk as she spoke. “Was I already that conspicuous to you back then?”
“Oh please, Raphael, I have always kept an eye on you. I have always seen the potential and the destruction. I have always known that you could be a powerful ally or a powerful enemy. Your life could have been very different—you could have followed a much darker path. Fortunately, you were saved by the people around you. I hope you cherish what you have and never let it go. Or I might just steal it from you.”
It was more of a platitude than a warning, though he didn’t doubt that there was a grain of truth in it. She was quite fond of the whole clan, too.
“I won’t give you a reason to try,” Raphael replied confidently.
“Good,” Eira said with a pout unbecoming of her age and status, before she changed to a friendly, conversational tone and filled him in on everything she had talked about with Simon and gossip of the Shadow World—everything he might not hear from Bernice because she had her ears to the ground, close to the common Downworlders, while Eira always knew what the alleged high society was up to.
Raphael couldn’t explain what they were—business partners and partners with common interests described it best, but they were also friends and rivals in a way. Still, he knew he could trust that she was on their side and had their best interests at heart, if only to protect her ‘adopted son’.
Raphael would never have gotten anywhere near her if it hadn’t been for Simon.
It was true that his life could have taken him down a path of violence and pain, but every person in his life that he had miraculously met and gained as friends had kept him on the brighter side of life—had kept him from becoming a copy of Camille, had let him make more right choices than wrong ones. Yet it was probably Simon who had really pulled him in the right direction, who had kept him from making the same mistakes over and over again.
Raphael had never felt that he fit into the Mundane world, and when he had found a whole new world, he realized that he didn’t fit into it either. Too strange for a human, too normal for a vampire. But Lily, Elliot, Jacob, and Simon had helped him build a world of their own in this tiny hotel that was the center of their universe, where he had been accepted with everything he was.
Where he had found his home.
Notes:
Whoever may be confused: The melody on the piano is usually played by the right hand. That's why Simon said, it's only for him to know, "his right hand".
Chapter 12: Epilogue
Summary:
The End
Notes:
It’s unbelievable that I have been working on MAOL and AMOC for three years. It's such a long time, and I've enjoyed it. I've grown a lot writing these two stories, and while I was really happy with how things turned out in MAOL, I do have some regrets about AMOC (not many, mind you, just that killing off Derek would have been an
amazinghorrible thing to do in MAOL, yet in AMOC it was just a side note. Also, interactions between young Raphael and Derek would have been fun to write! And maybe AMOC was a little too much on the side of drama, but well, that was fun to write too).
It does feel a bit lonely without Simon and Raphael, but I'm not getting any younger and I've always wanted to write my own stuff. I realized that I'm good at slice of life, and I love writing and reading slice of life, so maybe I should just stay away from stories with too heavy a plot. Too bad that most of those things I inted to write do have some semblance of plot... Anyway,I hope I grow to love my own characters as much as I love them.
So thanks to everyone who supported the story and shared my love for Simon, Raphael, Lily, and the rest of the clan. I think I really found my niche in writing, and MAOL in particular will always have a special place in my heart.
Thanks for reading, thanks for the kudos, thanks for the comments!
Stay well!
Chapter Text
When Simon entered the bedroom at an unusually late hour, Raphael was already in bed, reading a strangely entertaining book about a woman named Gabi who accidentally became a vampire. As far as he could tell, it was pure satire of every vampire movie he had ever been forced to watch. Simon slammed the door shut just to annoy him, changed in the walk-in closet, but still dropped his clothes on the floor right in front of the bed where Raphael could see them. Then he crawled onto the mattress and sprawled over Raphael’s legs, his head resting comfortably in his lap.
The Latino sighed before shifting the book aside, his hand finding its way into his partner’s hair to massage the back of his scalp. “What are you doing?”
“Cuddling,” Simon replied with a satisfied smack of his lips at the touch. “And Sulking. My boss was a jerk today and now I need my husband to comfort me.”
“Are you sure?” Raphael replied, “I happen to know your boss. He’s a very kind and generous man.”
“You don’t know him the way I do then.”
Raphael huffed in reply.
Working and living together had its perks, but it also had its drawbacks, especially when they argued - whether on a personal or professional level. That was probably why Simon had shown up so late, as he needed to cool down, even if he couldn’t stop himself from doing little annoyances that Raphael actually found endearing. “And what do you want me to do about it?”
“Let me vent. Stroke my hair and make those approving humming sounds. Then tell me how he doesn’t deserve me and I should just quit my job. All of this sounding very concerned and-slash-or angry on my behalf.”
Raphael chuckled, but did as he was told - and more as he continued to run his fingertips through Simon’s hair, scratching the sensitive spot behind his ear. "And maybe you can pull some strings? I hear you got a good report with him.”
“Oh baby,” Raphael replied, using that old nickname that had never quite gone away, no matter how many new members they had and how many years had passed. “You overestimate my influence with your boss. Or my ability to care.”
“I don’t think so.”
Raphael sighed, refraining from rolling his eyes at the petulant response. “All right, Simon, here’s the deal: We can either argue or cuddle. Your choice.”
“How about both?”
“You know both won’t work,” Raphael said, stopping his hand but keeping it lightly on the back of the neck. “Sooner or later I will throw you off my lap.” Because Raphael didn’t like body contact when they argued. It tended to make him more aggressive, as they had learned the hard way. Throwing Simon off him in one way or another had happened as often as Simon had ruined his jackets, which was also Simon’s excuse for stopping to put money in the jar.
“That’s called blackmail.”
“You’ve seen me blackmail people. We both know this doesn’t even come close.”
Simon pursed his lips, but he knew better than to insist on bringing clan differences into their bedroom. Sometimes their lives did seep into each other, but they were both willing to negotiate, not only for themselves and their relationship, but also for the clan, though they tried not to make it a bad habit. So Simon just gave in. “Cuddling then. We can quarrel tomorrow. But I want Elliot to mediate when we do.”
Raphael rolled his eyes but agreed anyway.
“Sooo,” Simon said, stretching the vowel unnaturally long, “tell me about your day.”.
“It was uneventful,” Raphael replied, then added with a smirk. “Remember that secretary I have? He was a pain in the ass today.”
Simon slapped his thigh lightly in response, but then wrapped his arms around Raphael’s waist and snuggled closer to his midsection while listening to his day. This ritual they did every now and then helped them a little. Pretending to talk about someone else, to see things from a different perspective when they weren’t allowed to object or argue, but had to listen as if they were hearing it for the first time, instead of being there, instead of being involved.
It had been about half a year since his memories had been restored, and life had returned to normal for everyone within a few weeks. While the first few days had been a little annoying, as the clan sometimes didn’t realize that he had no memory of the past months except for what he had been told, it had been mostly normal.
Raphael, for his part, had spent a lot of energy on socializing with Elaine, Rebecca and her family, and Magnus and his family. He had been somewhat surprised at how attached the children had become to his younger version. Levi had seemed especially displeased when she realized he was back to his former self. Rafael was the only one among them who either didn’t mind or at least didn’t show it, but then again, Raphael had a better relationship with him than with any of the younger children.
Simon had slowly regained his confidence in handling their relationship, and soon it all seemed to be a thing of the past. Raphael was glad that he had come to accept them as they were, even if it had taken him a few weeks to feel truly comfortable. Still, now he was back to demanding and asking for the intimacy he craved and the skin-ship they had become accustomed to.
Frankly, Raphael had believed he would be the only one unaffected, but as the days passed, he had felt at times at odds with himself, disoriented between how he knew he would act and how he did act, but there had never been any obvious changes in himself. Nothing sharp, nothing precise - nothing that anyone he asked could name specifically.
It wasn’t until a few weeks later that he noticed that he felt lighter. That the name Camille didn’t evoke as much disgust as it had a few months ago. He had always disliked talking about her because he had hated how the memories of her had made him feel - trapped, degraded, threatened, small, incapable, powerless. However now, while it was still uncomfortable, it wasn’t as painful.
It wasn’t until a few months later that he realized that he hadn’t thought about Camille once, that he hadn’t looked behind his back to check every corner for long-gone ashes, that he could talk about his father without feeling like he wanted to puke, that the vision of his sire annoyed him more than it actually scared him.
It was only when Simon tentatively mentioned his nightmares, that they were less frequent and less violent, and that his bad days hadn’t been as bad lately.
Raphael wondered about the aftereffects of the orb - because he remembered his childhood with his mother and his brothers more vividly than anything that had to do with his father, remembered the time with Magnus and Lily and Maria even better than most of the things that had to do with Camille. Those memories, they weren’t gone, he still remembered when he actively tried to think about them, but they weren’t as piercing, as painful as they used to be.
The orb was used to store valuables, so maybe, just maybe, it had a life of its own, storing the more important memories in 4k resolution and the bitter and hateful ones in VHS. Maybe it had been a good idea to send Mammon a little something extra after he found his memories intact, as far as anyone could tell. The demon was a greedy bastard, but he wasn’t stupid, and even if he didn’t know exactly what artifacts were in Raphael’s possession, he should be aware that Raphael was an asset better kept alive. Even if he wanted to sell him out one day, he might think twice before actually doing it.
Still, it wasn’t the first time he had noticed changes in his emotions. Over the years with the clan, considering the more or less peaceful life they led, he had realized that he had moments of rest, when he didn’t feel like he had to be on guard, when he could relax for a while.
Now he had those moments more often, especially lately, and he thought it might be time to turn over a new leaf, to bring a little change into his life.
“Would you like to leave sometime?” Raphael asked out of the blue, still combing Simon’s short brown hair with his fingers, unsure if the other man was even awake.
“Sometimes,” Simon replied honestly as he opened his eyes, “but I know I’d miss the clan and be back here in a heartbeat. Like, staying with my mom for three weeks is great but I do miss everyone. I mean, there’s also FOMO, but missing everyone is a big part of it.” He paused briefly, turning his head to look up at Raphael. “Why? Do you want to leave?”
“Sometimes I want to throw the responsibility away,” Raphael began slowly, “But I wouldn’t want to leave. Nor would I want to step down as clan leader. This is my home, after all. This is my family.”
“Sounds like you need a vacation,” Simon said, partly joking, partly serious. “I think you deserve one after seventy years.” When Raphael remained silent, he added tentatively, “Maybe we should take a break? For a week or two? I’m sure Lily can handle everything.”
“That might be a good idea,” Raphael admitted.
“Where would you like to go?”
“México.” At that, Simon finally sat up, knowing this was a more serious conversation now, his eyebrows drawn in, but Raphael just looked at him, evenly. “I want to find my father’s grave. I want to make peace with my past. With him.” He turned his head away, staring at the wall, but his eyes were far away as he continued to speak. “Maybe we can find my distant family. I’ll just tell them he’s my grandfather. I know enough about my parents. No one will question it.”
Simon took his hand and squeezed it lightly. “Is this something you want to do alone? Or do you want me to come with you?”
“Always with you,” Raphael said without missing a beat. “Wherever my path leads, it will always be with you. As long as you allow it.”
“I hope you know,” Simon said, cupping his free hand against Raphael’s cheek, “that being so sweet won’t get you out of our argument tomorrow.”
Raphael groaned and then pushed Simon onto the mattress before throwing the blanket over him, muffling his laughter. It echoed pleasantly in Raphael’s ears as he dropped down and turned off the light, tossing himself onto his side. A beat later he felt nimble fingers sliding beneath his pajamas, gliding along his chest before arms wrapped around his waist and Simon pressed his face between his shoulder blades.
“I’ll follow you wherever you go if you let me,” Simon murmured against his back. “I know our place is with the clan, and I wouldn’t want it any other way, but it would be nice to be alone for once.”
Raphael put his hand over Simon’s, understanding exactly. Perhaps this was what he needed, what they both needed. A place to catch their breath, to find out who and what they were without the attachment of vampires, werewolves, and a dog - just to be what they wanted to be without any responsibility to tie them down.
From what his younger version had said in the letter, it was exactly what Simon had wanted for him. Although he believed that he didn’t have to start from scratch, didn’t have to throw everything away, because he liked being the leader of the clan, liked the power and authority he had, not exactly over the clan, because, admittedly, that was Lily and Simon, but over all the people who used to look down on him. He used to be a nobody, bowing his head and swallowing his pride to support and feed his family, used to be nothing but a tool for Camille, so now that he had that power, he couldn’t imagine giving it up.
He also liked the stability that clan life provided, liked the chaos around them, liked the ordinary and the mundane. He also enjoyed the small thrill that came from dealing with the Shadowhunters and demons every now and then, so no, he would never dare to give it up - not permanently, not for long.
For now, he would think it through, continue as he had for years.
So tomorrow, he would leave a post-it on Simon’s keyboard, letting him know how much he loved his petty acts of revenge.
A week later he would leave comments in the comic book Simon hadn’t read yet.
And a few days after that, they might argue about something stupid, but they would kiss and make up within a few hours.
Then Simon would clear their schedule for a day so they could have some alone time.
In a month, Raphael would ask Simon for a date to an arcade.
Next, the clan would make up some excuse for a party, and Raphael would turn a blind eye to the lie.
A year later, they would finally make it to Mexico, pretending not to contact anyone during their three-week vacation because they really needed to get away from the clan. Still, they would call every other day, would even set up Magnus’ portals as a backup plan to return quickly if necessary while receiving status updates from Lily every morning that they faithfully read before going to sleep—except for that one day when they had stood in a small cemetery, in front of a plain, withered stone with the name of Raphael’s deceased father carved into—below it the name of another woman, a wife he had taken after his first had left. Their children and grandchildren telling stories about a devoted husband and loving father who had realized his failures and mistakes and had changed, who had talked openly with regret about the family he used to have before them, hoping they would one day reach out to him so he could make amends.
However that was a long way off, and Raphael chose to live in the now, content in the knowledge that their lives would go on in the cherished, same monotonic fashion as long as they made the choice with each dawning day to be together, to love each other, and to take care of fifty pampered kids.
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