Chapter Text
“Good evening, Rafa," said Olivia as he entered the bullpen. She handed him a coffee.
Rafael took it, lifting an eyebrow. “How do you do that?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I just always make sure I’ve got one handy--works as an icebreaker.” She gestured for him to walk ahead, then gave him a once-over. “Why are you dressed like you should be wearing a monocle and building a lair inside a volcano?”
“Because I was at the opera. But don’t worry, I’m sure it all works out for Madame Butterfly.”
“It will be out on DVD before you know it.”
"What have we got?"
“Christopher Longford III. Our vic says the assault happened while she was catering his birthday party.”
“Ah.” The real estate heir that was in the papers nearly every week. The press was going to love this. “Credible?”
“Very. But not much in the way of evidence so far.”
“Oh, now when has that ever stopped you shoving it into my hands with my lunch money, a kiss to my cheek and good luck pat to my rump?”
“Yeah,” she took the coffee back out of his hands. “Here you go, Amaro!”
“Thanks, Lieu!”
“Well,” said Rafael, watching the man cheerily walk away. “That explains that lore.”
“Come along, Rafa. I'm sure you can hone up on your material for your Netfix special after meeting our key player.”
They made their way to Interrogation One, Olivia stepping to the side to let Rafael settle beside her in front of the observation window.
Oh!
An unwinnable case and, Carisi, no, Sonny in that waistcoat. The deep navy one with the subtle pinstripes that Rafael secretly liked best on him. It fit just right, molding to broad shoulders and the lean, long line of him like it was made for his body alone. On the ever-expanding Billboard chart of things Rafael would love to take off Sonny with his teeth, it was number one with a bullet.
A finger under his chin, pushed up and closed his mouth.
“Stop drooling over my detectives.”
“I wasn't.”
"Another second and you'd be breathing on the glass, drawing a heart shape round his head.”
“I wasn't!”
“Either ask him out or let me set you up with my friend, Dr Lindstrom.”
Rafael sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets as he stepped closer to the window, gaze still lingering. "You are desperate to get me lying down for him in some capacity, couch, bed, something." A beat. "I’ll pass, thank you.
“Come on, Christopher,” Sonny was saying, all easy confidence. “We’ve got you there. We’ve got witnesses, we’ve got CCTV, and we’ve got fingerprints.”
Rafael turned to Olivia.
“He was there. It’s his house,” she said. “One witness with cataracts, CCTV pointing the wrong way, and fingerprints… Sonny might mean the ones attached to his own hands.”
These cases were complete nightmares.
Rafael loved them.
“Do you know who I am?” The man banged a hand on the table. “I'm Christopher Longford III!”
“Wow,” said Sonny, sitting back on his chair with a hand to his chest “You mean they tried twice before and still couldn't get it right?”
"I want my lawyer."
Sonny sighed, pushing back from the table with a tired nod. He stood, stretched his shoulders slightly, and exited the room. The second he spotted Rafael, his whole face brightened, a boyish grin breaking through the weariness.
Rafael felt something shift in his chest. He wondered, absently, if his mother had kept his grandfather’s wedding ring. Then again, his grandfather had been a big, big man. Still waste not want not. Maybe Sonny would prefer it as a bracelet instead.
“I see he rubbed the lamp.”
“Huh?” Sonny blinked, then yawned. “Oh, lawyering up? Yeah.” He shook his head, frustration tightening his jaw. “You ever notice these rich guys? They act like just being here is beneath them.”
“Because it is,” Olivia said dryly, arms crossed. “Rollins is digging into his past, seeing if any other catering companies he’s used at these events have reported similar complaints.”
Rafael adjusted his cuff. “We need more than just one accusation, especially with someone like him. The second we move forward, his lawyers are going to start chipping away at our case. Discredit the victim, call it a misunderstanding, claim it’s an extortion attempt, same playbook, different suit.”
Olivia gasped. “Wow, my very first day as a detective. What a thrill. Do I get to press the siren button now, or should I wait until after nap time?
“I wasn’t…” Rafael waved a hand. “I just mean he’s got no shortage of friends in high places.”
“Yes, I know,” Olivia said. “That’s why we’re also pulling his financials. Any sudden payouts? Suspicious settlements? Donations to certain judges or politicians? If he’s been buying his way out of this before, we’ll find it.”
Rafael glanced toward the interrogation room, where the suspect sat with his arms crossed, exuding the kind of entitled irritation that came from years of never hearing the word no. “ Which means,” he said, “we better be airtight before we move.”
Olivia gave him a nod, and threw her gaze to Sonny, then back to Rafael. A handle this sounded in her eyes before she moved away.
Sonny watched her go, eyebrows raised. “I think she got out of bed on the wrong side, climbed back in, and did it again.” He let out a low whistle. “Chief’s all over her on this one.”
“Not surprising. The Longfords have their fingers in so many pies, they’ve had to take their socks off and start using their toes.”
Sonny grimaced. “Thank you for that beautiful visual. Perfect timing, right before dinner, too.” He cocked his head, giving Rafael a once-over. “You look nice. Mr. Bond appreciate your monologue about blowing up the moon?”
“Good Lord. I was at the opera when Olivia called.”
“Oh.” Sonny blinked. “A date?”
A good response would be something effortless, something dripping with charm, Men find me so irresistible I can barely open my door without tripping over love offerings.
Instead, the truth: I was with my mother, who looked downright pleased when I left because it meant she could move her bag onto my chair. The carpet looked sticky.
Rafael considered his options.
“Something like that,” he said.
“Oh.” Sonny rubbed the back of his neck. “I like the opera!”
“Do you? Any particular ones?”
Sonny nodded, quickly. “Yeah. La Traviata, Rigoletto, Carmen--” He rattled them off in a steady rhythm, counting them off on his fingers. “Uh, Tristan und Isolde.”
“Like a laugh, do you?”
“...Yes. Those ones are hilarious.” Sonny cocked his head. “Oh, now you mention it, I read a great review the other week--for that restaurant, Salvo’s?”
“Uh…” Rafael blinked, caught off guard. “Yeah, I’ve heard it’s supposed to be good.”
“It sounds like it.” Sonny said. “Sure would love to try it. Maybe along with a trip to the opera.”
“You should.” Rafael’s stomach rumbled, and he fought the urge to scowl. He’d already been planning to demolish the snack stand during intermission, Sonny going on about food wasn’t helping.
“Counselor,” Fin’s voice cut in as he approached, giving Rafael a glance. “So, how’s the death ray? Still in development?”
Rafael turned. “Did you all just watch me out the window and workshop these?”
“Carmen may have given us the heads up,” he replied. “Least we went natural. This one was on Wikipedia looking up operas.”
A flush crawled up Sonny’s neck, setting his ears on fire. He squinted across the room like he’d just spotted a long-lost friend, throwing in a stiff little nod for good measure. His hand twitched halfway into a wave before he seemed to think better of it, smoothing his tie instead.
Fin and Rafael turned to look.
At no one.
Sonny cleared his throat. “Uh--looks like Amaro needs me.”
He was gone before they could call him on it.
“He can be a funny little onion,” said Fin, watching him go."
Rafael wandered over to the snack section in the precinct’s break room, his stomach growling. God, he'd barely had a minute today to grab anything. The array of snacks spread out before him was dismal, a sad collection of protein bars, pretzels, and trail mix. What happened to good old fashioned doughnuts? Was it cop racist or something?
Just as he was about to settle for something that vaguely resembled food, a hand appeared next to his. It nudged a few bags aside, revealing something far more... desirable.
Rafael’s eyes snapped to the side. Fin was standing there, a small grin tugging at his lips. He met Rafael's gaze and tapped his nose knowingly and moved away.
Rafael grabbed a couple of the premium chocolates from the hidden stash and shoved them into his coat pockets, making sure no one was watching.
“I’m here for Longford? I’m his lawyer.”
No.
No, it couldn't be?
Recognition hit like a jolt of electricity, and Rafael’s breath caught in his throat. His body tensed, every muscle going still for a second, a strange flutter of panic taking root in his chest. No. Surely not. He felt a brief, cold ripple of fear skitter down his spine, something sharp and almost primal in its intensity. He couldn't be here. Not after so many years.
He was imagining it. Yes. That was it.
With a deep breath, Rafael forced himself to turn, his pulse drumming in his ears as his eyes locked onto the man entering the room.
Oh.
There he was.
Tall, broad, as always he seemed to compress the space around him. His features were angular, sharp, the face of someone who had once been destined for ordinary good looks but had found himself veering to something unforgettable. His lips were always slightly curved, a smile that stayed even when he wasn’t smiling at all. There was a time when Rafael loved that smile. Felt giddy at it’s mere presence.
He had soon come to hate it. To fear it.
His hair was dark, thick, that same crowning glory that he had fussed over every morning, until it was the perfect mixture of rolled out of bed, and sculpted by nature. And no, Rafael, he wasn’t done yet, go use the sink and follow it up with bleach or something. Stop nagging.
And those eyes. They were the dark kind, the kind that seemed to absorb all the light around them. Almost black, but not quite. Eyes that calculated everything, measured every movement, every twitch of a muscle. They didn’t just look at you; they dissected you, every lie, every flaw, every hesitation. They saw through you as if you were made of glass.
Rafael felt the shiver of that familiar discomfort stir in his chest. The feeling that, even after all this time, those eyes could still strip him down to nothing.
Rafael had never felt very strong in the path of that stare.
He walked like someone who had learned long ago that the world was his, and everyone else was merely moving through it. It seemed even more pronounced now, as if time had only sharpened the edges of that presence. He didn’t just take up space; he owned it.
Rafael’s hand, betraying him before his mind could catch up, tightened instinctively around the chocolate bar in his pocket. The paper crinkled slightly under his grip, and he felt its body give. His breath faltered, caught in his throat, as a chill crawled down his spine.
The man didn’t notice, of course. Why bother yourself with the mere mortals on the periphery when you doth bestride the narrow world? He walked straight past, moving toward the interrogation room without so much as a glance either way.
Rafael stood there, frozen in place, watching as the past walked right back into his present.
“Hey, Rafael," came a voice, tentative and gentle. It snapped through the haze that had enveloped him. "You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost?"
Rafael turned his head slowly, but no sound came out. His lips parted, but nothing followed.
Rollins grabbed his arm with a firmness that cut through. “Whoa, do you need a seat?” she asked.
He blinked hard, shaking his head. His mouth moved, but for a moment he still couldn’t find the words. He swallowed hard, trying to clear the lump that had settled in his throat.
She opened her mouth to say something, likely needling or probing, but paused. Whatever she’d planned to say, she decided against it.
Instead, she changed route, seemingly sensing he needed it. “You look nice. Will you be finishing the evening with My Way, Mr. Sinatra?”
Rafael forced a smile, but it deterred from his eyes. “I enjoy the variety on the theme, Rollins. Thank you.”
“Are you--- are you okay, you look a little peaky?”
“I’m fine, fine. I just haven’t had the chance to eat yet. Blood sugar low, probably.”
She hesitated, but didn’t push. “Want me to get you something from the snack bar? I know where Finn hides the good stuff.”
Rafael stood there, motionless for a moment, as if the room itself was closing in on him, pressing in like a vice.
His hand slid toward his wrist, fingers brushing over the skin, and then he pinched hard. The pain was immediate, sharp. A jagged slice of discomfort that cut through like a blade through paper. An old trick. But a good one. He hadn’t had to use it in a long time.
You’re still here. You’re still breathing. This is real. This is you now.
The room didn’t feel quite so tight now. The echo of those other days, the ones that still stained his skin, faded a little. Not much. Enough.
“Sorry, Rollins, I actually have to go, could you pass on my goodbyes to Olivia. Call me with any updates?”
“Are you sure, you’re oka--”
“I’m fine, fine. Catch you later.”
With another look at the closed door, he made his way to the exit.
Rafael’s feet moved though his apartment, but his mind lagged behind. The apartment felt... smaller today, the walls inching closer. No matter how far he’d come, no matter how many years he’d buried the past, it was still there, wasn't it? Lying beneath the surface.
He hadn’t slept. And if he had, it can't have been for long. He had closed his eyes, tried to rest, but thoughts wouldn’t stop racing, chasing each other in circles. His mind had replayed everything from yesterday, from the sight of him, over and over.
The bathroom mirror stared back at him, its surface clear, but it might as well have been made of fog. As he brushed his teeth, the reflection of his face seemed to slip out of focus slightly, and a flash of another image pushed through. Another voice, from long ago.
"Why are you dressed like the Sugar Plum Fairy?" The words echoed, insistent, ugly in their sweetness. "Do you know the strings I pulled at Brooklyn? Don’t you want to be taken seriously?"
Rafael’s grip on the toothbrush tightened, but he didn’t look away from the glass. He couldn’t. If he did, the man in the reflection would be gone, and the past would take root again.
He moved to the kitchen, his steps dragging. He busied himself making huevos habaneros. He cracked the eggs, the sizzle of oil frying almost comforting in its normalcy. But his eyes wandered to the kitchen table, and the world shifted, just for a moment.
"Is it too much to ask that you actually cook something for once?" The words floated through the space. "You do realise I’m pulling more hours than you?"
He sat down across from the empty chair, feeling its absence more than he cared to admit. Rafael took a bite, chewing without tasting. The food, though prepared with care, had no flavour, just the dull, hollow ache in his stomach.
The chair sat there. And so did the man opposite, his eyes soft and warm, though there was a tightness around the edges of his smile, like a hand carefully placed over a bruise.
A bruise.
“Did you just pour all the cumin in?” Honeyed. “You’re so adorable, sometimes. Don’t worry, I’ll go order something in. Let’s trash this. Seriously, bebo. Stick to your day-job.”
He couldn’t remember when he had stopped expecting that someone would sit there, tolerating him, that someone would fill the space across from him. He looked at the plate, the food on it, the way the morning had turned into nothing but the routine of chewing and swallowing. There was nothing left to savour, nothing to cling to.
Half-finished, Rafael scraped the food off his plate. The scraps clung to the edge of the dish, stubborn and messy as he tossed the remnants of his breakfast away.
He walked to the sink, staring at the plate, now resting there as if it had never been moved, waiting for the next gesture of dismissal.
“Don’t you ever tidy up after yourself?” Knife sharp. “I had company this afternoon, and this place was a disgrace. It’s like you get off on embarrassing me.”
His fingers ached to reach for the sponge, to scrub. The stains wouldn’t fade. So he didn’t clean. He walked away, pulling the coffee cup to his lips, trying to drown it all in the bitterness.
The iPad sat on the kitchen table. The news waited, eager to show him the world moving on, and he collected it up, dropping down onto the couch.
The figure stood over him.
"Your mother is on the phone again, Norman Bates. Why don’t you two just get yourselves surgically attached and save on the phone bill?"
Rafael swallowed. The room felt smaller. His heart raced as the past came rushing forward, uncaring of the years that had passed, the distance he’d tried to put between them.
The coffee went down too quickly, too hot. He placed the mug into the sink, next to its distant cousin, the plate. He had to move.
His feet carried him past the bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and for a moment, he looked at it, the darkness inside.
The bedroom.
He closed the door.
As Rafael reached for his coat, he paused, his fingers brushing the fabric, his gaze drifting to the hallway wall.
A small, almost unseen mark marred the surface. It wasn’t much, a slight indent in the smooth plaster, hardly noticeable unless you knew where to look.
It was at the precise height of his head
The man he had been, the one who had lived here, had disappeared long ago.
The person he was now had built something new, something real. Something better. He was stronger. He had to be.
He took one last look around the apartment, at the walls that had witnessed so much of his life, and the spaces that had once felt so empty, but now felt like home. This was his life now. His place.
He walked to the door, feeling the weight of the past on his shoulders. With one final glance, he stepped into the hallway, closing the door softly behind him.
The past was still there, just beyond the threshold, waiting for him to step back into it.
Rafael sat at the table, drumming his fingers absentmindedly on the wood, as Olivia continued to update the team on the Longford case.
Tap, tap, tap.
Maybe he wouldn’t take the case.
Tap, tap, tap.
And there was nothing to say, that he had to take the case. McCoy had him run ragged at the moment and he was sure he could call in a favour or two.
Tap, tap, tap.
But no, this was important. He didn’t trust anyone else on it.
Tap, tap, tap.
He would have to disclose of course. He couldn’t have anything mess it up once it was underway. At least it would then be McCoy’s decision if there conflict of interest was too great.
Maybe it would be a type of closure. A fair fight for once.
Tap, tap, tap.
Finn leant across, just placing a hand on Rafael’s wrist to stop the motion, before giving him a concerned stare. He patted at Rafael’s knuckles and withdrew.
“Right. Sorry,” he muttered, curling his hand into a fist.
Sonny, from across the table glanced, his brow wrinkled. At seeing Rafael’s gaze, he gave him a small smile.
“Can you sort the warrants, Rafael?” Olivia asked, snapping him back into the moment.
Rafael nodded quickly. “Yes, I’ll have them for you as soon as.”
Meeting over, the team gathered their things, actions for the day in hand and Rafael was left alone at the table.
He sighed heavily. He had to get a grip. Maybe if he pulled off the bandaid and sought him out before--
“Raf?”
Rafael closed his eyes, sighed again, and prayed for a pulmonary embolism. None forthcoming, he looked up over his shoulder. "Luka," he said, offering a weak smile that barely touched the corners of his mouth. "I didn't see you there."
He pushed back from his desk, rose, and extended a hand. He was glad to see it didn’t tremble.
Luka didn’t reach for it. Instead, he studied Rafael’s hand for a second, a smirk spreading across his face. Then he pulled Rafael into a tight, unsolicited hug.
Rafael’s body jerked forward, his forehead crashing into Luka’s shoulder. Rafael could feel the firm press of Luka's muscles through the thin fabric of his shirt, the heat of his skin seeping through.
Luka’s arms tightened around him, unyielding, an iron grip that squeezed the air from his lungs. One hand flattened against the back of his shoulders, the other slid low, dangerously low, just above his hips. Rafael’s breath caught in his throat as Luka’s pinky finger pressed into his shirt and skimmed the edge of his waistband.
Rafael stiffened. His chest tightened with disgust and the sudden, overpowering urge to get away from the contact. He shoved himself back hard, the movement forcing him into the edge of the table, knocking it slightly out of place.
He pasted on a waxy smile, and stared over Luka’s shoulder, avoiding his eyes.
Luka grinned brightly back, his gaze slowly taking in Rafael from head to toe, the appraisal both familiar and unsettling. There was something about the way Luka looked at him that had always made Rafael feel like an open, hurting wound, exposed to the world.
"Funny," Luka purred, voice slick as oil. "You didn’t see me the other day either. Must’ve been... distracted."
Rafael felt the familiar unease twist in his stomach. His hand instinctively grabbed at his wrist, pulling the skin between his fingers. Luka always had taken satisfaction in making Rafael squirm. Old habits die hard.
Luka moved closer, just enough to close the space between them. “We’ll be seeing each other in court, I assume,” he said, his voice dripping with a faux sweetness. “We’ll have to disclose, naturally.”
Rafael suppressed a shudder, skin crawling. "Obviously," he managed to reply.
Luka tilted his head, studying Rafael like a specimen under a hot microscope. “How have you been, Raf? It’s been a minute, hasn’t it?”
Rafael’s chest tightened, but he pushed the panic back down, forcing himself to smile, though it was thin and brittle. “Let’s not do this,” he said, his voice strained, the words coming out clipper than he intended. He straightened, turning and picking up his briefcase, snapping it shut. “Let’s keep this to case-related talk.”
“Don’t turn your back on me,” Luka said.
Rafael’s hand froze on the clasp of his briefcase. The familiar tremor in his fingers returned, uninvited. He knew that tone.
Slowly, Rafael turned back around, only to realise Luka had moved closer, closing the distance between them. The smile on Luka’s face was too wide now, too pleased.
“You look good, bebo,” Luka drawled, roving eyes mentally undressing Rafael layer by layer, vile and sickening. “Aged like a fine wine. Getting better with time, maybe a little more... seasoned. The taste always improves, I hear."
Rafael swallowed hard. "I'm not interested, Luka," he said, trying to force firmness into his shaky voice. “I made that clear last time.”
Luka laughed, like Rafael was just the silliest thing, isn’t he so darling? Look he’s wearing people clothes and everything. “You know you’ve got no case, right? How many times did I tell you to stop chasing dead ducks?” He stepped closer, his breath warm against Rafael’s ear. “You always liked the glory, didn’t you, bebo? Thought you could win every battle, but we both know how that ends.”
Rafael forced himself not to flinch. “You’re wrong,” he said, his voice steady now, he wanted to give himself a little back-pat for the effort. “Longford isn’t untouchable.”
Luka raised an eyebrow, the smirk never leaving his face. “The Longfords are powerful, Rafael. You really want to make an enemy of them?”
The Longfords were dangerous. Everyone knew that. But he couldn’t back down now. After all, he had faced worse things.
“Don’t waste my time, Luka,” Rafael said, taking a step to the side, trying to put some distance between them. “We both know how this ends.”
“Hey, your client wants to see you.”
Sonny. God had got back from the john and sent down a miracle. Praise be.
"Oh, fantastic,” drawled Luka. “I can’t wait to hear what other brilliant mistakes you and the rest of the Brady Bunch have cooked up to make getting this case thrown out even easier."
Sonny looked taken aback, glancing at Rafael like he was waiting for some kind of explanation. Rafael didn’t blame him. Truth be told, he was a little surprised himself. Luka had always been calculating, controlled, never the type to let hostility slip so easily, especially in front of an audience. Outward aggression, particularly toward strangers, wasn’t in the Luka Marić handbook.
Luka liked to play the long game, liked to wear people down with charm and condescension until they were too tired or too doubtful to push back
“Your client’s guilty,” Sonny said, slowly. “I’d work on how you are going to argue that down to ten years instead of mud slinging.”
Luka let out a short, amused breath. “Must be nice, huh? Pin a target on a rich man’s back, call it justice, and pretend it’s not just about avoiding real work. The girl is after her fifteen minutes of fame, and the NYPD wants to take up ten of those. Sure beats being on TV for taking handouts or beating up disadvantaged youths, I guess.”
Sonny's jaw clenched. “Maybe you should go speak to Richy Rich, counselor. He probably wants you to get started on his manicure.”
Luka barely glanced at him, his focus still locked on Rafael. “Typical,” he said smoothly. “Always so eager to tear down the people who built the city you work in. That chip on your shoulder must be getting heavy.”
Sonny blinked. “You’re mad that I’m punching… up?”
“It speaks to clear bias, detective. Juries tend to frown on that sort of thing.”
“You know,” Sonny said, tapping at his lip. “They don’t seem to be too keen on rape, but, I could be wrong about that. This chip messes with my memory sometimes.”
“Shouldn’t you be planting evidence and arresting perps who, butterfingers, managed to repeatedly fall onto bullets?”
Sonny smiled sweetly “Yeah, well, at least I don’t sell my soul to the highest bidding scumbag.” He peered at Luka’s hairline and whistled. “That is an impressive plug.”
Rafael cut in before it went any further. “Both of you, enough,” he snapped, voice like a closing door. “Keep this about the case.”
Luka turned back to him. “Of course, Rafael. Strictly business.” He fixed a friendly grin to his face. “You know, detective, I almost didn’t recognise him,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper, “until I saw the back of his head.”
Rafael flushed instantly, heat crawling up his neck, humiliation sinking deep in his chest like a stone. How had there ever been a time when he’d found this man charming? When he’d believed him to be kind?
Sonny’s head snapped toward him, his brows knitting together in confusion. And then, realisation. His whole demeanor shifted. His jaw set, his expression cooled, and he took a step forward, just enough to angle himself between them, not quite blocking Rafael, but close enough that Luka would have to go through him first.
“Excuse me?” Sonny’s voice was low, steady, but there was iron underneath.
Luka just smiled, slow and satisfied, already backing away. “Oh, just a joke between old beaus.” His eyes ran over to Rafael, full of malicious victory. “See you soon, bebo. I look forward to the DA’s office admitting their mistake.”
He turned and walked off like he’d already won.
Rafael let out a slow breath, pulse hammering in his throat.
“What the hell was that?” Sonny turned fully to face him now, eyes still tracking Luka’s exit. “Was that the opera date? Because, seriously--”
“The opera date was my mother.” Rafael cut him off, sharper than intended.
“Well, even if he’s your mother I still don’t like him. And I have new concerns.”
Rafael shifted his briefcase in front of him, fingers clenching around the handle like it was the only thing keeping him steady. “I don’t need your righteous rage, thank you. I won’t be letting down my long hair so you can climb up and rescue me.”
“Too bad, because if you need a hair guy, I know someone who might have contacts.”
Despite himself, Rafael huffed a laugh.
Sonny didn’t move, didn’t step back. His concern didn’t fade. “You sure you’re okay? Because I’m about two seconds from tracking him down and introducing his face to a desk.” He made a circling motion with his finger. “And all of the desk’s immediate wooden family.”
Rafael let out a strained breath, shaking his head. “It’s fine,” he muttered, clearing his throat. “He is very much out of my life. And I’m, uh--I’m sorry. He wasn’t always… that crude.”
Not in public, anyway. Never when there were eyes on him. Luka had always been meticulous about appearances, obsessed with perfection.
Had this been a slip in the mask? Or had he simply stopped bothering with one altogether?
Rafael straightened his tie. “I’ve got to go over a plea deal with Braun, so I best--”
“Do you want me to walk you out?”
The look on Sonny’s face was so open, so genuinely kind, it could have been stamped on a line of safety-approved children’s products.
“Oh, detective, that is awfully kind of you to chaperone me, but my maiden aunt is waiting at the door, and then we are going to work on my needlework, or I will be a hopeless spinster forever.”
“Alright!” Sonny laughed, knocking their shoulders together in an easy bump. “I was just asking.”
Rafael let out a breath of something close to amusement. He gave Sonny a small, tight smile, a nod goodbye and turned for the door.
When he reached the exit, something made him glance back.
Sonny was still watching him, that same warm, patient smile on his face.
Rafael hesitated just a second too long, then pushed the door open and walked out.
Rafael was stretched out on the couch, eyes fixed on the screen. Key Largo rolled on in the background. Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall in that magnetic dance of chemistry, the kind you could almost taste. The way they looked at each other like every word was a matchstick ready to spark. That was something Rafael always thought he wanted, something alive like that. Something that could make you feel the static in the air just from standing too close. That kind of energy, like a live wire you couldn’t help but touch.
He used to think he had that with Luka. God, for so long, he’d told himself it was there. Every fight, every argument, those jealous rages? They were intense, charged moments. Proof that Luka cared. Every cutting word, he told himself, was just Luka being protective, trying to shape him, guide him. Luka, the older, wiser one, showing him the way. He believed that was love. Luka’s control, his need to dominate, to tell Rafael how to act, what to think.
Rafael had convinced himself of it all, the way Luka would take charge, pin him down. His frustration with Rafael’s hesitant, prudish nature? It wasn’t anger. It was just Luka, more seasoned, more experienced. Rafael needed to let go, to understand.
It was all love.
Then the first hit came.
That first time, when the room had gone still, when everything seemed to slow down. He hadn’t shouted, hadn’t fought back. He just froze, something inside him locking up as if he could somehow disappear.
The moment had split in his mind like a broken mirror. He wasn’t in the apartment with Luka at all, lying against the bedroom wall. He was back in the kitchen of his childhood, watching his mother, pale and exhausted, clutching a dripping dishcloth to her face, ice buried within. She’d looked at him with those tired eyes, her voice soft, almost apologetic.
“Mind your father now, Rafi,” she’d said, like it was something she had to say. Like it was something he had to understand. “He’s had a hard day.”
Rafael shut his eyes. Luka had just had a hard day.
Then there came a point where there were no good days.
Rafael’s stomach churned like something trying to claw its way out, and he exhaled sharply, pinching at his wrist, hard.
This was relentless. His mind kept pulling him back, dragging him into the past, that dark, stubborn place where Luka’s face still lingered, still festered. He should’ve known better than to let his thoughts go there again.
Sometimes, we have to walk with the past, but that doesn’t mean we have to stay in it. It doesn’t mean we have to let it swallow us whole. You walk through it, nod your head, and keep moving forward. The past doesn’t own you. Not anymore.
It didn't own Rafael.
But it was hard to shake. He could feel the heaviness of it, pressing against his chest, making it hard to breathe. He tried to push it aside, shift his focus.
On the screen, Bacall shot Bogie the famous look, the one that had cemented her place in Hollywood history. Rafael had once read that she’d held that gaze, chin tilted just so, eyes hooded, to mask the nerves trembling beneath the surface. The idea that such raw beauty, that undeniable magnetism, could come from a place of fear, that was something that made him pause, something that made him marvel. Found himself coveting.
He hoped he had learned to hide his fear with as much flair.
He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to think of something. Anything.
As if sensing his cue, Sonny walked onto the stage of Rafael’s mind.
Sonny, with that light brown hair, kissed by silver, that smile, so easily given, so genuine. And that sweet dimple, the kind that seemed to beg for exploration, as if it was made to be touched by a nimble tongue. Those blue eyes. What was that old song lyric? Like the bluest skies, as if they thought of rain.
Oh, he was really becoming a sap.
But it was inevitable.
Sonny just had that quality about him, like a breath of fresh air in a room that’s been locked up too long, the kind of person who makes everyone around him feel a little bit better, even in the middle of a shitstorm.
There was something about Sonny, something comforting and warm, that made Rafael feel lighter just by being near him. Not that he’d ever admit it.
Even when he was rolling his eyes, dripping with sarcasm, Sonny never wavered. Never shrank back. And maybe Rafael liked that more than he should.
Sentimental fool or not, he still had standards to uphold. A sharp tongue, a well-placed jab, those were non-negotiable. Reputation mattered, after all.
Sonny made him feel other things, too, because, good Lord, that body.
Rafael sank deeper into the couch, and for a moment, he wasn’t alone. He could feel Sonny beside him, leaning in, lifting his chin up the way Bogart did to Bacall in the movies. His hand would reach out and Rafael’s pulse would pick up as Sonny’s fingers traced his jawline, down his throat and over his pulse.
Rafael shivered as he imagined the way Sonny would follow this leisurely perusal with his mouth, pressing hot kisses to the same tantalisingly slow route his fingers previously traveled.
Sonny would press in closer, the full length of his lithe body meeting Rafael's side as he eased Rafael back into the plush couch. Rafael could feel the soft cushions against his back as Sonny hovered over him, those powerful arms bracketing his head. That slight show of strength made Rafael's breath catch, his own hand twitching atop his thigh.
He knew Sonny would take his time, worshipping Rafael's body with patient reverence. His lips would blaze a trail of open-mouthed kisses and teasing bites across every inch of bared skin, glorying in each hitched gasp and involuntary tremor he coaxed from Rafael. Every touch would be tailored and known, designed to drive Rafael slowly out of his mind.
And then Sonny would whisper filthy promises and words of praise in Rafael's ear as he ground himself against Rafael's thigh, leaving no doubt of his arousal and exactly how badly he wanted Rafael. Imaginary Sonny thought Rafael was the bees knees after all. With effort, Rafael resisted the urge to squeeze himself through his pants.
Okay, this wasn’t where he had meant his thoughts to go, either.
The movie. Just watch the damn movie. Without horrifying the ghosts of its stars. It was a simple task. And it would be better not to open the door with a raging erection when his Thai arrived. People tended to frown on that sort of thing.
Right. The movie.
On-screen, Frank McCloud stood near the window, the storm outside rattling the panes. Nora Temple watched him from across the room, something quiet but intense in her eyes.
“You don’t have to go,” she said softly.
Frank didn’t answer right away. He just looked at her, the kind of look that said more than words ever could. The actor’s love for the woman across from him bleeding into his performance.
The wind howled. The strings in the score swelled, low and aching.
Knock, knock.
Rafael groaned, fumbling for the remote. His thumb slipped, sending the movie forward a few seconds. Damn it. He’d fix it later. With a quick check that he wasn't going to break any indecency laws, he jumped up and headed to the door, snatching his wallet off the counter, as he passed.
Swinging it open, he kept his head down. “That was fast,” he said, peeling off bills.
“Good timing is everything, don’t you think?”
Rafael’s head snapped up.
Luka stood there, grinning. “Aren't you going to ask me in, bebo?”