[ raphael isn't sure what to think of justin's invitation at first. it's passed off as innocent; raphael had asked about justin's art months ago, and yet he still hasn't seen any of his creations, not sketches or comics or the mural he's heard tell of more than once. it only makes sense that the suggestion would come eventually, but there is something about it that feels like... more for some unfathomable reason. some part of raphael hangs on the words, but in the end he agrees to visit the apartment one evening—it's early for raphael, late for justin—if only to prove to himself that he's restless over nothing.
things go just about the way raphael expects. they talk briefly at the door, jokes about vampires needing to be invited in tossed back and forth before questions about whether or not they need drinks are tossed back and forth in the living room. this is simple. they've found a familiar rhythm in their banter, the ease with which they play off of each other growing the more time they spend together. they spend a fair amount of time together now, raphael realizes abruptly while justin is laughing at something flippant he's said. if someone had told him long ago that the two of them would end up like this, he would never have believed it.
the mural, once they come around to that subject, is in justin's bedroom, its shapes and dark colors covering the entirety of one wall. it's unlike the art that hangs in the dumort, more contemporary than traditional, and there's something about that that raphael likes. it feels like justin's, not just a piece of art raphael could pin to some other artist's name. the cityscape is a suggetion, half hidden in paint strokes, but there is something inviting about the chaos of it. that isn't a feeling raphael has often.
the two of them stand at the foot of justin's bed peering up at the work, or perhaps justin's eyes have moved to fix on raphael, instead. the sense of being watched—or at least, that's what raphael assumes it is—prickles at the back of his neck as he toys with words to say, a muscle working in his jaw. at long last, he wets his lips, glances at justin sidelong for only a moment before his eyes find the mural again. ]
I like it. [ the words are frustratingly nondescript but they're honest. there's no teasing in this, no arched brow or dismissive smirk. his expression is set in one of contemplation, somber but sincere. he doesn't know how many people have seen this piece of art, but something about it suddenly feels personal, whether that's technically true or not. maybe he's just not used to this. this particular kind of sharing.
maybe it's that persistent question of more? rearing its ugly head again.
to combat it, he turns to justin again, this time refusing to retreat once he's met his gaze. ]
For some reason, I didn't think I would. [ his lip curls into a smile that should be mocking, but it doesn't quite achieve the necessary sharpness. it's too fond for that. ]
[ The thing is, the invitation is more. Justin's not the type of person that tries to hide that he's an artist, and he's not ashamed of his art by any means, but sometimes sharing it with one individual person is very different from hanging a handful of his pieces up in a gallery for strangers to see and forget about less than an hour later.
It's almost kind of funny to think that once upon a time, Justin gave up on art entirely. He'd had his reasons, and plenty of obstacles that seemed easier to avoid than to overcome, but pushing through it all just made him a better person, and a better artist than he was even before Chris Hobbs' attack.
Now, art is a significant part of who he is, and sharing his work is like sharing a part of himself. The mural in his bedroom hasn't been seen by many. It's the first piece he started working on when he'd first arrived in Eudio. It's the piece that took him the longest to complete, and, perhaps, the piece he poured the most of himself into. It's messy and chaotic, blurred in some places and sharp in others, and when you stand back and really look at it, it all comes together into one beautiful piece that's very uniquely Justin.
Raphael may have his eyes trained on the painting, but Justin's eyes are on Raphael, like he's waiting for some kind of reaction. Approval, disapproval, something. Justin might not be ashamed of his work, but that doesn't mean he isn't his own worst critic. It doesn't mean he doesn't seek some kind of reassurance every now and then that he's not completely wasting his time and that good old Chris Hobbs doesn't still have some kind of hold on his life even now, years later.
But the reassurance isn't the only reason Justin's looking at Raphael, it's just the most obvious one. He's looked at the mural countless times, spent his time studying it, finding the flaws and all the little things he doesn't like about it. He's stared at it long enough that if he looks at it any longer, the image might just burn itself into his eyes.
He's looked at Raphael plenty of times, too, unavoidable when you consider the amount of times they've seen each other since the first time they met at Pandemonium what feels like ages ago. Looking at him now, really looking at him, Justin thinks he's like art, too — preserved in his most beautiful state, a moment in time captured forever, only he won't fade with time.
Justin looks away when Raphael glances toward him, though he doesn't try to play it off as if he wasn't looking at him. There's no point, because Justin never tries to play it off when he's been caught looking - it's just not like him to be embarrassed or ashamed for taking the time to admire something he thinks is worth the admiration.
Somehow, Raphael's comment takes him a little bit by surprise, however nondescript. If there's anything Justin's learned about Raphael, it's that he's not incredibly expressive, and that he's somewhat difficult to please. He's a challenge, to put it simply, and winning him over is a victory in itself.
Justin turns his head to look at him again only to find that Raphael's already looking back. He doesn't look away this time, and instead just holds his gaze. Raphael is a little bit hard to read, but perhaps that's what keeps Justin's interest - wanting to know what he's thinking beyond 'I like it', if he's thinking anything else at all.
And then Raphael smiles, and that's all Justin really needs from him. His own smiles pulls at the corners of his mouth, spreading into something bright and reminiscent of his nickname. He laughs quietly under his breath. ]
... I didn't think you would either. [ It's not a slight towards Raphael, just a little bit of honesty. Justin's style of art is quite different, and it's not to everyone's taste, but art usually never is.
Justin breathes out quietly, a sense of relief flooding through his veins. ] But thank you. I'm glad that you do.
[ He looks back toward the mural again, but his gaze isn't focused on the art itself. Instead, his eyes shift back and forth as he thinks, his expression somewhat contemplative. He bites at his lower lip for a moment, and then suddenly looks at Raphael right before he steps up onto his bed. ]
I want to show you something else, [ He says, padding across his bed to the opposite corner. Justin bends to pick up a book from the bedside table, hardcover and bound in black leather, and then he brings it back, sitting down at the edge of the bed near Raphael's knees. He looks up, silently inviting Raphael to sit, too. ]
[ raphael's not sure when, if ever, he'll get used to being looked at the way justin so often seems to look at him. it comes in small glances, in once-overs, in longer, more intense stares that raphael can feel on his skin like the one justin had offered just now. he doesn't resent justin for it. there's nothing wrong with admiring or being admired in that simple, friendly way. and there's nothing wrong with admiring or being admired in a less friendly way either, but for one thing, he's not sure how to discern the difference, and for another, he doesn't know how to respond to such a thing. it just isn't his area of expertise.
he has to wonder how justin thinks about him, what he sees him as. feelings like these are a complicated tangle to unravel, but he thinks at least attempting to pull apart the knots will be necessary soon. after so long in eudio, raphael is beginning to realize that he needs patience. attraction is a slow burn for him, but he has to come to terms with the fact that whatever this unnamed thing between him and justin is, it's grown beyond a spark.
he swallows when justin smiles like that, then scoffs lightly at the comment. raphael may have a bit of a reputation for not liking things, but here he is being honest. he nods, his voice quiet when he speaks. ] You're welcome.
[ he looks expectantly at justin when he offers to show him something else, then watches as he climbs over the bed and retrieves the black book. it's raphael's best guest that it holds more of justin's art, and he feels both a tug of curiosity and a certain softness. he takes it to mean means he'd like to show raphael more pieces of himself, these ones small and more secret, and— god, he's thinking too much, imagining possibilities while simultaneously shying away from them. he has to be honest; he thinks life would be much easier without this tangle. it was much easier, but now, now that he's recognized the thing, he doesn't have hope of back tracking. not in a way that will really bring any kind of satisfaction.
justin settles, and for a moment, raphael doesn't move. just stands at the corner of the bed and wonders if it would be horribly impolite to stay there, to not invite himself to the edge of justin's mattress. in the end, he decides he has to sit and so he does, shoulder jostling justin's as he does. he knits his fingers and glances at justin, then down to the book in his hands. ]
What is it? [ he manages something that sounds vaguely casual and controlled. it reminds him that's how he should be, not allowing himself to be bothered by if's. he's more practical than that. ]
[ For a moment, Justin doesn't think Raphael's going to move from where he's standing. He thinks, fleetingly, about the way they'd joked when Raphael had first shown up a little bit earlier, about vampires and having to be invited inside, and he wonders if he has to actually ask him to sit, too, or if maybe he's read things wrong and Raphael isn't as comfortable as Justin assumed he was.
Fortunately, he's not left wondering for too long, and Raphael sits just as Justin's about to ask if he needs to be invited to, so the question is abandoned and Justin closes his mouth instead, quietly relieved but also a little bit pleased. He turns his head slightly to look towards Raphael when their shoulders knock together, but he doesn't draw any actual attention to the contact.
He shrugs, perhaps on purpose so that their shoulders touch again. ]
... Life. [ Justin keeps the answer simple, pausing for a moment before he slides the book over one of Raphael's thigh, waiting for him to take it before he lets it go. It's not meant to be deep, and there's no deeper meaning hidden in the word or anything like that, it's just what it is.
Drawings and sketches of places in Eudio, random objects that caught his eye on his way to or from work, anything he found interesting enough to put time and effort into immortalizing. People he doesn't know mixed in with people he does, none of them seeming to repeat or appear more than once — save for one person.
The second drawing of Raphael is a stark contrast from the first, and probably something Justin's only seen once or twice in person. He thinks, maybe, that the reason Raphael had smiled at all was because he was laughing at something stupid Justin said or did without realizing it. But it was enough that Justin had wanted to capture it, somehow, and make it last a little longer. ]
[ raphael doesn't tense when their shoulders touch, but he does swallow, like he needs to give himself something to do beisdes think about the contact. he's not usually like this. this, whatever he's neglecting to call it, is rare and for the most part unexplored, and he can't help but feel a little on edge because of it all.
he presses onward, hesitating only a second when justin offers him the book, another gesture that takes this concept of sharing to yet another level. he glances subtly at justin again, just a slide of his eyes, before flipping through the pages of the book in front of him. his immediate instinct is to tease justin for drawing so many people in secret—he assumes most of these subjects were unaware—but instead, he says nothing, thoughts going quiet upon finding his own face sketched out among the rest.
he supposes it's not completely unexpected. they do see a lot of each other, and apparently justin takes inspiration from all around him. raphael's just about convinced himself to think nothing of it when he finds the second drawing.
it's strange to find himself smiling, and maybe that in turn should be strange. he's not aware of himself looking like that—pleased, open—often, can hardly remember the last time he would have seen himself looking like that in a reflective surface. justin has seen it, though, and he's chosen to lay it out like this, make it something permanent and tangible rather than fleeting.
raphael swallows again. ]
Am I really such an important part of your life? [ he asks, and it's a joke, because raphael is the one reoccurring image in the pages of justin's "life," but it's also... not a joke. it's a question he'd very much like to know the answer to. the words are directed at the book in his hands, but once he's said them he turns his head to look at justin again, expression unreadable. he's not sure what he wants his face to say. ]
this is a million years late please don't feel obligated to tag it back gkjdjfg
[ truth be told, justin is kind of nervous once raphael actually starts to flip through the pages. he's never been terribly self-conscious when it comes to other people seeing his art, but for some reason, he suddenly feels anxious to know what raphael thinks about. at the same time, he doesn't want to know at all, and he has to shake away the impulse to reach out and take the sketch book back before raphael can get to the second drawing of himself.
his reaction is hard to gauge, so justin just watches him in silence, waiting for any kind of indication or gesture to help him along in figuring out what raphael may or may not be thinking. truth be told, he's always liked the air of mystery that always seems to linger around the other man, even when he's not even trying to be mysterious, but right now it's almost maddening to not be able to read him clearly.
justin's eyes flicker downward for a moment, watching the muscles in raphael's throat flex as he swallows, and when he finally speaks, he looks up to find raphael looking at him, and for some reason, he can't look away.
probably because he doesn't want to. ]
Well...
[ he starts, and then inches one shoulder up in the smallest of shrugs. his hands shift in his lap a little, turning over and spreading out over both of his own thighs and sliding out towards his knees before inching back in. ]
Yeah. I think you're worth remembering. This way, [ he says, tilting his chin toward the drawing of raphael, ] even if I forget, or if - one of us leaves, I'll know what it looked like when you smiled like that.
[ at me, he thinks, but he doesn't say as much out loud. realistically, justin knows that it's not likely he'll forget about raphael, but it's not as if he hasn't forgotten important events before, even if the reasons for the gap in his memory were never his fault - but some things are worth saving, just in case.
glancing down at the book again, justin breathes in slowly through his nose, then breathes out, and without really thinking too much about it, he reaches out to flip it closed, carefully taking it back and twisting around slightly to set it aside on the bed somewhere out of the way. when he turns back, his eyes find raphael's—
and then they drop, so he can make sure when he reaches out to touch his fingers against the back of raphael's wrist, he doesn't miss. ]
[ he doesn't let his gaze waver when justin's eyes find his, a part of him begging not to expose any of his vulnerability while another part slips frantically towards that edge. he holds himself in check, feeling a pang of relief when justin looks away again. he watches the slide of justin's hands on his thighs, a movement of uncertainty that raphael wouldn't expect from him. he's come to expect confidence and a multi-faceted dexterity, ease and honesty.
maybe they're both guilty of burying doubt somewhere dark and out of reach.
it isn't that raphael has not given the thought of leaving any real thought—on the contrary, he thinks about it often, weighing the pros and cons, knowing that he'll return to new york someday but when—but he hasn't thought about it quite in this way. he hadn't considered what leaving would mean for someone like justin, someone he's grown close to, and he realizes that he's been selfish.
selfish, too, in the way that he has held himself back, left justin to carve out this image of him because he doesn't always smile when he should, stepping back from the edge of caring too much and letting anyone see it. he hadn't realized it mattered. but it does, and suddenly he feels like he's done them both wrong. it's possible that justin is afraid of losing him, and it's not quite panic that flutters in raphael's throat when he realizes that he's afraid to lose justin, but it's— it's close.
raphael has had his fair share of loss.
he blinks, wetting his lips as justin takes the sketchbook and sets it aside.
his own eyes drop to justin's fingers on his wrist when they settle there. his hand twists, slow and controlled so that justin's touch isn't disturbed, but it ends up pressed to the inside of raphael's wrist, where his pulse used to be. ]
What can I have then? [ his voice is soft and he grapples with something that sounds casual, steady. ] To remember you by.
[ when justin first came to eudio, he'd had a plan and for the most part, it was simple: make a couple friends, hold a couple hands, fuck a couple strangers ( because he'd had it in his head that rule number one from home still applied - never fuck the same person twice - when it didn't, and it took him a little longer than it should have for him to realize that ), and then once the reps notified him that he'd generated his fair share of energy, he'd pack up and go home and ( most, if not ) all of his problems would be solved.
of course, plans that seem too simple always turn out to be far more complicated than anyone wants, and if you asked justin how he came to be here, sitting at the end of his bed next to raphael with his fingers pressed against the inside of his wrist and his heart beating fast enough and hard enough to make up for the lack of a pulse underneath his fingertips - he'd tell you that he didn't know.
he couldn't tell you what it is about raphael that he finds so interesting and captivating and charming, only that he is all of those things, and more. and even if he could tell you, he probably wouldn't, because he'd prefer to keep the mystery between himself and raphael.
justin looks at where his fingers are resting, light and warm against pale and cold, and it should probably bother him that raphael is so cool to the touch, but it doesn't. it hadn't bothered him the first time he'd touched his fingers to his jaw under pandemonium's flashing lights what feels like forever ago, and there's nothing about it that makes him uncomfortable now, either.
the sound of raphael's voice draws his attention upward, only high enough to watch his mouth as he speaks - because that's what you do when someone's speaking to you, isn't it? you watch their mouth?
you watch their eyes. you definitely watch their eyes, but perhaps what makes him the semi-decent artist he is is his ability to look at things a little bit differently.
justin's lips part just a fraction as he draws in a quiet breath. his eyes fall again, back to his fingers, back to his thumb as he smooths the pad of it over where raphael's pulse should be but isn't. the rest of his fingers press into and ghost across the center of his palm, but justin's always been a little handsy when it comes to raphael.
he wets his lips and then looks up, finding it surprisingly easy and difficult to look raphael in the eyes, and even easier to spread his fingers out until they settle in the spaces between raphael's before he leans in and gently presses their mouths together. ]
[ he can sense the anticipation in the air, hear the faint pound of justin's heart, feel it in every one of his fingertips where they touch raphael's skin. there's no confusing this, no brushing it off. they are building to something, and it's only taking seconds. something in him wants to warn against this. something else wants to throw caution to the wind.
raphael's experiences with feelings like this are few and far between, almost always caught in a gray area between something he wanted and something he thought he wanted. he'd kissed a girl he'd met at church when he was fifteen, young and still unaware of where he would be in a few years time, and afterwards wished he hadn't. he'd felt camille's fingers slide against the back of his neck and thought not that he could love her, but that maybe he should. he's found people here in the city that he craves the company of, but why is a long, drawn-out question that he's afraid too many will not want to wait for. how many will dislike the answer if it lands in the realm of friendship?
this, here and now, has taken time, but there's no question that justin's fingers sliding along his palm is something he wants, something that he would rather not call friendship. if he feels any hesitation, it's simply because he hadn't really expected this, hadn't prepared himself for the possibility.
raphael is never not prepared, never not on guard, and yet here he is, a fracture in his armor beginning in the palm of his hand and running up his arm and parting his lips under justin's mouth. it's almost too easy. his chin tilts so justin can more easily find his mark, a tentative movement that doesn't demand but seeks out, not merely allowing the kiss but inviting it. mindful of teeth, he kisses back, his fingers curling to hold justin's hand properly.
everywhere they touch is a fierce clash of cold and hot, and raphael hopes, helplessly, that it doesn't matter. it shouldn't matter. ]
[ there's a part of justin that thinks maybe he shouldn't be doing this, maybe he should have offered raphael something more practical and material and realistic, like a drawing or one of the brushes he used to paint the mural covering the wall behind them — something that'll last and has significance instead of... this. there's every possibility that he could have just crossed a line that, for him, has steadily been growing blurrier and blurrier to the point that it's not so much a line anymore than it is a ghost of a suggestion. there's every chance that this might not be the way raphael wants to remember him at all.
every one of justin's worries fade the moment he feels raphael's lips part under his own, the subtle tilt of his chin encouraging as their mouths fit together as if they were always meant to. justin breathes in through his nose and he has to take a moment to appreciate the strange beauty that is raphael. how can someone who's practically dead make him feel so alive? how can someone who never had the chance to truly live make him feel like he could live forever? how is it that the sun can kiss the moon and the world can keep on spinning?
justin's fingers curl tight in the spaces between raphael's, his thumb smoothing a warm line over cool skin — and it doesn't matter, not to justin, that they're practically polar opposites. if anything, the contrast of warm and cold just helps to keep him grounded, keeps him from spinning out of orbit. if anything, he likes it probably more than he should.
twisting slightly, justin presses in a little, catching raphael's lower lip between his own. he's not so mindful of his own teeth, letting them scrape gently over his lip as he lifts his other hand to cup the side of raphael's neck, palm warm against the column of his throat and his thumb tracing the curve of his jaw where it swoops up toward his ear. ]
[ memory is a curious thing for someone like raphael. in truth, his immortality has only really begun. there are humans as old as and older than him, many with more worldly experience under their belts. and yet, he already feels a certain urgency to make sure some moments will last long after they're over, years or decades or centuries in the future. he doesn't know just how long a life he'll lead, but already, so many things have faded, shriveling into mere wisps of taste, touch, sound. others remain, almost as clear as the day he'd experienced them.
the moment he'd stared into a pool of sunlight and decided it was the best and only solution to what stretched out in front of him is a memory he wishes he could filter out, but other, better images remain too. a birthday party in the kitchen of his oldest home. the soft heartbreak of a reunion held on a certain doorstep. the look of private respect magnus bane had offered him across the foyer of the hotel.
raphael can't know for sure in the moment, when so much of his focus is pinned under justin's lips and hands and the reality of this, but he thinks that this will be another memory that time won't be able to touch.
the heat of justin is almost startling, and a voice in raphael's mind wants to focus on how different they are, how strange this marrying of alive and not so alive could be. another voice, the one he allows to grow louder, tells him this warmth is here because justin is offering it and offering it gladly. all in all, physical touch is not something he craves often, but there is nothing wrong with it now, now that justin has become an indisputable part of raphael's life, unexpected as it was. it feels safe in a way that is wholly unfamiliar, too much and yet just enough at once.
the drag of justin's teeth over his lip is a distinct indication that he knows, more than raphael, what he's doing, and so raphael allows himself to be lead, pressing into the fluid shifts between kissing and being kissed. he nearly shivers when the hand appears at his neck, the skin sensitive, untouched for so long. if anything, it's accustomed to teeth more than fingertips. his own hand catches at justin's wrist, not to pull it away, but to feel it there. justin's heartbeat pounds loud enough that it seems to reverberate in raphael's chest.
he breathes in, draws back a fraction. ]
Justin.
[ his voice is a whisper but it doesn't waver. he's seeking reassurance, confidence from justin that he hasn't made a mistake. ]
[ there are only a small handful of times that justin's ever been unsure of himself, neck-deep in his self-doubt and drained of any self-confidence in nearly every aspect of his life. they're moments he wishes, sometimes, that he could forget, even if looking back on them reminds him of all the things he's overcome, all the things that have shaped him into who he is today.
this, right now, is not one of those moments. this, right here, is not something justin thinks he'll ever want to forget. the casual back and forth, almost-playful bantering, the intimacy of sharing his art, sketches and drawings no one else has seen before - and the way his fingers fit so nicely into the spaces between raphael's, the way their mouths fit together just as nicely.
justin may have more experience when it comes to this sort of thing, but all that means is that he knows how to sense and set a pace that, hopefully, isn't too fast or too much. raphael kisses just fine (and fine is somewhat of an understatement if he's honest, even if everything so far is soft and slow), and justin falls into it easily, pressing in to chase after a little more, just a tiny bit more, and letting raphael lean in to take what he wants, when he wants.
cool fingers sliding around his wrist tug him toward the surface, but it's the sound of his name that breaks the tension and justin suddenly feels... unsure. uncertain and unclear and like maybe he's fucked this up really badly - whatever this is, whatever it was.
his fingers curl slightly against the side of raphael's neck, blunt nails ghosting against cool skin, his eyes still closed. his lips part like he means to say something, but he just swallows thickly instead, finally opening his eyes. he doesn't lift his gaze right away, breathing out slowly as his thumb unconsciously smooths a slow line against the side of raphael's hand, fingers still linked together.
justin lifts his hand away from the side of raphael's neck just an inch, just enough so that they're not touching anymore, because he assumes that's what the hand around his wrist is about - putting a stop to something he made too many assumptions about. ]
Shit, [ he breathes, a small rush of air, an apologetic sigh of a word. he swallows again, wets his lips. ] I'm sorry.
[ but he's not. not really. he's not sorry for liking raphael, he's not sorry for finding him interesting or charming or intriguing, and he's not sorry for somehow coming to trust him with things like his art. he's not sorry for kissing raphael, either, but he's sorry for misunderstanding. he's sorry for doing something that's probably going to screw up whatever friendship they'd built despite the odds. ]
I should have, um - I should have... asked, instead of just.
[ he ends the sentence in the middle before he winds up rambling and making things awkward and uncomfortable, more than they probably already are. ]
Edited (don't mind me fixin' typos) 2017-08-15 14:38 (UTC)
[ raphael does shiver now, the drag of nails against his skin acute and remarkable in a way that barely make sense to him. he looks at justin under hooded lids, here where their noses still touch, and waits to see his eyes. he can feel his breath, hear the thrash of blood; raphael seems to forget all the places they touch. at the moment, it feels like everywhere.
justin's hand lifts from his neck and raphael realizes immediately that he should have let the kiss go on, that interrupting it now has shaken them both. that's the last thing he wanted. this he knows despite the fact that the last twenty seconds have taken his old wants and turned them into unrecognizable things. raphael's grip on justin's wrist tightens just so, not enough to hurt, not enough to make justin regret this any more, but enough to discourage him from completely pulling away. his thumb mirrors justin before he can really think about it, rubbing up and down along the soft skin at the inside of justin's wrist. ]
No. [ he starts before justin can go any further, a soft shred of characteristic exasperation escaping with the word. it's not directed towards justin, though. it's at his own doubt, his need not to let this get away from him. ] I wanted you to.
[ it's possible he hadn't even realized it before, not in the moment leading up to justin's mouth seeking his. but he'd been waiting for something; waiting for orbits to cross, waiting for shadows to shift, waiting for this solar eclipse of a kiss.
and as such, he should have confronted it long ago. it's not like raphael santiago to shy away from truth, but maybe he can be forgiven here. it's not often that he falls so wholly into things like this, things that could very well be called love. it'll remain nameless for now. he can only be expected to hold so much within the cavern of his chest.
raphael sighs, breath stuttering a little, and then focuses on justin's face. ]
I don't want sex. [ his teeth clack together. it's abrupt and he knows it, a further jump than perhaps justin was expecting, but if he's going to be honest, he won't do it halfway. he's distracted for a moment by how bright justin's eyes look now, wondering if he'd done that, wondering if his look the same. he swallows thickly, gaze dropping as he recollects himself. ]
But this— [ the fingers he has wrapped around justin's wrist slide up to his hand and then press his warm palm back to the column of raphael's throat. in an instant, justin's pulse rumbles louder in raphael's ears, a rhythmic proclamation of life, life, life. he pauses here, hoping that justin's fingertips will settle again against cold skin. ]
I should have known before. I need this. [ with all the surety in the world, gaze steady, lips pressed firmly together. it sounds so simple, but maybe here and now, it can be. nevermind what comes later. he has learned after long years of wanting to be a leader to exude confidence. he knows it makes people listen to him even when faced with crisis, death, war. he has to hope justin listens to him now, when they're faced only with each other. this certainty he feels all the way down to old bones and venomous blood. a small shake of his head. ] I need to not forget.
[ the position of museum curator came as a surprise to justin, though the reason for the shift of responsibilities wasn't exactly what he would have liked. saying goodbye to a woman that had come to be a decently good friend had been a little hard, but he took on the job with confidence and the determination to prove to himself (and to angela) that he was worthy of the position.
the couple weeks following angela's departure had been fast-paced and hectic, with long hours spent learning the ropes and responsibilities of his new title, often to the point that justin would not only be the first one in, but also the last one out of the museum, well after they'd closed the doors for the day. eventually, though, he found a rhythm and fell into everything with ease, spending most of his mornings observing and collecting data from a small family of velociraptors at the zoo for a certain trickster god, and his afternoons at the museum.
today is no different. though his days are far less busy now that he's got the hang of his routine, he often finds himself staying past closing time to look into new pieces for the gallery, or simply wandering from hall to hall, taking his time to admire the art when it's quiet and he has no other obligations.
night has only just fallen by the time justin files away his last bit of paperwork ( details on a piece from a different earth, painted by a sleepless witch who specializes in wax paints ). the building is silent, though not uncomfortably so, and for a moment, justin just sits and listens to the nothingness, breathing slowly. he's tired, but he doesn't want to go home just yet. it's early still for those who seize the night.
leaving his office, justin flicks off the light and pulls the door closed quietly behind him, contemplating what to do with the rest of his night as he makes his away down the hall out towards the main floor.
a pair of dark eyes flash in his mind in a way that should probably be a little bit startling, but it only seems to light him up, if only by a little as an idea strikes him. he slides his phone out of his slacks ( really, the only thing left to get used to is dressing business casual all the time, though button down shirts cuffed at the elbows aren't so bad ) and thumbs through his contacts, stopping near the bottom.
[ it is, by probably most vampires standards, still early. but raphael santiago prides himself on efficiency and productivity, and so he's not going to sleep away his early "mornings" even here in the city.
his internal clock is still wired to ring in time for proper cleanliness and sharp dress in his suite before he would make his way down to his office, awake early enough to tend to paperwork and organization in time for errant vampires or pestering shadowhunters to come streaming through the hotel dumort's doors. his life has consisted of something similar for the last few decades, and so it shouldn't be a surprise to him or anyone that knows him that his priorities aren't going to realign over night.
lately, his morning routine requires very little of him, a fact that magnus would like to call relaxing but raphael's opinion leans more into frustrating. if nothing else, he can devote even more of his time to cleaning himself up, hair kept immaculate and suits pressed, chasing the confidence he had exuded back home but seems to fall somewhat short of it's mark here in eudio. at least, in his own eyes. he's simply out of his element.
one thing that is not so terribly off-putting about this new structure is justin. it's odd in a way, sure, but there is something about justin messaging him late in the evening, when he's really just woken up, that forms a bridge between the living and the dead that he hadn't concerned himself with much before. night and day seem less like dueling concepts, like maybe he can exist in both of them at the same time.
it's new and familiar at once. he's adjusting.
the point is, justin is making it seem far easier than raphael had previously thought possible. and so when he receives justin's message, he feels... not quite happy—let's not go crazy—but hopeful is probably not a bad descriptor.
he sits in his kitchen, a mug of freshly warmed synthetic blood next to his elbow on the table and his phone in hand. ]
a quien madruga, dios le ayuda. or he who rises early, god helps. [ it's something he can remember his mother saying back he was still living—living—under her roof and it's a message he's clearly taken to heart. ]
[ as he waits for a reply, assuming raphael is even awake at all, justin takes a few minutes to double check that closing procedures were executed properly by his staff (his staff - it still sounds strange to him), making sure all entrances are locked and secure and that security systems are engaged appropriately where necessary.
everything seems brighter, more vibrant as he wanders, drifting from painting to painting and taking in the finer details he's never really noticed before for whatever reason. perhaps it's the lack of distraction, he thinks, the near silence and the ability to just stop and look and not worry about lingering too long or being in the way of someone else trying to appreciate the artistry.
justin's phone vibrates in his hand and he finds himself smiling faintly to himself without even having to check who it is. there aren't many people in eudio who he semi-consistently talks to at this hour (as if it's some ungodly hour and not late-evening/early night), and if he's honest, he's come to consider the few hours just after dusk as theirs - a pocket of time where two opposite worlds overlap and 'hello, good morning' isn't such a strange thing to say while the sun is setting. ]
A quien madruga. [ a kwee-en mah-droo-guh. he tries the words out on his tongue, confident that he more than likely butchered the pronunciation. he laughs at himself under his breath, still smiling slightly as he taps out a response, slowly wandering towards the front of the building. ]
Is there a saying for those who rise late? [ probably not, and if there is, it's probably not as inspirational. either way, justin's only being playful. ] The museum's open late tonight. Invitation only.
[ he sips thoughtfully at his "morning" meal, trying to decide if he knows any wise old sayings for rising late in spanish. seeing as that's usually not the ideal people preach, he comes up mostly short, except... ]
the second mouse gets the cheese?
[ that's the best he's got, justin. and maybe it's for the better. he does't want to be the one encouraging lazy habits; it just wouldn't be characteristic, for one thing. for another, neither of them are mice, and they aren't likely to run into any kind of life-threatening danger no matter what time they decide to get out of bed.
in the end, the point here is not early or late risers—not really—but rather the museum. raphael hasn't had the chance to visit justin's museum, though to be fair, he's had very view chances to visit any of the museums in eudio. only a special occasion had allowed him access to the observatory. everything else either closes not long after raphael could arrive or before the sun has even begun its descent.
it's not as though that's unusual for raphael, but he's never really had the time previously to be inconvenienced by evening closing times. while there are countless interesting places to visit back in new york, he was almost always preoccupied with more pressing matters than leisurely strolls through exhibits or parks. so forgive him if the idea of being given special access to the art museum after hours pleases him a little. ]
and i'm assuming that was a very unsubtle invitation?
[ he doesn't really see why justin would mention it if he didn't want raphael to come... ]
[ justin's brows raise a little at raphael's response, the corner of his mouth curling just slightly with mild amusement. definitely not quite as "inspirational" as being helped by god (apparently), but he did ask, and raphael typically isn't one to not come through, regardless of the topic or subject matter. ]
so you get a saying about god wanting to help people like you and i get dead mice and room temperature cheese. that seems a little extreme for wanting a little extra sleep.
[ also: morbid. but somehow, coming from raphael, it seems less so, which is kind of weird, but justin doesn't think about the possible reasons for why that is. instead, he absently sidesteps around a decently-sized sculpture in the middle of the gallery, his attention focused elsewhere - particularly, on his phone, and how to respond to the second part of raphael's mostly-expected reply. ]
was that not subtle? i did consider sending you a singing telegram but i'm not sure if that's even a thing people still do. also, nobody needs that when they've just woken up.
you should come. free admission if you teach me how to say that phrase in spanish.
the rewards for being lazy are going to be subpar, what can i say. you could always do the practical thing and go to sleep earlier.
[ except that would mean the time they have to spend together would probably be cut in half, and while raphael won't say it outright, he's not exactly pleased by that thought. perhaps justin can be excused for needing a few extra hours in the morning if it means he's sacrificing hours in the evening for raphael's sake. ]
i'm glad you decided against that. [ it's possible he smiles to himself, but he's also shaking his head, so maybe the two cancel each other out. he sets aside his mug and strides out to the main room of his apartment, sweeping up the jacket he'd laid out today from where it's draped over the couch and shrugging it on.
yes, he's going. ]
i'll make you a deal. free admission and a proper tour for a better phrase in spanish.
[ it's just a bit of teasing and not meant to imply that raphael doesn't have other friends. justin's almost certain that he does, now that he's gotten to know him a bit better. there's no way that other people don't also find him as intriguing and as weirdly charming as he does.
so what if he's been staying up a little later lately? it's not exactly as if he's in bad company.
justin smiles a little to himself as the last message comes in, and taps out a quick and confident reply. ]
that's all? i hope you're ready for the best tour you can find in eudio. and also, for me to butcher some spanish. i'll apologize for that one ahead of time. meet you out front?
[ and with that sent, justin slides his phone into his pocket and starts to make his way toward the main entrance, stopping by the information and ticket desk to swipe a museum guide that raphael probably won't need with justin there, but he wants to make sure he gets the full experience anyway.
flipping the lock on one of the main front doors so he can let himself out, justin steps outside to wait. ]
somehow, i'd find a way to survive. [ he shoots back, wry as ever. to be fair, though, it would take raphael a while to readjust to mornings without justin's cheery and terrible rise and shine messages which, no, has nothing to do with survival, but may or may not have something to do raphael's general well-being. he's accepted it without giving it more thought than he deems it deserves. ]
maybe you'll surprise us both and impress me.
[ raphael tucks his phone into his jacket, committed to this now, as if he wasn't before. of course, the museum is not too far from his apartment building, as most things are never really too far when vampire speed is at your disposal. once in the street, he takes off in the right direction, sweeping by pairs of people holding hands as they wander home and others who couldn't wait long enough to find some privacy and now kiss under streetlights. raphael doesn't pay anyone much more than a passing glance, but given the circumstances, he can't help the way his mind pinpoints the kind of meetings people tend to have at this hour, especially here in the city.
he slows just before the museum steps, glancing up at justin where he waits outside the doors. ]
Dime con quién andas, y te diré quién eres. [ he says as he climbs the stairs because apparently a simple hello lacks any real satisfaction. he repeats the phrase again, slower this time so justin can pay attention to the sound and shape of the words. he comes to a stop in front of justin, hands in his pockets. he's dressed for a business meeting or a high-class funeral or perhaps even a date, depending on what you want to see. which is probably true of the look raphael flashes, too, clearly expectant of something. ]
[ as it stands, justin has no plans of committing to an earlier bedtime, mostly because he's never really been one to turn in early (though early is relative in this case, specifically), but also because he's come to enjoy his evenings with raphael in them, even if it's just a back and forth of witty messages and, sometimes, talk of plans to meet up. early to bed and early to rise seems like less fun, and raphael doesn't have to know about the couple of times he's stayed up until sunrise, just to be able to say goodnight.
justin hasn't really forgotten about raphael's supernatural speed - it's one of the first new things he'd learned about vampires, back when they'd first met in person at pandemonium, something he filed away so he wouldn't forget -, but that doesn't mean he's not somewhat surprised to see him so soon. he hears his voice first, low and smooth and familiar, and lifts his head up from the pamphlet in his hand, reading it as if he doesn't have the entire thing memorized by now.
justin smiles at the sight of him, pleased by his attendance and a promise fulfilled. his lips part, and he's about to ask raphael to repeat the phrase slower for him, but raphael seems to read his mind before he can get the words out. he listens carefully, his eyes focused on raphael's mouth, on the shape of his lips as he pronounces each word for him, and repeats the words back to him under his breath for now. he'll have to run it through his head a few more times before he'll actually say it out loud. ]
I think it's plenty enough to get you in. [ he lifts his brows subtly, the corners of his mouth tugging a little with a soft smile as he reaches out to press the museum guide to the center of raphael's chest, fingertips grazing his dress shirt. it's soft against his skin and justin takes half a moment to look him over, not surprised in the slightest that he's dressed to impress. justin isn't quite so done-up, but he's not in jeans and a t-shirt, either. instead, he's dressed in black slacks and a dark navy button down, the sleeves cuffed at his elbows. work attire, seeing as he hasn't really left yet.
justin waits for raphael to take responsibility for the paper guide before he lifts his hand away, then moves to pull the only unlocked door open for him, stepping aside. ] But the quality of the tour depends on the quality of the phrase, and you haven't told me what it means.
[ the way justin's eyes dart up and down does not go unnoticed, but enough time spent together means raphael expects the subtle once over. it's possible raphael is guilty of the same kind of glance—he's never seen justin in work wear, dressed up just a little, the air of professionalism softened by the casual roll of his sleeves—but he makes a point of being especially secretive about it. he's not about to be caught staring.
justin presses the guide to his chest and raphael offers a look as he accepts it, like perhaps he means to say he knows they're on justin's turf now, but raphael's not about to let his guard down. what he's guarding against isn't exactly clear; this is just something they do, this give and take that sometimes results in raphael refusing to give or take anything. tonight, though, he might not be so concerned with avoiding the peculiar dance. ]
Do you torture all your patrons of the arts like this? [ he says as he follows justin through the door, pamphlet curled in hand. of course, he knows they had a deal and that makes him a special case, so he fully intends to fulfill his end of the bargain. ]
It means 'tell me who you spend time with, and I'll tell you who you are.' [ he offers as he peers appraisingly around the museum's foyer, and then finds justin's eyes again, judging his response. ] I'm sure that says something about you. Spending time with a vampire.
[ emphasis here on the word vampire, like maybe justin should consider just what that means. but raphael knows how justin feels; he's already proven that he's not particularly scared of what raphael is, despite the warning signs. and he knows, too, that when justin makes up his mind about something, he's not easily swayed. they have that in common. ]
Spending time with me. [ and he doesn't mean that in a self-deprecating way; that's clear from the smooth tone of voice. he more wants to recognize the rarity of that, of spending time with an acquired taste like raphael. and the rarity of raphael letting it happen. it all means something, surely, the mystery of which raphael leaves justin to contemplate as he passes him by, as if he intends to give himself that tour. ]
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things go just about the way raphael expects. they talk briefly at the door, jokes about vampires needing to be invited in tossed back and forth before questions about whether or not they need drinks are tossed back and forth in the living room. this is simple. they've found a familiar rhythm in their banter, the ease with which they play off of each other growing the more time they spend together. they spend a fair amount of time together now, raphael realizes abruptly while justin is laughing at something flippant he's said. if someone had told him long ago that the two of them would end up like this, he would never have believed it.
the mural, once they come around to that subject, is in justin's bedroom, its shapes and dark colors covering the entirety of one wall. it's unlike the art that hangs in the dumort, more contemporary than traditional, and there's something about that that raphael likes. it feels like justin's, not just a piece of art raphael could pin to some other artist's name. the cityscape is a suggetion, half hidden in paint strokes, but there is something inviting about the chaos of it. that isn't a feeling raphael has often.
the two of them stand at the foot of justin's bed peering up at the work, or perhaps justin's eyes have moved to fix on raphael, instead. the sense of being watched—or at least, that's what raphael assumes it is—prickles at the back of his neck as he toys with words to say, a muscle working in his jaw. at long last, he wets his lips, glances at justin sidelong for only a moment before his eyes find the mural again. ]
I like it. [ the words are frustratingly nondescript but they're honest. there's no teasing in this, no arched brow or dismissive smirk. his expression is set in one of contemplation, somber but sincere. he doesn't know how many people have seen this piece of art, but something about it suddenly feels personal, whether that's technically true or not. maybe he's just not used to this. this particular kind of sharing.
maybe it's that persistent question of more? rearing its ugly head again.
to combat it, he turns to justin again, this time refusing to retreat once he's met his gaze. ]
For some reason, I didn't think I would. [ his lip curls into a smile that should be mocking, but it doesn't quite achieve the necessary sharpness. it's too fond for that. ]
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It's almost kind of funny to think that once upon a time, Justin gave up on art entirely. He'd had his reasons, and plenty of obstacles that seemed easier to avoid than to overcome, but pushing through it all just made him a better person, and a better artist than he was even before Chris Hobbs' attack.
Now, art is a significant part of who he is, and sharing his work is like sharing a part of himself. The mural in his bedroom hasn't been seen by many. It's the first piece he started working on when he'd first arrived in Eudio. It's the piece that took him the longest to complete, and, perhaps, the piece he poured the most of himself into. It's messy and chaotic, blurred in some places and sharp in others, and when you stand back and really look at it, it all comes together into one beautiful piece that's very uniquely Justin.
Raphael may have his eyes trained on the painting, but Justin's eyes are on Raphael, like he's waiting for some kind of reaction. Approval, disapproval, something. Justin might not be ashamed of his work, but that doesn't mean he isn't his own worst critic. It doesn't mean he doesn't seek some kind of reassurance every now and then that he's not completely wasting his time and that good old Chris Hobbs doesn't still have some kind of hold on his life even now, years later.
But the reassurance isn't the only reason Justin's looking at Raphael, it's just the most obvious one. He's looked at the mural countless times, spent his time studying it, finding the flaws and all the little things he doesn't like about it. He's stared at it long enough that if he looks at it any longer, the image might just burn itself into his eyes.
He's looked at Raphael plenty of times, too, unavoidable when you consider the amount of times they've seen each other since the first time they met at Pandemonium what feels like ages ago. Looking at him now, really looking at him, Justin thinks he's like art, too — preserved in his most beautiful state, a moment in time captured forever, only he won't fade with time.
Justin looks away when Raphael glances toward him, though he doesn't try to play it off as if he wasn't looking at him. There's no point, because Justin never tries to play it off when he's been caught looking - it's just not like him to be embarrassed or ashamed for taking the time to admire something he thinks is worth the admiration.
Somehow, Raphael's comment takes him a little bit by surprise, however nondescript. If there's anything Justin's learned about Raphael, it's that he's not incredibly expressive, and that he's somewhat difficult to please. He's a challenge, to put it simply, and winning him over is a victory in itself.
Justin turns his head to look at him again only to find that Raphael's already looking back. He doesn't look away this time, and instead just holds his gaze. Raphael is a little bit hard to read, but perhaps that's what keeps Justin's interest - wanting to know what he's thinking beyond 'I like it', if he's thinking anything else at all.
And then Raphael smiles, and that's all Justin really needs from him. His own smiles pulls at the corners of his mouth, spreading into something bright and reminiscent of his nickname. He laughs quietly under his breath. ]
... I didn't think you would either. [ It's not a slight towards Raphael, just a little bit of honesty. Justin's style of art is quite different, and it's not to everyone's taste, but art usually never is.
Justin breathes out quietly, a sense of relief flooding through his veins. ] But thank you. I'm glad that you do.
[ He looks back toward the mural again, but his gaze isn't focused on the art itself. Instead, his eyes shift back and forth as he thinks, his expression somewhat contemplative. He bites at his lower lip for a moment, and then suddenly looks at Raphael right before he steps up onto his bed. ]
I want to show you something else, [ He says, padding across his bed to the opposite corner. Justin bends to pick up a book from the bedside table, hardcover and bound in black leather, and then he brings it back, sitting down at the edge of the bed near Raphael's knees. He looks up, silently inviting Raphael to sit, too. ]
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he has to wonder how justin thinks about him, what he sees him as. feelings like these are a complicated tangle to unravel, but he thinks at least attempting to pull apart the knots will be necessary soon. after so long in eudio, raphael is beginning to realize that he needs patience. attraction is a slow burn for him, but he has to come to terms with the fact that whatever this unnamed thing between him and justin is, it's grown beyond a spark.
he swallows when justin smiles like that, then scoffs lightly at the comment. raphael may have a bit of a reputation for not liking things, but here he is being honest. he nods, his voice quiet when he speaks. ] You're welcome.
[ he looks expectantly at justin when he offers to show him something else, then watches as he climbs over the bed and retrieves the black book. it's raphael's best guest that it holds more of justin's art, and he feels both a tug of curiosity and a certain softness. he takes it to mean means he'd like to show raphael more pieces of himself, these ones small and more secret, and— god, he's thinking too much, imagining possibilities while simultaneously shying away from them. he has to be honest; he thinks life would be much easier without this tangle. it was much easier, but now, now that he's recognized the thing, he doesn't have hope of back tracking. not in a way that will really bring any kind of satisfaction.
justin settles, and for a moment, raphael doesn't move. just stands at the corner of the bed and wonders if it would be horribly impolite to stay there, to not invite himself to the edge of justin's mattress. in the end, he decides he has to sit and so he does, shoulder jostling justin's as he does. he knits his fingers and glances at justin, then down to the book in his hands. ]
What is it? [ he manages something that sounds vaguely casual and controlled. it reminds him that's how he should be, not allowing himself to be bothered by if's. he's more practical than that. ]
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Fortunately, he's not left wondering for too long, and Raphael sits just as Justin's about to ask if he needs to be invited to, so the question is abandoned and Justin closes his mouth instead, quietly relieved but also a little bit pleased. He turns his head slightly to look towards Raphael when their shoulders knock together, but he doesn't draw any actual attention to the contact.
He shrugs, perhaps on purpose so that their shoulders touch again. ]
... Life. [ Justin keeps the answer simple, pausing for a moment before he slides the book over one of Raphael's thigh, waiting for him to take it before he lets it go. It's not meant to be deep, and there's no deeper meaning hidden in the word or anything like that, it's just what it is.
Drawings and sketches of places in Eudio, random objects that caught his eye on his way to or from work, anything he found interesting enough to put time and effort into immortalizing. People he doesn't know mixed in with people he does, none of them seeming to repeat or appear more than once — save for one person.
The second drawing of Raphael is a stark contrast from the first, and probably something Justin's only seen once or twice in person. He thinks, maybe, that the reason Raphael had smiled at all was because he was laughing at something stupid Justin said or did without realizing it. But it was enough that Justin had wanted to capture it, somehow, and make it last a little longer. ]
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he presses onward, hesitating only a second when justin offers him the book, another gesture that takes this concept of sharing to yet another level. he glances subtly at justin again, just a slide of his eyes, before flipping through the pages of the book in front of him. his immediate instinct is to tease justin for drawing so many people in secret—he assumes most of these subjects were unaware—but instead, he says nothing, thoughts going quiet upon finding his own face sketched out among the rest.
he supposes it's not completely unexpected. they do see a lot of each other, and apparently justin takes inspiration from all around him. raphael's just about convinced himself to think nothing of it when he finds the second drawing.
it's strange to find himself smiling, and maybe that in turn should be strange. he's not aware of himself looking like that—pleased, open—often, can hardly remember the last time he would have seen himself looking like that in a reflective surface. justin has seen it, though, and he's chosen to lay it out like this, make it something permanent and tangible rather than fleeting.
raphael swallows again. ]
Am I really such an important part of your life? [ he asks, and it's a joke, because raphael is the one reoccurring image in the pages of justin's "life," but it's also... not a joke. it's a question he'd very much like to know the answer to. the words are directed at the book in his hands, but once he's said them he turns his head to look at justin again, expression unreadable. he's not sure what he wants his face to say. ]
this is a million years late please don't feel obligated to tag it back gkjdjfg
his reaction is hard to gauge, so justin just watches him in silence, waiting for any kind of indication or gesture to help him along in figuring out what raphael may or may not be thinking. truth be told, he's always liked the air of mystery that always seems to linger around the other man, even when he's not even trying to be mysterious, but right now it's almost maddening to not be able to read him clearly.
justin's eyes flicker downward for a moment, watching the muscles in raphael's throat flex as he swallows, and when he finally speaks, he looks up to find raphael looking at him, and for some reason, he can't look away.
probably because he doesn't want to. ]
Well...
[ he starts, and then inches one shoulder up in the smallest of shrugs. his hands shift in his lap a little, turning over and spreading out over both of his own thighs and sliding out towards his knees before inching back in. ]
Yeah. I think you're worth remembering. This way, [ he says, tilting his chin toward the drawing of raphael, ] even if I forget, or if - one of us leaves, I'll know what it looked like when you smiled like that.
[ at me, he thinks, but he doesn't say as much out loud. realistically, justin knows that it's not likely he'll forget about raphael, but it's not as if he hasn't forgotten important events before, even if the reasons for the gap in his memory were never his fault - but some things are worth saving, just in case.
glancing down at the book again, justin breathes in slowly through his nose, then breathes out, and without really thinking too much about it, he reaches out to flip it closed, carefully taking it back and twisting around slightly to set it aside on the bed somewhere out of the way. when he turns back, his eyes find raphael's—
and then they drop, so he can make sure when he reaches out to touch his fingers against the back of raphael's wrist, he doesn't miss. ]
shhhhh how could i possibly not
maybe they're both guilty of burying doubt somewhere dark and out of reach.
it isn't that raphael has not given the thought of leaving any real thought—on the contrary, he thinks about it often, weighing the pros and cons, knowing that he'll return to new york someday but when—but he hasn't thought about it quite in this way. he hadn't considered what leaving would mean for someone like justin, someone he's grown close to, and he realizes that he's been selfish.
selfish, too, in the way that he has held himself back, left justin to carve out this image of him because he doesn't always smile when he should, stepping back from the edge of caring too much and letting anyone see it. he hadn't realized it mattered. but it does, and suddenly he feels like he's done them both wrong. it's possible that justin is afraid of losing him, and it's not quite panic that flutters in raphael's throat when he realizes that he's afraid to lose justin, but it's— it's close.
raphael has had his fair share of loss.
he blinks, wetting his lips as justin takes the sketchbook and sets it aside.
his own eyes drop to justin's fingers on his wrist when they settle there. his hand twists, slow and controlled so that justin's touch isn't disturbed, but it ends up pressed to the inside of raphael's wrist, where his pulse used to be. ]
What can I have then? [ his voice is soft and he grapples with something that sounds casual, steady. ] To remember you by.
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of course, plans that seem too simple always turn out to be far more complicated than anyone wants, and if you asked justin how he came to be here, sitting at the end of his bed next to raphael with his fingers pressed against the inside of his wrist and his heart beating fast enough and hard enough to make up for the lack of a pulse underneath his fingertips - he'd tell you that he didn't know.
he couldn't tell you what it is about raphael that he finds so interesting and captivating and charming, only that he is all of those things, and more. and even if he could tell you, he probably wouldn't, because he'd prefer to keep the mystery between himself and raphael.
justin looks at where his fingers are resting, light and warm against pale and cold, and it should probably bother him that raphael is so cool to the touch, but it doesn't. it hadn't bothered him the first time he'd touched his fingers to his jaw under pandemonium's flashing lights what feels like forever ago, and there's nothing about it that makes him uncomfortable now, either.
the sound of raphael's voice draws his attention upward, only high enough to watch his mouth as he speaks - because that's what you do when someone's speaking to you, isn't it? you watch their mouth?
you watch their eyes. you definitely watch their eyes, but perhaps what makes him the semi-decent artist he is is his ability to look at things a little bit differently.
justin's lips part just a fraction as he draws in a quiet breath. his eyes fall again, back to his fingers, back to his thumb as he smooths the pad of it over where raphael's pulse should be but isn't. the rest of his fingers press into and ghost across the center of his palm, but justin's always been a little handsy when it comes to raphael.
he wets his lips and then looks up, finding it surprisingly easy and difficult to look raphael in the eyes, and even easier to spread his fingers out until they settle in the spaces between raphael's before he leans in and gently presses their mouths together. ]
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raphael's experiences with feelings like this are few and far between, almost always caught in a gray area between something he wanted and something he thought he wanted. he'd kissed a girl he'd met at church when he was fifteen, young and still unaware of where he would be in a few years time, and afterwards wished he hadn't. he'd felt camille's fingers slide against the back of his neck and thought not that he could love her, but that maybe he should. he's found people here in the city that he craves the company of, but why is a long, drawn-out question that he's afraid too many will not want to wait for. how many will dislike the answer if it lands in the realm of friendship?
this, here and now, has taken time, but there's no question that justin's fingers sliding along his palm is something he wants, something that he would rather not call friendship. if he feels any hesitation, it's simply because he hadn't really expected this, hadn't prepared himself for the possibility.
raphael is never not prepared, never not on guard, and yet here he is, a fracture in his armor beginning in the palm of his hand and running up his arm and parting his lips under justin's mouth. it's almost too easy. his chin tilts so justin can more easily find his mark, a tentative movement that doesn't demand but seeks out, not merely allowing the kiss but inviting it. mindful of teeth, he kisses back, his fingers curling to hold justin's hand properly.
everywhere they touch is a fierce clash of cold and hot, and raphael hopes, helplessly, that it doesn't matter. it shouldn't matter. ]
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every one of justin's worries fade the moment he feels raphael's lips part under his own, the subtle tilt of his chin encouraging as their mouths fit together as if they were always meant to. justin breathes in through his nose and he has to take a moment to appreciate the strange beauty that is raphael. how can someone who's practically dead make him feel so alive? how can someone who never had the chance to truly live make him feel like he could live forever? how is it that the sun can kiss the moon and the world can keep on spinning?
justin's fingers curl tight in the spaces between raphael's, his thumb smoothing a warm line over cool skin — and it doesn't matter, not to justin, that they're practically polar opposites. if anything, the contrast of warm and cold just helps to keep him grounded, keeps him from spinning out of orbit. if anything, he likes it probably more than he should.
twisting slightly, justin presses in a little, catching raphael's lower lip between his own. he's not so mindful of his own teeth, letting them scrape gently over his lip as he lifts his other hand to cup the side of raphael's neck, palm warm against the column of his throat and his thumb tracing the curve of his jaw where it swoops up toward his ear. ]
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the moment he'd stared into a pool of sunlight and decided it was the best and only solution to what stretched out in front of him is a memory he wishes he could filter out, but other, better images remain too. a birthday party in the kitchen of his oldest home. the soft heartbreak of a reunion held on a certain doorstep. the look of private respect magnus bane had offered him across the foyer of the hotel.
raphael can't know for sure in the moment, when so much of his focus is pinned under justin's lips and hands and the reality of this, but he thinks that this will be another memory that time won't be able to touch.
the heat of justin is almost startling, and a voice in raphael's mind wants to focus on how different they are, how strange this marrying of alive and not so alive could be. another voice, the one he allows to grow louder, tells him this warmth is here because justin is offering it and offering it gladly. all in all, physical touch is not something he craves often, but there is nothing wrong with it now, now that justin has become an indisputable part of raphael's life, unexpected as it was. it feels safe in a way that is wholly unfamiliar, too much and yet just enough at once.
the drag of justin's teeth over his lip is a distinct indication that he knows, more than raphael, what he's doing, and so raphael allows himself to be lead, pressing into the fluid shifts between kissing and being kissed. he nearly shivers when the hand appears at his neck, the skin sensitive, untouched for so long. if anything, it's accustomed to teeth more than fingertips. his own hand catches at justin's wrist, not to pull it away, but to feel it there. justin's heartbeat pounds loud enough that it seems to reverberate in raphael's chest.
he breathes in, draws back a fraction. ]
Justin.
[ his voice is a whisper but it doesn't waver. he's seeking reassurance, confidence from justin that he hasn't made a mistake. ]
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this, right now, is not one of those moments. this, right here, is not something justin thinks he'll ever want to forget. the casual back and forth, almost-playful bantering, the intimacy of sharing his art, sketches and drawings no one else has seen before - and the way his fingers fit so nicely into the spaces between raphael's, the way their mouths fit together just as nicely.
justin may have more experience when it comes to this sort of thing, but all that means is that he knows how to sense and set a pace that, hopefully, isn't too fast or too much. raphael kisses just fine (and fine is somewhat of an understatement if he's honest, even if everything so far is soft and slow), and justin falls into it easily, pressing in to chase after a little more, just a tiny bit more, and letting raphael lean in to take what he wants, when he wants.
cool fingers sliding around his wrist tug him toward the surface, but it's the sound of his name that breaks the tension and justin suddenly feels... unsure. uncertain and unclear and like maybe he's fucked this up really badly - whatever this is, whatever it was.
his fingers curl slightly against the side of raphael's neck, blunt nails ghosting against cool skin, his eyes still closed. his lips part like he means to say something, but he just swallows thickly instead, finally opening his eyes. he doesn't lift his gaze right away, breathing out slowly as his thumb unconsciously smooths a slow line against the side of raphael's hand, fingers still linked together.
justin lifts his hand away from the side of raphael's neck just an inch, just enough so that they're not touching anymore, because he assumes that's what the hand around his wrist is about - putting a stop to something he made too many assumptions about. ]
Shit, [ he breathes, a small rush of air, an apologetic sigh of a word. he swallows again, wets his lips. ] I'm sorry.
[ but he's not. not really. he's not sorry for liking raphael, he's not sorry for finding him interesting or charming or intriguing, and he's not sorry for somehow coming to trust him with things like his art. he's not sorry for kissing raphael, either, but he's sorry for misunderstanding. he's sorry for doing something that's probably going to screw up whatever friendship they'd built despite the odds. ]
I should have, um - I should have... asked, instead of just.
[ he ends the sentence in the middle before he winds up rambling and making things awkward and uncomfortable, more than they probably already are. ]
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justin's hand lifts from his neck and raphael realizes immediately that he should have let the kiss go on, that interrupting it now has shaken them both. that's the last thing he wanted. this he knows despite the fact that the last twenty seconds have taken his old wants and turned them into unrecognizable things. raphael's grip on justin's wrist tightens just so, not enough to hurt, not enough to make justin regret this any more, but enough to discourage him from completely pulling away. his thumb mirrors justin before he can really think about it, rubbing up and down along the soft skin at the inside of justin's wrist. ]
No. [ he starts before justin can go any further, a soft shred of characteristic exasperation escaping with the word. it's not directed towards justin, though. it's at his own doubt, his need not to let this get away from him. ] I wanted you to.
[ it's possible he hadn't even realized it before, not in the moment leading up to justin's mouth seeking his. but he'd been waiting for something; waiting for orbits to cross, waiting for shadows to shift, waiting for this solar eclipse of a kiss.
and as such, he should have confronted it long ago. it's not like raphael santiago to shy away from truth, but maybe he can be forgiven here. it's not often that he falls so wholly into things like this, things that could very well be called love. it'll remain nameless for now. he can only be expected to hold so much within the cavern of his chest.
raphael sighs, breath stuttering a little, and then focuses on justin's face. ]
I don't want sex. [ his teeth clack together. it's abrupt and he knows it, a further jump than perhaps justin was expecting, but if he's going to be honest, he won't do it halfway. he's distracted for a moment by how bright justin's eyes look now, wondering if he'd done that, wondering if his look the same. he swallows thickly, gaze dropping as he recollects himself. ]
But this— [ the fingers he has wrapped around justin's wrist slide up to his hand and then press his warm palm back to the column of raphael's throat. in an instant, justin's pulse rumbles louder in raphael's ears, a rhythmic proclamation of life, life, life. he pauses here, hoping that justin's fingertips will settle again against cold skin. ]
I should have known before. I need this. [ with all the surety in the world, gaze steady, lips pressed firmly together. it sounds so simple, but maybe here and now, it can be. nevermind what comes later. he has learned after long years of wanting to be a leader to exude confidence. he knows it makes people listen to him even when faced with crisis, death, war. he has to hope justin listens to him now, when they're faced only with each other. this certainty he feels all the way down to old bones and venomous blood. a small shake of his head. ] I need to not forget.
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the couple weeks following angela's departure had been fast-paced and hectic, with long hours spent learning the ropes and responsibilities of his new title, often to the point that justin would not only be the first one in, but also the last one out of the museum, well after they'd closed the doors for the day. eventually, though, he found a rhythm and fell into everything with ease, spending most of his mornings observing and collecting data from a small family of velociraptors at the zoo for a certain trickster god, and his afternoons at the museum.
today is no different. though his days are far less busy now that he's got the hang of his routine, he often finds himself staying past closing time to look into new pieces for the gallery, or simply wandering from hall to hall, taking his time to admire the art when it's quiet and he has no other obligations.
night has only just fallen by the time justin files away his last bit of paperwork ( details on a piece from a different earth, painted by a sleepless witch who specializes in wax paints ). the building is silent, though not uncomfortably so, and for a moment, justin just sits and listens to the nothingness, breathing slowly. he's tired, but he doesn't want to go home just yet. it's early still for those who seize the night.
leaving his office, justin flicks off the light and pulls the door closed quietly behind him, contemplating what to do with the rest of his night as he makes his away down the hall out towards the main floor.
a pair of dark eyes flash in his mind in a way that should probably be a little bit startling, but it only seems to light him up, if only by a little as an idea strikes him. he slides his phone out of his slacks ( really, the only thing left to get used to is dressing business casual all the time, though button down shirts cuffed at the elbows aren't so bad ) and thumbs through his contacts, stopping near the bottom.
Raphael Santiago. ]
hi! are you awake yet, or is it still early?
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his internal clock is still wired to ring in time for proper cleanliness and sharp dress in his suite before he would make his way down to his office, awake early enough to tend to paperwork and organization in time for errant vampires or pestering shadowhunters to come streaming through the hotel dumort's doors. his life has consisted of something similar for the last few decades, and so it shouldn't be a surprise to him or anyone that knows him that his priorities aren't going to realign over night.
lately, his morning routine requires very little of him, a fact that magnus would like to call relaxing but raphael's opinion leans more into frustrating. if nothing else, he can devote even more of his time to cleaning himself up, hair kept immaculate and suits pressed, chasing the confidence he had exuded back home but seems to fall somewhat short of it's mark here in eudio. at least, in his own eyes. he's simply out of his element.
one thing that is not so terribly off-putting about this new structure is justin. it's odd in a way, sure, but there is something about justin messaging him late in the evening, when he's really just woken up, that forms a bridge between the living and the dead that he hadn't concerned himself with much before. night and day seem less like dueling concepts, like maybe he can exist in both of them at the same time.
it's new and familiar at once. he's adjusting.
the point is, justin is making it seem far easier than raphael had previously thought possible. and so when he receives justin's message, he feels... not quite happy—let's not go crazy—but hopeful is probably not a bad descriptor.
he sits in his kitchen, a mug of freshly warmed synthetic blood next to his elbow on the table and his phone in hand. ]
a quien madruga, dios le ayuda. or he who rises early, god helps. [ it's something he can remember his mother saying back he was still living—living—under her roof and it's a message he's clearly taken to heart. ]
did you need something?
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everything seems brighter, more vibrant as he wanders, drifting from painting to painting and taking in the finer details he's never really noticed before for whatever reason. perhaps it's the lack of distraction, he thinks, the near silence and the ability to just stop and look and not worry about lingering too long or being in the way of someone else trying to appreciate the artistry.
justin's phone vibrates in his hand and he finds himself smiling faintly to himself without even having to check who it is. there aren't many people in eudio who he semi-consistently talks to at this hour (as if it's some ungodly hour and not late-evening/early night), and if he's honest, he's come to consider the few hours just after dusk as theirs - a pocket of time where two opposite worlds overlap and 'hello, good morning' isn't such a strange thing to say while the sun is setting. ]
A quien madruga. [ a kwee-en mah-droo-guh. he tries the words out on his tongue, confident that he more than likely butchered the pronunciation. he laughs at himself under his breath, still smiling slightly as he taps out a response, slowly wandering towards the front of the building. ]
Is there a saying for those who rise late? [ probably not, and if there is, it's probably not as inspirational. either way, justin's only being playful. ] The museum's open late tonight. Invitation only.
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the second mouse gets the cheese?
[ that's the best he's got, justin. and maybe it's for the better. he does't want to be the one encouraging lazy habits; it just wouldn't be characteristic, for one thing. for another, neither of them are mice, and they aren't likely to run into any kind of life-threatening danger no matter what time they decide to get out of bed.
in the end, the point here is not early or late risers—not really—but rather the museum. raphael hasn't had the chance to visit justin's museum, though to be fair, he's had very view chances to visit any of the museums in eudio. only a special occasion had allowed him access to the observatory. everything else either closes not long after raphael could arrive or before the sun has even begun its descent.
it's not as though that's unusual for raphael, but he's never really had the time previously to be inconvenienced by evening closing times. while there are countless interesting places to visit back in new york, he was almost always preoccupied with more pressing matters than leisurely strolls through exhibits or parks. so forgive him if the idea of being given special access to the art museum after hours pleases him a little. ]
and i'm assuming that was a very unsubtle invitation?
[ he doesn't really see why justin would mention it if he didn't want raphael to come... ]
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so you get a saying about god wanting to help people like you and i get dead mice and room temperature cheese. that seems a little extreme for wanting a little extra sleep.
[ also: morbid. but somehow, coming from raphael, it seems less so, which is kind of weird, but justin doesn't think about the possible reasons for why that is. instead, he absently sidesteps around a decently-sized sculpture in the middle of the gallery, his attention focused elsewhere - particularly, on his phone, and how to respond to the second part of raphael's mostly-expected reply. ]
was that not subtle? i did consider sending you a singing telegram but i'm not sure if that's even a thing people still do. also, nobody needs that when they've just woken up.
you should come. free admission if you teach me how to say that phrase in spanish.
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you could always do the practical thing and go to sleep earlier.
[ except that would mean the time they have to spend together would probably be cut in half, and while raphael won't say it outright, he's not exactly pleased by that thought. perhaps justin can be excused for needing a few extra hours in the morning if it means he's sacrificing hours in the evening for raphael's sake. ]
i'm glad you decided against that. [ it's possible he smiles to himself, but he's also shaking his head, so maybe the two cancel each other out. he sets aside his mug and strides out to the main room of his apartment, sweeping up the jacket he'd laid out today from where it's draped over the couch and shrugging it on.
yes, he's going. ]
i'll make you a deal. free admission and a proper tour for a better phrase in spanish.
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[ it's just a bit of teasing and not meant to imply that raphael doesn't have other friends. justin's almost certain that he does, now that he's gotten to know him a bit better. there's no way that other people don't also find him as intriguing and as weirdly charming as he does.
so what if he's been staying up a little later lately? it's not exactly as if he's in bad company.
justin smiles a little to himself as the last message comes in, and taps out a quick and confident reply. ]
that's all? i hope you're ready for the best tour you can find in eudio. and also, for me to butcher some spanish. i'll apologize for that one ahead of time. meet you out front?
[ and with that sent, justin slides his phone into his pocket and starts to make his way toward the main entrance, stopping by the information and ticket desk to swipe a museum guide that raphael probably won't need with justin there, but he wants to make sure he gets the full experience anyway.
flipping the lock on one of the main front doors so he can let himself out, justin steps outside to wait. ]
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maybe you'll surprise us both and impress me.
[ raphael tucks his phone into his jacket, committed to this now, as if he wasn't before. of course, the museum is not too far from his apartment building, as most things are never really too far when vampire speed is at your disposal. once in the street, he takes off in the right direction, sweeping by pairs of people holding hands as they wander home and others who couldn't wait long enough to find some privacy and now kiss under streetlights. raphael doesn't pay anyone much more than a passing glance, but given the circumstances, he can't help the way his mind pinpoints the kind of meetings people tend to have at this hour, especially here in the city.
he slows just before the museum steps, glancing up at justin where he waits outside the doors. ]
Dime con quién andas, y te diré quién eres. [ he says as he climbs the stairs because apparently a simple hello lacks any real satisfaction. he repeats the phrase again, slower this time so justin can pay attention to the sound and shape of the words. he comes to a stop in front of justin, hands in his pockets. he's dressed for a business meeting or a high-class funeral or perhaps even a date, depending on what you want to see. which is probably true of the look raphael flashes, too, clearly expectant of something. ]
Is that enough to get me in?
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justin hasn't really forgotten about raphael's supernatural speed - it's one of the first new things he'd learned about vampires, back when they'd first met in person at pandemonium, something he filed away so he wouldn't forget -, but that doesn't mean he's not somewhat surprised to see him so soon. he hears his voice first, low and smooth and familiar, and lifts his head up from the pamphlet in his hand, reading it as if he doesn't have the entire thing memorized by now.
justin smiles at the sight of him, pleased by his attendance and a promise fulfilled. his lips part, and he's about to ask raphael to repeat the phrase slower for him, but raphael seems to read his mind before he can get the words out. he listens carefully, his eyes focused on raphael's mouth, on the shape of his lips as he pronounces each word for him, and repeats the words back to him under his breath for now. he'll have to run it through his head a few more times before he'll actually say it out loud. ]
I think it's plenty enough to get you in. [ he lifts his brows subtly, the corners of his mouth tugging a little with a soft smile as he reaches out to press the museum guide to the center of raphael's chest, fingertips grazing his dress shirt. it's soft against his skin and justin takes half a moment to look him over, not surprised in the slightest that he's dressed to impress. justin isn't quite so done-up, but he's not in jeans and a t-shirt, either. instead, he's dressed in black slacks and a dark navy button down, the sleeves cuffed at his elbows. work attire, seeing as he hasn't really left yet.
justin waits for raphael to take responsibility for the paper guide before he lifts his hand away, then moves to pull the only unlocked door open for him, stepping aside. ] But the quality of the tour depends on the quality of the phrase, and you haven't told me what it means.
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justin presses the guide to his chest and raphael offers a look as he accepts it, like perhaps he means to say he knows they're on justin's turf now, but raphael's not about to let his guard down. what he's guarding against isn't exactly clear; this is just something they do, this give and take that sometimes results in raphael refusing to give or take anything. tonight, though, he might not be so concerned with avoiding the peculiar dance. ]
Do you torture all your patrons of the arts like this? [ he says as he follows justin through the door, pamphlet curled in hand. of course, he knows they had a deal and that makes him a special case, so he fully intends to fulfill his end of the bargain. ]
It means 'tell me who you spend time with, and I'll tell you who you are.' [ he offers as he peers appraisingly around the museum's foyer, and then finds justin's eyes again, judging his response. ] I'm sure that says something about you. Spending time with a vampire.
[ emphasis here on the word vampire, like maybe justin should consider just what that means. but raphael knows how justin feels; he's already proven that he's not particularly scared of what raphael is, despite the warning signs. and he knows, too, that when justin makes up his mind about something, he's not easily swayed. they have that in common. ]
Spending time with me. [ and he doesn't mean that in a self-deprecating way; that's clear from the smooth tone of voice. he more wants to recognize the rarity of that, of spending time with an acquired taste like raphael. and the rarity of raphael letting it happen. it all means something, surely, the mystery of which raphael leaves justin to contemplate as he passes him by, as if he intends to give himself that tour. ]