[ 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.
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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.