semi active

“Did you know I started this piece a year ago?” His words echo slightly in the now empty room. The lights pointing straight at the painting cast beautiful shadows across his face. You only hum in response, reading the title card next to the painting. 

The Sea’s Love.

“Good thing it sold for the highest then,” you joke lightly, still focusing on the painting ahead of you. Rafayel turns his head slightly, gaze focusing on you. 

“When I first started painting it, I was fueled by anger and frustrations,” he states, voice neutral as he continues to watch you. “I was so angry, I felt like I would never be able to feel truly happy, like I’d never trust enough to be able to love again.” Rafayel pauses for a second, eyes shifting back to the painting you were so engrossed in. “I abandoned it after three days of working on it.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, focus finally tearing from the art to the artist beside you. 

“You said you finished this in six days though,” there’s genuine confusion on your face as you continue, “and you said you were inspired by feelings of hope and love, not anger.” 

Rafayel hummed, a soft smile playing on his lips as he leaned closer to you. “I did. Somewhere along the way I realized I could love again, but it doesn't mean those negative feelings just vanished overnight.” 

“So your anger and fears, they still live alongside the way you love and devote yourself to whoever your beloved may be.” It was less of a question and more of an observation. You cocked your head at an angle, eyes tracing every brushstroke. 

“Exactly Miss Bodyguard. Love is like the sea, filled with beauty and serenity, but also storms and chaos. That's what love truly is, messy and heartbreakingly wonderful."

It was nice to talk to Rafayel when he was in his element and not making your job next to impossible. You smiled at the explanation, nodding your head and turning to look at him, his eyes met yours. 

“That’s nice, I like that.” 

“I picked it up again a month ago. I found new inspiration, one that invoked the more ‘positive’ influence of the painting.” He’s quiet for a moment, eyes lingering on you enough to make your face flush, “right after I met you, actually.” His eyes never left yours, and the last couple words make heat rise quickly to your cheeks. The room felt too hot all of a sudden, and you were quick to break eye contact first. 

“I think they’re about to shut the lights off, let’s get you home before Thomas tries to pitch you a commission for a sponsor,” you smile, turning on your heel and taking a deep breath. So he picked up his painting about love and the complexity of it after he met you? So what? It doesn’t mean anything, just a coincidence, a one off chance that will probably never occur again. 

Rafayel smiles behind you, watching as you wipe your hands nervously on your pants. You were flustered, cute. He takes one last glance at the painting, focusing on the middle right, where he’d hidden your initials among brushstrokes.

It was hard for you to say no to people. Even harder when ‘people’ was Rafayel staring at you with wide pleading eyes, and you were saying ‘no’ to an all-expenses-paid trip to Italy to visit his aunt for the weekend. 

“Miss Bodyguard, what if EVER gets me on the flight there? Or my stalkers figure out where I’m staying and kidnap me? I’ll be defenseless and all alone and you’d be none the wiser!” Rafayel gives you his best pout, and damn it was good. 

“Rafayel, I promised my friends I’d go to dinner with them already,” you sighed, guilt creeping in your chest as your mind ran wild with possibilities. What if something bad did happen to him? What if he really did need you there?

“Fine, when you see on Linkon City News that world-famous artist Rafayel Qi was found dead on the Italian coast, you better not cry.” He huffs softly before getting up from his spot on the couch, heading to his back porch as the sun begins to set. 

You frowned at his words, quickly following him outside. “If you’re worried about security you could always hire someone else! I’m sure anyone would-”

“I don’t want anyone, I want you.” For a moment a flicker of something flashes in his eyes, it leaves before you can place it. Your stomach flips at his words, and you have to remind yourself he doesn’t mean those words in the way you secretly hoped he did. This was a professional relationship. As professional as a pouting diva artist and overworked hunter-turned-security detail can be, at least. 

Rafayel leans on the railing that heads to the beach, chin propped in the palm of his hand as he scowls. He knew you’d feel guilty if he sulked for long enough, and sulk he did. “I’m sure my dumb seagulls will miss me when I’m dead in three days time, we never finished our final choir act y’know.” 

You rolled your eyes, pulling your phone out and sending a profuse apology to your group chat. You can’t make brunch Saturday, the job you took as a side quest is requiring you to travel for an event this weekend. 

“Watcha writing? You should look up caskets near us, help me choose one since I’ll be dead in-” you cut him off by flicking his forehead. “Ow! What was that for? You’re supposed to protect me!” 

“You are so dramatic you know that?” Rafayel can’t help but smile, knowing he had you right where he wanted you. “Stop smiling, you ruined my weekend plans,” you furrowed your brows at him, looking out into the ocean as the sun slowly sunk deeper into its depths. The oranges and pinks never failed to take your breath away. 

“I promise I’ll be on my best behavior Miss Bodyguard.” 

You were going to kill Rafayel. You had to find him first, but then you were going to kill him. This was poor foresight in your end, you had to admit. You really should’ve put two and two together when Rafayel took you dress shopping and picked out only items that matched his suit. 

“I thought you were just visiting?” You’d asked, zipping up the dress and looking in the mirror.

“Well yes, but she has this charity event she’s putting on, told me to come and support the cause,” he mumbled, eyes glued to his phone as he scrolled mindlessly on social media, he smiled when he saw your moments posts.

“What’s she donating to?” You asked as you smoothed the dress out, fixing your hair a bit and twirling to see how it fit. 

“Combating human trafficking,” he replied, it wasn’t a total lie. 

“Oh that’s nice.”

The sound of the curtain opening made him snap his head up. He thought his nose might start bleeding soon.

“What do you think? I feel like maybe it’s too much? I’m just security so I shouldn’t be flashy in the first place,” you slowly shrunk into yourself, Rafayel was quick on his feet. 

“It’s perfect,” he breathed out, his fingers ghosting over your shoulders, itching to finally touch your skin. It took every fiber of his being to pull away, he swallowed hard before shaking his head. “You’re my security, you have to look the part, don’t want you embarrassing me with a boring outfit do you?”

You shook your head, smiling slightly as you caught your reflection in the mirror. “It is really pretty, isn’t it?” Your eyes were focused on the detail of the gown, Rafayel was focused on the details of your face. 

“Very beautiful,” he agreed softly. 

“Miss Y/N?” The voice pulled you out of your haze, a nervous smile on your lips as you focused back on the woman in front of you. 

“My apologies, what did you say?” Your eyes shift nervously around the room, hoping to find the familiar purple haired man you’d arrived with. 

“How long have you and Rafayel been together?” The question would’ve been harmless, had you actually been in a relationship with the artist. You were grateful for the amount of training the association made you do on remaining stoic under pressure. 

So with a gentle smile you replied, “only about a month,” the lady cooed at you, going on about young love. The second your eyes met with Rafayel’s across the room, you quickly excused yourself. Rafayel smiled at you, then he realized your eyes were narrowed at him, his smile seemed to grow when you roughly grabbed his arm. 

“Where the hell did you go?!” You hiss at him, making sure your voice wasn’t too loud. 

“Miss me already cutie? I was just giving the staff my piece for the auction, doing my part or whatever,” he smiled at you, trying to hide how much he loved how angry you looked. 

“Okay first of all do not call me that,” Rafayel pouts at your words. “Second of all I’m here as your security, to secure you, make sure you’re secure. How do you suppose I do that when you run off behind my back?” You smack him lightly with your purse, hitting him harder when he lets out a string of ‘ow's that cause guests to turn and look at the two of you. Both of you give them convincing enough smiles to turn away. 

“Third of all, why did some random lady ask me how long we’ve been together?” 

Rafayel’s cheeks turn a hue of pink as you ask your third question, a nervous chuckle leaving his lips as he looks at you with the softest eyes you’d ever seen. No, stay strong. 

“Okay! Okay! I’m sorry for running off. I just had to give them the canvas I donated or else Aunt Talia would have me gutted. I promise I won’t do it again cu- Miss Bodyguard,” he begrudgingly corrects himself, you thank him under your breath. “As for the last question, hypothetically, how angry would you be if I told my Aunt that you were my girlfriend and everyone accidentally found out? Hypothetically.” 

It wasn’t an accident, he’d asked Talia to put you down as his plus one, and next to your name on the guest list were the words ‘Rafayel’s muse.’

“Hypothetically you don’t pay me enough to fake date you,” you bite back, hoping he can’t see the flush on your cheeks or hear how fast your heart is beating. “Hypothetically,” you sigh out, pinching the bridge of your nose and closing your eyes for a moment before looking at Rafayel, “if you have a good enough reason for it then I won’t quit.”

“Well, if everyone knew you were my bodyguard they’d know to target you, and then without you I’d be a defenseless fish out of water.” You hate how quickly he replies, and you hate how much of a point he has. You can only grumble, muttering something about a raise before taking a flute of champagne, chugging it down, and slipping your arm into Rafayel’s. 

He pulls you closer to his side. You steal a glance at someone’s program, seeing that underneath the piece Rafayel had donated was your name, and next to it were the words ‘to my one and only muse.’ It must all be part of the ruse, the way he complimented you and stole glances at you throughout the night was just to sell the act. 

And when he takes the heels off your feet and carries you from the cab to your hotel room, you take it as him just being nice. The way his eyes linger on you for a second too long when you say goodnight at the door probably means nothing. 

You stare up at the hotel ceiling, repeating it to yourself until you can convince yourself of it. 

It means nothing. There’s nothing there. 

You wish the butterflies in your stomach and the thumping against your rib cage got the memo. 

Rafayel takes you into the city the next day, buying souvenirs for the two of you. His hand brushes against yours more times than you can count, you hope he doesn’t notice the way your breath catches in your throat. (he does).

When the two of you arrive in Linkon again you turn to say goodbye to Rafayel, finding him already looking at you. 

“I really enjoyed being with you this weekend,” his words catch you off guard, mouth slightly agape as you scramble to find the meaning behind his words. There’s no way he means fake dating you, that would never happen. You smile at him and nod in agreement. 

“So did I, I’ll see you around,” you reply, not thinking too much of it, you can’t let yourself. Before you can turn to hail a cab, his hand envelopes your wrist, his mouth opens slightly, like he’s going to say something. 

“What is it?” You ask, scanning his face for a moment and ensuring nothing was wrong. He’s quiet for a moment, still holding you in place. 

How does he stop you from leaving? How does he keep you with him for as long as possible? 

“Let me give you a ride home, airport cabs are way too expensive,” he finally says, his voice as relaxed as it always was. You want to punch yourself for thinking he would say anything else. 

“It’s okay Rafayel, if you’re that worried about my finances just give me a raise,” you tease, waving goodbye and easily slipping out of his grasp. You feel your chest tighten as you close the door behind you, letting out a small sigh. Fake dating for a weekend didn’t mean anything, him falling asleep on your shoulder during the plane ride was nothing. 

There’s nothing there, you remind yourself. You bite the inside of your cheek as you stare at the clouds, as much as you wished there was, there wasn’t. 

You needed to go out on a date. It was starting to get ridiculous. So you did what any sensible person does: bought bottles of wine and invited your friends over to curate your dating profile. Hours later through flushed cheeks and barely contained giggles, it was done. Now all that was left for you to do was swipe on whoever you liked and hope you’d match. 

It didn’t take long for you to realize that half the people on there only really wanted one night stands and nothing serious. With most of them starting off with terrible pick up lines and the rest jumping straight to “dtf?” You were seriously giving up hope, until finally you came across someone who actually struck up a conversation. 

Two weeks later you found yourself fidgeting with your outfit, changing for the third time and fixing your hair one more time. You jumped as your phone buzzed on your bathroom counter top. 

[incoming video call from Rafayel]

You answered on the second ring, phone still on the counter with only the top half of your head showing as you fixed your mascara. 

“Hey Miss Bodyguard wanna come over? I need your opinion on this art piece I’m working on,” he pans the camera over to a colorful canvas before re-centering his face, you can see his brows furrowing as he watches your actions. “What are you doing?” 

“Sorry Rafayel, I can’t today I have plans already,” you blink a couple times before finally feeling satisfied, fluffing your hair and grabbing your phone. “I don't think I'm qualified to give opinions on art, but I can swing by tomorrow after work?” You watch as Rafayel’s eyes widen, his mouth opens slightly as he stares at you. “Hello?” 

“Do I have an event I didn’t know about?” Rafayel questions, swallowing hard as he blinks rapidly, drinking in your appearance through his phone screen. God, you looked gorgeous. 

“No, no, just going on a date is all,” you mumble, embarrassed beyond belief as your cheeks heat up.

“A date?” Rafayel feels his world stop, blood going cold. 

“Yeah figured I should put myself out there y’know? It’s been a while and I’ve been- anyway whatever, good luck with your painting!” You smile brightly before hanging up. Rafayel thinks his phone might crack from how tightly he was holding it. You absolutely could not go on that date. 

You needed this date, you had to get over your feelings for Rafayel. Taking a deep breath you finally exited your apartment, locking your door and heading for the cafe you’d agree to meet at. 

When you arrived at the cafe you sent your date a quick message, telling him you’d be seated in a booth near the back corner. You tapped your fingers against the table, looking around the room as you checked your phone. It’s fine, people run late all the time. 

Ten more minutes passed, and you figured it wouldn’t hurt to order your drink while you waited. You stood nervously in line and glanced at the door with every ring of the bell, heart sinking when it wasn’t your date. The thumping of your heart slowly subdued, and you felt silly for getting your hopes up so much. 

With slumped shoulders you slid back into the booth, checking your phone one more time as you sipped on your drink. Nothing. The door opened again, the small bell on top of the door rang as your head shot up. 

It wasn’t your date. You sipped your drink slowly, opening your phone and staring at the last text your date had sent you. 

‘See you soon! :)’

It’d been thirty minutes already, you’d texted him with no response. Just your luck you get ghosted on your first date back on the dating scene. With a heavy heart and a bruised ego you threw your now empty cup in the trash can, stepping into the warm summer air and taking a deep breath. Maybe it was a sign.

You didn't move when you got in your car, staring blankly at your steering wheel for a moment. The sound of your phone vibrating made your heart rate pick up, quickly checking the screen. 

[incoming call from Rafayel]

You take a deep breath, muttering a small prayer under your breath before answering. 

“Hello?” 

“You know it’s terrible etiquette to answer your phone while on a date right?,” you can hear his teasing tone, it makes your stomach churn. 

“It uh- ended early,” you lie, “what’s up?” 

Rafayel grins at your words, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder as he places an ice pack over his knuckles, walking back to the couch. 

“I ordered way too much takeout, what are the odds you wanna swing by and grab some? We can put on that movie you told me about last week,” Rafayel adjusts the bouquet of flowers he got you during his side quest earlier. 

You’re quiet for a moment, this was definitely not going to help squash your bubbling feelings for the artist. But you were starving, and you didn’t want to wallow in self-pity just yet, not when your hair had turned out so nicely. 

“Did you finish your painting already?”

“I can work on it tomorrow,” he huffs out, “c’moooooon cutie, come over and help me finish this food, please?” 

“I’ll be there in 15,” you reply, biting back your smile as you shake your head and hang up. 

You unlock his front door with the key he’d given you, calling out to make sure he knew it was you entering. Within seconds he rounded the corner, a smile on his face as he greeted you, clad in a hoodie and shorts. The sight never failed to make your heartbeat race. 

“You look beautiful y’know,” Rafayel says softly after the two of you finish eating. You’re sitting on opposite ends of the couch, your eyes are glued to the TV stuck on a loading screen. “He’s an idiot to not have realized what a catch you are, cutie.” 

You don’t have enough fight in you to protest against the pet name, you know he doesn’t mean it romantically. You're too emotionally drained to think about the fact that you never even told him how the date went

“Thanks Raf,” you say softly, had anything been playing he wouldn’t have heard it. 

“I’m Raf now?” The man grins, cheeks dusted pink as he repeats the nickname. You can’t help but roll your eyes at him. 

“Don’t make me take it back,” you groan as he scoots closer to you, leaning his head on your shoulder and letting a content sigh leave his lips. Maybe it was because you already felt vulnerable and Rafayel just so happened to be there for you. Maybe it was because he handed you a bouquet of flowers when you walked in the door. You don’t know why you say it, but you do. 

“I should’ve known better than to think I’d find someone on a fucking dating app,” you scoff, laughing slightly as your gaze settles in your lap. Rafayel sits up straighter, a sympathetic smile on his face. 

“Hey,” his voice is feathery, his touch even more so as he lifts your chin for you to look at him, “dating apps are stupid, I could’ve told you that for free.” He smiles, you can’t help but reciprocate it. 

“You’re amazing, you know that? Anyone would be lucky to have you,” his face is closer to you than you ever remember it being, “I would be lucky to have you.” There’s no playful undertone in his words and no pout on his lips as he stares at you. His eyes flicker down to your lips for a fraction of a second. 

“Rafayel,” you breathe out, eyelashes fluttering as everything becomes too much. What was happening? Could this mean-

The sound of the movie abruptly starting makes you jump, the sudden realization of how close you were has you clearing your throat, scooting away from the man you so desperately wish to be closer with. 

He almost kissed you. You almost kissed him. He was there for you after a terrible date, with flowers and your favorite food. Which could mean nothing, and for the sake of your already aching heart, you tell yourself it does mean nothing. Because it was Rafayel and you were just, well, you. 

It was hard to quell your feelings after that night. It was harder for you to ignore how pretty Rafayel was, how charming his smile was and how well you and him got along. It was damn near impossible to ignore just how much you liked him. 

You tried to brush off his offhand comments, immediately deflecting and not allowing yourself the pleasure of entertaining the idea. This was Rafayel. The most handsome man you’d ever seen in your life, he was funny and kind and caring and he did not have a thing for you. 

“Hey cutie, what do you say we grab a bite after this?” He winks at you during an exhibition, you want to kill the butterflies in your stomach. 

“I can’t, sorry Rafayel,” you say simply, giving him a small smile and hoping he’d drop it. He doesn’t, of course he doesn’t. 

“C'mon! We can go to the place you’ve been wanting to try! I saw your moments post about it,” he narrows his eyes at you, crossing his arms and leaning forward. 

You take a small step back. Rafayel wants to grab you by your waist, he digs his fingers into the fabric of his shirt to stop himself. 

“I already have some food I have to finish up, maybe next time?” You smile nervously, palms already sweaty from how intently he was looking at you. His purple bangs falling gently across his forehead, you fight the urge to brush them out of his eyes. 

Rafayel only spoke to you again when parting ways after the exhibition, turning around and causing you to almost bump into his chest. 

“Y’know I’m here for you, right? Whenever you want for whatever you need,” the words catch you by surprise, making your heart thump louder in your ears as you smile at him. 

“O-okay thanks,” you reply, moving to walk past him, he grabs your wrist, staring at you like he was going to say more. He opens his mouth before closing it again, shoulders slumping and letting out a small sigh. He lets go of your wrist, savoring the way the warmth of your skin felt on his. “Let me know when you get home, Miss Bodyguard,” he smiles softly. 

“Okay,” you breathe out, eyes lingering on his lips for a second too long. You turn on your heel quickly, the mantra you’d always repeat to yourself when it came to Rafayel already looping in your mind. 

It probably means nothing. The look in his eyes wasn’t anything, it couldn’t be. Your heart tugs the further away from him you get, God, you wish it did. 

You decided you were going to be brave. After almost a year of debate, you were going to take a leap of faith. 

With shaky fingers you hover over the dial button, taking a deep breath before tapping your screen and putting the phone to your ear. It only rings once before you hear the same voice that always makes your stomach flip. 

“Well to what do I owe the honor of you calling me first, Miss Bodyguard?” Rafayel smirks on the other line, leaning back in his seat as he puts the phone on speaker, mindlessly twirling a paintbrush between his fingers. 

“I need to ask you something, and I want you to promise that you won’t judge me or laugh at me or- are you already giggling?” You furrow your brows, nerves slowly replaced by that familiar feeling of enamored frustration only Rafayel managed to bring out. 

“You can’t tell someone to not laugh at something, everyone knows that just makes them want to laugh,” he states, “but fiiine, I won’t laugh.” 

“Do piercings hurt a lot? I know you have a bunch and I’ve been wanting to get one forever and I’ve been so scared but I really want one.” You rush your words out, pacing around your living room before staring out your window and flopping backwards on your couch. 

“You thought I would laugh because you’re… scared to get a piercing?” Rafayel cocks his head slightly, pausing his movements as he sets his brush down, grabbing his phone and smiling softly. He can picture you already, your face is probably warm, nose scrunched and lips pouting as you look to your side in embarrassment, shrugging your shoulders. 

“Well, yeah,” you mutter, nose scrunched and face hot as you stare away from your phone, as if he could see you through the camera. 

“What kind of piercing do you wanna get? The pain depends on the placement but also everyone’s pain tolerance is different.” He hears you hum on the other end of the line. 

“I wanted to get my nose pierced, is that lame?” Your face is hot, embarrassed to be so scared of something so many people did. 

“You’re gonna look great with it! It shouldn’t hurt too much, when are you gonna get it?” Rafayel has to take deep breaths as his imagination runs wild. The thought of you with your nose pierced, he closes his eyes for a moment, willing himself to calm down as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. 

“I don’t know, I was kinda thinking of getting it soon, rip the band aid off,” you smile, sitting up from your position on the couch and checking the time. “Are you busy right now?” 

“I’m never busy when it comes to you,” Rafayel replies easily, wiping his paint stained hands on a nearby rag before standing up. 

“Do you think you could come with me? To get the piercing?” You’re covering half your face with one hand out of embarrassment. You’re fully prepared for him to laugh at you, say ‘hell no!’ and hang up on you. Okay, that might be a little extreme. 

“I’m already on my way, cutie,” he replies, you can hear the jingling of his keys before you let out a small, ‘okay’ and hang up. You stare at the floor for a moment, then a wide smile breaks onto your face. You break out into maniacal giggles, burying your face in your hands before biting your bottom lip. 

Rafayel knocks on your door in 15 minutes time, hair falling perfectly and cologne wafting into your senses the moment you open the door. You look up at him with a shy smile, having never noticed just how built the man was. He crowds your space as he leans against the door frame, smiling and holding his hand out for you to take. 

“Are you ready?” He asks, you nod, hesitantly putting your hand in his. You ignore the way your whole body reacts to the simple touch. You’re too in your head to notice the way his face goes red as his hand envelopes yours. 

Rafayel was enjoying this way too much for your liking, but you were too nervous to make any remarks as he walked into the piercing shop with your clammy hand in his. 

“Hey what can I help you guys with today?” The man asked, looking between the two of you, “matching tattoos maybe?” He grins, you can’t help but let out a nervous chuckle. 

“Maybe next week, right cutie?” He chuckles when your eyes go wide and you elbow him. 

“I wanted to get a nose piercing,” you tell the man, and two consent forms later you’re seated in the piercing chair, fidgeting with your t-shirt nervously as you talk to Rafayel. 

“It’ll look good right? I won’t look stupid with it?” Rafayel smiles at you and nods. 

“You’re gonna look stunning, Miss Bodyguard,” he mumbles, walking from his position across the room to your side. “Who knows, you might even inspire me to paint more pieces about you.”

You smile at him, then the words process in your mind. “What do you mean ‘more’?”

“Alright! I’m gonna go ahead and mark where the piercing will go and let me know if you like the placement!” The piercer walks in, saving Rafayel from having to answer your question. Reluctantly you tear your gaze from him, smiling at the piercer and sitting still as she marks your nose and hands you a mirror to check. You nod in approval, handing the mirror back as she preps the area. 

Rafayel is staring at you intently, your heart is racing, fear coursing through your veins as the piercer turns to grab the needle. 

“Can you hold my hand?” You ask quietly, Rafayel all but jumps at the opportunity, intertwining your fingers with his, like he was always meant to be by your side. 

“Alright, you ready?” She asks and you nod, eyes focused on Rafayel’s pretty blue-pink ones. “Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth for me.” You do as you're told, feeling slightly embarrassed by how sweaty your palm is against Rafayel’s.

“Deep breath,” he says softly, eyes glancing between your gaze and the needle, squeezing your hand as she punctures the cartilage. “Good girl,” Rafayel praises, thumb stroking the back of your hand in soothing circles as your eyes water slightly. You blink rapidly, a stray tear slipping out as they insert the small stud in place of the needle. 

“Alright you’re all done!” The piercer smiles at you, letting you know to head up front to pay. You thank her quickly, turning to Rafayel who still had a tight grip on your hand. 

“How do I look?” You smile at him. Rafayel doesn’t say anything for a second, eyes scanning your features as his thumb swipes the stray tear from your cheek. 

“Beautiful,” he whispers, squeezing your hand before helping you out of the chair. He’s quick to beat you to the register, immediately handing the receptionist his card before you have the chance to protest. 

You’re too flustered by his compliment to fight back, opting instead to simply thank him as he places his card back in his wallet. Rafayel doesn’t say anything, his hand slotting back into yours. Both of your faces are burning hot, with neither of you addressing it until your hand leaves his as he holds the car door open for you. 

“That wasn’t as terrible as I thought it was gonna be!” You gush as Rafayel slips into the driver's seat. He watches from the corner of his eye the way you stare at your reflection in the sun visor mirror.

“You did a great job! My brave girl,” he says smoothly, left hand on the steering wheel and the other coming to squeeze your arm gently. Your body is on fire at the small contact, and you’re having a hard time rationalizing this into nothing. 

He holds your hand during your piercing, tells you he’s painted pieces inspired by you, that could mean nothing. But now he’s calling you his girl? Your mind is scrambling and you can only land on one conclusion. 

“Rafayel?” 

“Cutie?” He purrs back, he can all but see everything in your head clicking into place, his heart thumping against his chest as your gaze bores into your lap. 

“Do you like me?” You check to see if the passenger door is unlocked, in case he laughs in your face and you have to jump out of this moving vehicle. You think about the logistics of it, you’d most likely survive, mainly surface injuries, you’ve fought off hordes of wanderers, you could take jumping out of a car. What you couldn’t take, is the artist you’ve been crushing on for a year calling you delusional. 

“I thought that much was obvious, I’ve been flirting with you since I met you,” Rafayel lets out a deep chuckle, turning to look at you briefly. Your mouth is agape, eyes wide as you stare at him in disbelief.

“What?!” You shriek. Rafayel only laughs harder. 

“Did you think I just went around complimenting everybody? Calling people cutie and my muse?” Your silence makes Rafayel’s mouth drop. “Are you serious?!” He exclaims, parking the car in front of your apartment building before turning to face you fully. 

“I didn’t want to assume things! I just rationalized everything that happened,” you defended, “I just kept telling myself it meant nothing and you were just a flirty person!” 

“So when I gave you a key to my house?” 

“I’m your bodyguard so you gave it to me for security purposes,” you explained, and Rafayel had to hold back his laughter. 

“I told you there’s no one in my life that I’d want with me other than you, and that’s the conclusion you came to?” Your face burned as you tried (and failed) to defend yourself. “Okay and the time I told you that you were the reason I started painting with lighter tones and images of hope and love instead of despair?"

“You said that you did that after you met me, not that-” saying it out loud makes it seem obvious, embarrassment coursing through your veins as you realize the mental gymnastics you’d been doing all year. 

“I practically professed my love for you the night you got stood up, how did you rationalize that?” His head cocks slightly, a smug smirk on his face as he wonders what radical conclusion you’d landed on. 

“That you’d never have feelings like that for someone like me,” you shrug your shoulders, not daring to meet his eyes as you finally come clean. The true reason you’d brushed his every move off, the one thing driving the mantra you’d always told yourself. 

“Someone like you?” Rafayel repeats, his heart clenches at your words. He doesn’t say anything else, the restraint he had for the past year is thrown out the window as he reaches over the center console and angles your face towards him. 

“Do you like me?” Rafayel asks, his breathing erratic as he stares into your eyes. You give him a small nod, about to say something else before you’re cut off with his lips on yours. You tense for a moment, body catching up before your brain does as you melt into the kiss, hands weaving in the soft purple tresses at the nape of his neck. You whimper slightly when Rafayel pulls away and nips at your bottom lip. 

“Please tell me you can’t rationalize that,” he mumbles, you laugh, letting your head rest on his shoulder. 

“If I try hard enough-” Rafayel takes your face in one hand, lifting it up and kissing you once more, careful to not hit your freshly pierced nose. 

“I want you,” he mumbles against your lips, “you drive me crazy– you’re the only one I want– I want you all to myself, as my lover and as my everything,” he punctuates each statement between kisses, slowly turning rougher as you move in sync with him, tugging gently on his hair. 

When he pulls away, the only thing connecting the two of you is a string of saliva between your lips, which Rafayel quickly wipes with his thumb, licking it clean. You bite back a moan. 

“Am I clear enough now?” He smirks. You gulp, nodding. 

“Do you wanna- we should probably- come on let’s head inside,” you finally sputter out, quickly opening the car door and heading to your apartment. Rafayel is hot on your heels, relief filling his body when you turn around and shoot him a shy smile as you unlock your door. 

Rafayel crowds your space the rest of the day, kissing every inch of you, telling and showing you just how badly he’s been wanting you. He whispers sweet words to you as he brushes your hair out of face, his fingertips trace your sweaty skin, eyes staring at you like you were the most precious work of art ever created…. which could mean nothing. 

But you know better now.  It means the feelings you’d been shoving aside this whole time were reciprocated ten fold. It means he loves you, with every fiber of his being.

you spread your legs in your seat, take a thick drag from your cigarette, and immediately curl your lips in disgust at the foul taste. it is a thin, cheap thing and far too poor for a place like this. this beautiful opera house that is filled with the faces of hundreds of little cherubs looking down on you as you sit at the front row of the auditorium and watch her sing. there is nobody sitting beside you, of course. in fact, the entire auditorium is empty, except for you.

because if you wanted your angel in white to sing for you — and only you.

then by god, the people of this city knew better than to try and keep you from what you wanted.

you knew what they all said, what they whispered under their breaths when they thought you were not listening. oh, how their beloved angel, their poor and blind opera singer, was now marked with the black ink of death that was spelled out in the shape of your name. who painted it on her perfectly pale skin? was it by your hand or your enemies?

cigarette smoke slides over your face as you mull over the answer.

you truly did not know.

did it matter, really? she was yours and you belong to… everybody and nobody at all. you belong to the stone and brick of st. petersburg’s streets. definitely not its people, no. they had chewed you up and spat you out back out on the streets you were born in like old, tasteless tobacco. the ugly people of this city had decided to abandon you a long time ago. not that it mattered much, you had returned the notion tenfold. you presence in this place was one of absolute control, and its people hated you for it. you didn’t see the point in even trying to hide the fact that you loved power more than trying to do what was good and right for the people. and so, it would not be out of the ordinary for your enemies to want to take out anyone and anything who caught your interest for more than five minutes.

(your lady sings an octave higher.

you swear you see the lights flicker, glass humming in tune to her voice, a translucent, violet tempest roaring around her figure.)

and yet, and yet.

a desperate desire seizes your bones, makes your fingers shake, and you almost drop your cigarette onto your pristine slacks. why are you thinking about this? why now? your solitude had never bothered you before. because your solitude belonged to you. you bathed in it, smothered your skin and lungs with it and called it another name that sounded a lot like salvation. and it was of your own volition that you indulged in it, and it was you who owned it and wielded it like the gun sitting right against your heart.

you think far too much.

you shift uncomfortably in your seat.

but… you would not mind a little piece of yourself belonging to her.

your perfectly pristine columbina.

columbina, who had never seen your face, and never would because she could not see. but that didn’t matter. you would be her eyes, and she could be the voice to sing about all the things your cold heart might have felt a long time ago. she might not know you now, but she would in time. because you wanted her to know you, and you always made sure you got exactly what you wanted. she would be your picture perfect doll living inside your opulent mansion, dripping in crystal jewellery and fur coats and bathing in blood money that you showered her with.

you could give her anything she had ever dreamed of.

not that columbina struck you as the type to want for money or power. you were a good judge of character that way, you had to be in your line of business in order to play the game properly. but… you don’t know what it was exactly that she did desire. columbina’s game of life was obviously going to be very different compared to yours. the things she needed couldn’t compare to yours. you knew that she didn’t struggle all that much for money, but neither did she make a lot. that she had a decently sized and fully furnished apartment, and it took her thirty two minutes to walk from there to the opera house. that she seemed to love what she did for a living, and she seemed to enjoy indulging the whims of those who enjoyed her singing.

hmph! a true artist… she creates for the people.

nevertheless, you still needed to know how she played.

columbina finishes her song, trailing off on a piece about the tragedy of… something or other. murder or love, perhaps both. you can freely admit to yourself that you were not truly listening. you were more transfixed with the way columbina’s lips moved, her dark lashes fluttering against her cheeks, the way you could see her eyes moving beneath her closed lids. you wanted to trace your thumb over her eyelids, kiss each one with a gentleness you didn’t think you possessed anymore.

you put down your cigarette, and clap your hands together twice.

(a vision flashes across your eyes —

of a coffin, made of blackened wood, being lowered into a burnt patch of earth.

the sky is gray, but not weeping.

you do not know if it is yours.)

“bravo!” you exclaim.

and all columbina does is bow, rather solemnly, and asks. “would you like me to sing again?”

this makes you frown.

“no. come down to me here, so i may speak to you more closely.”

she shakes her head. “i must remain on the stage until the performance is over.”

“is that all this is then, only a performance?”

columbina hesitates for a moment, glossy pink lips parting for the words growing behind her tongue. you smile, crossing over your legs and leaning your body back into your chair, ignoring the urge itching behind your fingers to shoot her for disobeying you.

“for you,” is what she settles on, an air of detachment in her voice. “because you wanted me here.”

“and i enjoyed you very much.”

“i’m pleased to hear that.”

“did you not enjoy performing for me, my little damselette?”

you watch the way her breath hitches, how a slight blush spreads across her cheeks, and the way she bites her bottom lip ever so slightly. a grin spreads across your face, and you put out your cigarette.

“o-of course i did.”

“are you sure? your face is one of such unhappiness. perhaps i did not pay you enough for the inconvenience my men caused from rousing you from your bed in the middle of the night.”

“you have paid me more than enough, madam.”

your face falls.

“do not call me that.”

your blood begins to boil.

madam? did she not see you not more than that to her? you thought she had been able to see you as more than who you were. that she had seen beyond all the blood and violence and murder painting your soul black, black, black. you thought she had been smart enough to know better than to treat you like the woman you are.

“how dare?…” you mumble beneath your breath, fingers shaking as you light another cigarette. “fucking.. fuck!”

“i apologise,” columbina says rather coolly, and you wonder if she even really meant it. “i did not mean to cause offence.”

you wave a hand in dismissal that you know she cannot see, thumb rolling against your lighter, and try to focus on coaxing another cheap cigarette to life.

“would you like me to sing another song?”

you huff, closing your eyes and throwing your head back against your seat as you take a long, thick drag. “no.”

“then… how can i make you happy?”

you groan.

a slight tingle spreads between your legs, traveling across your thighs and running down your legs to make your toes curl.

what would make you happy?

the sunlight trickling in through a sheer, white curtain onto your bed, and columbina is there. the rays of light as caressing her bare skin, her pale breasts bare as the blanket slips down her body as she rises from the bed. and she begins to sway to the sound of the voices of angels in her head, tilting her neck each way like a swan, flashing the love bites littering over her skin that you had given the night before. you would smile at her, tell her to come back to bed so you could make love to her again.

(a ghoul cries

on the roofs of st. petersburg —

liar, liar, liar. soon, i shall feast on your belly.)

“columbina hyposelenia.”

for once, you tell the whole truth, and not something covered in a half lie.

she sighs, “but you do not know me. you have only met me twice.”

“i want to,” you say far too quickly, desperately. and then, you ask. “do you want to know me?”

you hate how vulnerable you sound.

oh, how you undo me completely, my angel in white.

“of course i do.”

and then columbina begins to sing again.

your bones begin to melt to the sound of her voice, racing heart slowing down like a train coming up to its final stop. you don’t recognise where this song is from. perhaps it was something of her own making. this time, you make sure to listen to the words.

(foul, foul, foul

words plucked straight from hell itself.

a stone tablet inscribed with all the ways that you shall suffer in the deep, dark depths.

flesh ripped from your bones

from the hands of your enemies and

unholy beings alike.)

you close your eyes again.

you do not see columbina open hers.

you do not see her reach behind her dress. you do not see the gun she has in her hands. you do not see her point it straight at your head with absolute clarity of someone who could not possibly be blind.

oh, my love.

i did not know you could be so—

BANG!

and as the ghoul begins to howl with delight at its feast, the lady in white stares at the hole between your eyes from her place on the stage.