* 𝐬𝐞𝐞 / 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 .

10 — when was your last physical fight?

“ god, i don’t even remember at this point. ” he’s had plenty of fights in his lifetime — plenty — but his specialty has always been wounding with words. though he certainly has the stature to be able to hold his own, rafa’s never liked getting his hands dirty; even after he stopped playing violin, there was always the lingering fear of breaking his hands beyond repair. he doesn’t need that same dexterity anymore, but the fear had never quite gone away. “ probably not since i lived in new york. i did some pretty stupid shit back then to distract myself. ”

36 — do you give out second chances too easily?

he huffs out a bitter laugh. “ god, no. if anything, i’m the opposite. ” truthfully, he finds himself to be far too generous with first chances — the notable exception being phoenix, who he’d given first and fourth and sixteenth chances, for some godforsaken reason. love ( or the illusion of it ) certainly does make you do crazy things. “ i don’t bother with second chances anymore. i’ve learned my lesson in that sense. when someone shows you who you are, believe them. ”

58 — favorite weather?

answered here !

23 — do you have any piercings? how many?

rafa lifts a hand to his ear, gently poking a small gold hoop. “ just the one. my mom would kill me if she knew. you know, in a theoretical universe where i’m actually alive. ”

51 — favorite food?

“ my mom’s tamales, for sure. i think about them every damn day. ”

benvolio — what comes to mind when you think of peace?

all he has to do is close his eyes. it’s been over a decade, but rafa can still see it clearly: the window seat in his parents’ london flat, half-smushed pillows haphazardly shoved to one side. he can’t count how many afternoons he’d spent in that window seat, a mug of tea cooling beside him as he went over sheet music, his mother humming to herself as she puttered around. he pictures himself glancing up, meeting her eyes with a careless half-smile, and knows he hasn’t felt true peace since the day he left. 

romeo — how far would you go for love?

he’s done too much for love already. rafa thinks of the ways he’s let himself be pushed around, pushed aside, pushed down; he’s become less so that someone else could become more, and done plenty of things he isn’t proud of simply because someone he thought he loved wanted him to do it. this, he knows, is not true love. but he’d fancied himself in love, and he knows just how far he’d pushed himself to get crumbs in return. “ i’d do a lot, ” he says softly, and knows that it’s true. “ i’d do anything for someone i loved. to be loved in return. it’s the ultimate reward, isn’t it? ”

3 — do you regret anything?

wasting all that time on an idiot who couldn’t figure himself out. not dragging his parents along with him to that performance. running and running and running, never stopping to catch his breath. wasting more time on an idiot who treated him like dirt. never learning to know anyone deeper than surface level. handing over something so, so important without stopping to think twice about what he was doing. all of these things gather on the tip of his tongue, but what he answers is much simpler: “ yes. ” 

30 — what’s irritating you right now?

he frowns, thinking of the way dali’s brow furrows in suspicion whenever she regards him for too long. it bothers him much more than he’d like to admit, and the fact that it’s getting to him at all frustrates him even more. it’s an endless fucking cycle. “ i don’t know, maybe the fact that i’m basically fucking cursed to walk this godforsaken earth ‘til its inevitable heat death because i got scammed one time? i’m usually pretty irritated about that one. ”

tito shifts their weight from one foot to the other, trying not to be hyperaware of the fact that they can’t tell whether rafa was laughing or just exhaling. it’s not like tito thinks they’re the funniest or most interesting person in the world — this whole seeing and talking to ghosts thing is by far the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to them, and it has approximately nothing to do with him and everything to do with random chance. still, compared to all the cool people, both alive and dead, that rafa’s likely had the opportunity to meet throughout his life, tito feels… small. for fuck’s sake, rafa has an accent, which means he’s at least lived in two countries — two continents — and maybe more than that. tito might think twice about asking if rafa hadn’t already clued them into the fact that personal questions are completely off the table. which is fine. if rafa doesn’t want tito to know him, they can’t say that they really blame him. absently, tito can’t help but wonder if eddie operates under the same unspoken rules with rafa — if rafa’s issue is with tito personally or just the fact that he’s alive. 

“you can say that again.” the reply comes a moment too late, they realize once they’re actually saying it. their tendency to get lost in their own thoughts will come back to bite them one of these days, he’s sure. “the last thing i need is to get evicted for excessive noise complaints. or worse, getting evicted because someone comes in and sees i have a haunted apartment where instruments play themselves.” they seriously doubt something like that would happen under eddie’s watchful eye, but you never know. tito can’t help but lift an intrigued eyebrow at rafa’s comment regarding keeping things to yourself, unable to tell if he’s actually alluding to something or if tito is just grasping at straws to have a reason to keep talking to him. “do you have many of those things? things that are just for you to enjoy?” he can’t tell if that question crosses the line of too personal that rafa has drawn in the sand between them, so they quickly supply a follow-up. just in case. “i just mean the band is… they’re nice, and all, but they aren’t the kind of thing i would want to keep to myself.”

HE’S EASING INTO THIS. he can feel it happening, like a warm blanket pulled over his skin; rafa needs the shock of the cold air again, someone yanking the covers right back off. he can’t get too comfortable. “ you don’t need half of LA catching wind of a ghost band operating out of your apartment, ” he deadpans as he repeats himself, looking down in an attempt to hide the half-smile flickering on his face. the image of someone walking in on floating instruments is an amusing one — even he has to admit that. still, he feels himself hesitating as tito tiptoes across the line he’s drawn in the sand, knowing he’d told himself nothing too personal for a reason. it’s not that bad, really, but given an inch, he expects tito to take a mile. talking about himself, opening up... they’re all just things that will make him trust them, make him want to connect to them more, and he shouldn’t open himself up to that. he can’t. rafa fucking knows better, but he’s still fighting with himself constantly. 

19 — would you go back in time if you were given the chance?

“ yeah. ” it’s almost too soft to be heard; his regrets are a quiet thing, tucked close to his chest where he can keep them safe. there are so many things he wishes he could change — so many people he wishes he could save — so many things he wishes he’d said. though he knows that time travel, unlike the paranormal, doesn’t actually exist, that doesn’t stop him from wishing it did. “ i’d go back. ” like always, so much more is left unsaid. he’s learned that it’s safer that way. 

37 — is it easier to forgive or forget?

he’s never been the type to forgive or forget. rafa’s long since hardened his heart, and he doesn’t take kindly to having his trust broken or betrayed. he’s hardly the type to give second chances, even in the form of forgiveness. it feels like turning his back and awaiting a knife. “ neither, ” he answers shortly. “ i don’t do forgiveness anymore, and i don’t forget. i learned that the hard way. ”

58 — favorite weather?

“ i’ve always liked the rain. ” he glances up at the sunny los angeles sky, as if on cue. “ when i first got here, the difference was nice — it didn’t remind me of home quite so much. but now... i miss it. there’s nothing like a rainy london day. ”

it’s a tough little corner she’s backed herself into, dali realises, only a few too many seconds late to do anything about it. the fact she’d have to speak to rafa alone at some point was an inevitability, she knows, but it was one she’d imagined would arrive much, much later, and with far less direct involvement from herself - it’s not as if she’s been trying to avoid him or anything, but he in and of himself may just be the one unknown in the world she’s not totally confident in approaching, at least not with the same amount of trust he’s already managed to garner from august and eddie. she’s an optimist on the whole, but her faith is nonetheless hard to win - at least, hard to win for a ghost. it’s a bias she knows is unfair given the current circumstances of her own existence, but one that unshakeably exists all the same - though perhaps if she’d had 22 more years to get used to this, he might’ve had just as much luck winning her over as someone like tito had.

rather than immediately dignify him with a response, dali waits - simply watches while he shifts on his feet and comes to his own conclusions, staring him down with the slightest hint of a glare as he moves to sit himself down beside her. “do what you want,” she finally surrenders, dismissive, but though her gaze turns back towards the pedestrians going about their days without the faintest knowledge of their existence, her attention is still fully on him. so, he had been looking for the others - interesting. “so this whole… thing. eternal, you reckon?” she finally asks, her tone almost interrogatory as she breaks the silence she’d all but forced to hang between them for a few moments, “i mean, you know that for sure, or is it just… i dunno, a guess?”

RAFA ISN’T STUPID — he knows very well that dali doesn’t want him here. thing is, he doesn’t exactly want to be here, either, but he’s made his bed. it’s time to lie in it. he leans back against the bench, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing them at the ankles. he’s painting a picture of relaxation that he does not feel, if only to appear nonchalant. he doesn’t like letting it show that she’s gotten to him. dali is a puzzle that he hasn’t quite been able to crack — though the others in the band ( and the living that they towed alongside them, a package deal ) had adapted to him quite quickly, she’s hung back. the worst part is, he gets it. rafa knows that he approaches people with the same reluctant antagonism, and now that he’s finally gotten a taste of his own medicine, he’s found that it’s bitter. 

i remembered — tito knows the words aren’t meant to convey all that much or carry that much weight, but they immediately settle somewhere significant in their chest. tito can count the number of people who actively remember him on one hand. for someone who feels like they spend most of their time being forgotten, the ease and speed with which rafa tells them otherwise makes tito feel all warm and fuzzy. god, how embarrassing. at least rafa doesn’t seem to totally loathe his company. he’s not exactly the most cheerful looking person tito’s ever met — though, then again, it isn’t like being cheerful and being dead exactly go hand in hand — but they think they can spot a hint of a smile. emphasis on hint. his expression does go a little more sheepish around the edges when rafa calls him a rookie, even though they know that they didn’t come out on a walk with the goal of finding rafa and bothering him. the mere idea that it might seem that way to rafa is enough to make tito consider shutting himself in his apartment for the next two weeks. part of them wonders if they should clarify that it’s just a coincidence and they aren’t stalking him, but they think better of it. “practice and memories,” tito repeats, committing the words to memory to report back to eddie later. “got it.” it feels like that’s the end of that, and tito can’t do much to stop a small frown from tugging at the corner of his mouth at the thought of having to say goodbye already. thankfully, instead of letting their conversation die out, rafa throws another log on the fire. maybe they were right about rafa not totally loathing their company, after all. “oh, no. no hell being given, aside from a couple late nights and broken dishes. introducing them to kerry — my best friend — went pretty smoothly but i’m hoping to not have to introduce them to anyone else. especially not someone who might ask more questions than kerry did.”

though what he’d said was as accurate as he could muster off the top of his head, it still surprises him to see tito taking his words to heart. he shouldn’t be surprised by now, he supposes — he hasn’t known them for long, but rafa already understands a few simple things about tito. one of the most important things: if nothing else, he does everything with his heart. it’s far too sweet for someone who’s still alive — who still has so much to lose — and somewhere deep inside him, it ignites a protective instinct that rafa has to work hard to quash. they’re the exact kind of person he wishes he could be; the kind of person who, despite whatever he’s been through, still manages to be kind. he doesn’t have the slightest idea what tito has gone through, but this is LA. everyone has a story. rafa has made a point of not bothering with the stories of the living, and he knows this isn’t the time to go changing his tactics. but he’s still here, isn’t he? still asking useless questions? he should know better — usually that’s tito’s department. 

dali had never really given the thought of dying the real time of day when she was alive, much less the thought of being a ghost. sure, like every kid, she’d passed her fair share of sleepless nights by fighting through internal debates, key topics heaven vs hell, afterlife vs nothingness - but if she’s remembering right, ghosts had never held that much weight outside of horror movies and personification of noisy pipework in her building. maybe if she had spent more time on it, she’s started to think, she could’ve made more of a postmortum plan for herself - because really, in theory, she could do just about anything she really wants now, go anywhere, see anything, face even less consequences than she’d thought there were in life.

she hasn’t, though. instead, she’s found herself not only staying in the exact same city she’d spent her whole life in, but now, when she’s alone, at least, pretty much the exact same block she’s spent her whole afterlife in. the faces that pass are becoming familiar, slowly but surely, and for the most part, she’s able to put them to memory without looking like some creep staring from a bench down the road from an apartment building - but when someone’s able to look right back at her, rather than try to look away, her face only seems to harden. rafa isn’t just some regular passerby, after all. “just so you know,” she begins, steely, forgoing the usual formalities of a greeting, “if you’re looking for them, the boys are out, and tito’s still working for another hour or so.”

@nvcturnes​

for the first time in a while, rafa has something he hadn’t really realized he’d been missing: entertainment. though his encounters with this merry band of ghosts and its accompanying humans have grated on him at times, rafa can’t deny that it can be downright amusing watching them fumble through the beginnings of being ghosts. he knows it won’t last long, so he’s on his way to make the most of it, swerving around the living folks who are completely oblivious to his ghostly form. he’s almost about to whistle to himself, in something of an uncharacteristically good mood, when he stops in his tracks at the sight and sound of someone familiar.

♭.

august set the record down gingerly, before it could escape his fragile grasp. “ — i’m gonna stop you right there. you’re giving me a headache.” he had a vague recollection of britney spears, still something of a new budding and star as he remembered her. she wasn’t exactly someone his circle of friends would’ve spent much time talking about, but apparently she’d had some longevity in her after all. august thought little of it. then again, he was still mourning the apparent death of rock and roll. 

seriously, where had the time gone?

his eyes scanned the aisle of sleeves. a myriad of colors, varying levels of disarray. suddenly it took the wind out of him, and he was back wrestling with his newfound ghostly-hood. so much for the cathedral being a safe haven. 

“i really don’t know how you keep up with it all,” he said, something of a rare voicing of honesty, masquerading as a light hearted quip. it felt like he was living in a test he didn’t study for. he was unabashedly clueless, certainly earning himself a big fat F. 

though he was fully ready to continue listing off britney’s greatest hits ( and maybe even launch into the wonderful world of beyoncé’s transition from destiny’s child to a solo career ), rafa decided he was probably better off giving august a break. “ if nothing else, remember this: hashtag free britney. ” he stopped, glanced over at august, and let out a small breath. “ we can learn about hashtags later. ”

despite their best efforts, it seems that tito’s attempts to distract rafa from their embarrassing  greeting is unsuccessful; rafa makes a point of replying with what looks like a hint of a laugh shining in his brown eyes. tito’s face feels hot. “um. well, i just didn’t know if you remembered,” they attempt to explain, feeling sheepish as they scuff the sole of their shoe against the sidewalk. it’s true, though. tito has no idea who rafa bumps elbows with on the regular, it’s a bit presumptuous of him to assume that he’s significant enough to take up space in his mind, not to mention it feels distinctly dangerous to allow himself to start wandering down that path. they nod solemnly at rafa’s suggestion of avoiding fragile things — it’s a brilliant idea, but they’re still working on that one. tito still doesn’t understand  what eddie needs his dishes for, but they’re trying to be supportive. it can’t be easy to find out you died fifteen years ago, maybe he’ll improve as he adjusts to being a ghost. if he adjusts to being a ghost. “we’ve had that conversation, yeah.” they listen attentively as rafa explains the repetition of being able to re-learn how to touch things — it’s all they really can do when they have absolutely no idea how any of it feels, besides nod along and take his word for it. the comment about how they should be taking notes startles a laugh out of tito and they make a quick show of patting down their pockets. “man, i left my apartment without my notebook,” he sighs, feigning distress with himself for being able to forget something so important. “i think i can probably manage to remember.”

all things considered, tito thinks that he’s done pretty well with this whole being haunted thing so far. besides being (rightfully) scared shitless for a few minutes when their new cd summoned three ghosts into their living room at ten at night, he thinks he’s acclimating quite nicely. still, sometimes even they need a little bit of space. it turns out that sharing your one-bedroom apartment with a band of new ghosts can be a little overwhelming. sometimes they just need to talk a walk and have some them time. of course, he’s quick to change tack the moment that they spot rafa, veering off his original course to cross paths with him instead. tito is significantly less brazen by the time that they wind up face-to-face, putting on a surprised smile  — as though they had no idea they would see rafa here — instead. “rafa, hey! it’s me,” he announces and then immediately winces at unnecessary it was. like rafa wouldn’t remember him. seriously. “actually, i was hoping to see you,” they follow up with, attempting to steer the conversation in a different direction to distract from the rather embarrassing opening. “i wanted to ask you about tips for, uh. grabbing things. eddie’s not really getting the hang of it and i’m starting to worry about my security deposit.”  /  *  @nvcturnes​  

𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙣.

𝙨𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜: 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙙𝙧𝙖𝙡 𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙚

the cathedral was one of the few places august could find some sanity these days. outside of these doors, he was staring down the barrel of fifteen years worth of life he knew nothing about. in a constant state of confusion and disbelief. ( since when did hip hop surpass rock music anyhow ! ) but at cathedral, it was like he was stepping into a time machine, and placing himself exactly back where he had always been. same moldy carpet, same selection of seventies and eighties hits. in here, he didn’t have to think or wonder. he knew everything there was to know already.

he considered voicing that notion aloud, but decided against it. one, because waxing poetic about the late nineties made absolutely no sense in the ghost-body of a twenty two year old. but two, it made him profoundly sad to do so. 

instead, august plucked a record sleeve from the bunch and flashed it to his company, grinning.

“rumours, 1977. you can’t tell me the 2000s ever spit out an album to even come close to matching this one. no way.”

IF NOTHING ELSE, the afterlife had given rafa time. plenty of time. too much time, arguably, so much that he’d had to start portioning out his days to make sure he was actually able to keep track of their passing. one thing he’d allocated a lot of his time for was the simple physicality of things — spending days in stores just like this one, thumbing through records and CDs until his fingers caught on the corners more times than they passed through them. now, in moments like these, he was able to pluck things out of the stacks at will. 

rafa... it’s okay king ... go into the light