#raf.

 she found raf easily, a head taller than most of the people at the after party, pulling his hand and prepared to drag him away if she had to. “ra-fa-el,” nahla drawled, refusing to use the shorter version of his name, “face of the fight game. not going to lie, i was rather hoping you would be incarcerated in italy and i could bail you out and further cement your dependence on my wit and charm and all that album sales money. don’t you dare say one of your fights is worth two billion times the value of one of my streams, i’m very mean when you piss me off.” she paused, but only for a second. “get up, you’re dancing with me whether you like it or not.” 

‘the keen sting of adult disappointment.’ she laughed when she read it, flinging her phone back down onto the counter and warding off the ache blossoming in the back of her head when she stopped laughing. skeletons. closets. she had hers too. nahla had considered joking, tweeting at him ‘no chance you want to get together and write something sometime? you’ve got a way with words, signoro.’ she did nothing. he owed her nothing. and really, could anyone paint themselves shocked at either the situation or his response to it?

she did nothing until she went to his gym, partially to find him, partially because she really needed to hit something, throwing punches instead of fighting words, waiting from the exile — no, he was still king here — to emerge from the shadows. 

* *:・ﾟ✧* honesty hour !

“that’s not ‘doing your worst’ now is it? first and foremost has to be my girlfrie— my winnie winner— you don’t marry someone who’s not your favourite. that’s a certain charm to raf when he’s a little beaten up, and cash is the only producing partner a girl could ever want.”