Work Text:
There is the forest, the air that is home. The sun, the water, the love. There are the seasons. The butterflies, the company when they mourn. There is the Earth that provides.
And then there is the girl who says not all Shadowhunters are alike, then kisses him and calls it an interrogation afterwards. The girl who says she knows how to talk to Seelies and never listens to him. The girl who says she needs someone who's more like a Shadowhunter when she leaves, after asking infinite questions when she knows his throat is made of glass, when she assures him it isn't the only reason she comes to him. The girl who can lie.
She says I never want to see you again. She says I'm so happy to see you. She hugs him like she is certain he will not reject her touch. She watches his arrest. She breaks him out of jail, and then she kisses him.
And he says All Shadowhunters look the same to me, and it’s the truth.
*
The first time he sees the Seelie, they're outside of Camille’s room. The Seelie is leaving, heading for the back staircase, for the sunlight. Raphael is avoiding her room, the exponential intensity of its dark. Avoiding Camille with her fingernails like ice picks, like stakes. What kind of a person goes to her voluntarily? What kind of hands, what kind of mouth?
There are the stains on the floors. The aching quiet in eardrums that accompanies the absence of a heartbeat. There is the wind, the speed so strong he can't keep track of his feet. The dark, the sharp edges. There is the constant of blood.
And then there's the girl who treats him like a fix. Like a dealer. Like the drug itself. Like a substance. She says I swear, I'll never ask again, then keeps asking when she knows his throat is made of a strangling emptiness, is screaming and at odds with his mind. She says kiss me. He tries to hold her hand, and she says I don't want anything from you ever again.
Meliorn is there. Meliorn looks at her and does not flinch, blinks like his eyelids do not burn. Meliorn’s hands are ones that glide. Meliorn's mouth is one that quirks with casual insults. Raphael doesn't ask if all vampires look the same.
*
There is the longing, the loneliness. There is the Earth that provides.
And then there's the vampire. Raphael with his 50s look, his leather jacket, his slick hair. Raphael with his motorbike, Meliorn imagining sitting behind him, holding on.
There is the longing, the loneliness. There is the constant of blood.
And then there's the Seelie. Meliorn with his flowing cotton blouses, his floral pants, his blue hair. Meliorn meditating, Raphael wanting to stay alongside that inner calm.
The impossible red of Raphael’s torn lips, the smudges of green between the gashes on Meliorn’s cheek. A perfect complement, both of them scarred by their queens.
*
Camille with her fingernails like fangs. She says “I've given you all the pleasures you could desire,” and he doesn't say “I didn't desire any of it.”
Meliorn with his fingernails like river stones. He says “May I kiss you?” his hand on Raphael's cheek, his eyelashes fluttering like hummingbird wings. Raphael swallows and doesn't taste blood. Raphael hesitates. Meliorn smiles, says, “Maybe another time,” says, “It's alright if not.”
Camille with her insistent teeth. She says “You want me” and he curses his truthful tongue.
Raphael retracting his fangs. He says, “What do you want in life?” leaning back in his chair, his chin at an angle. Meliorn swallows and doesn't hate his throat. Meliorn hesitates. Raphael smiles, says, “You've got plenty of time to think.”
Shadowhunters who want something from them.
Meliorn who wants to embrace him. Raphael who wants to hold his hand.