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Clutching the glass of wine a little more tightly in her hand, she tries to reorient herself in the bustling, crowded room.
As part of her various commissions and investigations, she’s been to more of these functions recently than she can count. The difference, she thinks, it’s that she’s not usually there as herself. It’s much easier to play at being an arrogant heir,oblivious baroness, or a wallflower lackey, than it is to play Miss Hunter, representative of the Association. When she’s undercover, her scripts don’t have anything to do with her, and other peoples’ opinions are tools rather than a reflection of her real self.
This ‘face of the association’ business is a whole different thing. Of course she feels special to be chosen, especially by someone she admires as much as Captain Jenna. For some reason, actually doing it makes her feel tiny and exhausted. There are important people here and each time she opens her mouth to talk, even when it’s to answer a question directed to her, she can’t help feeling like she’s wasting their time.
Sipping her drink so she’s not just standing doing nothing, muscle memory prompts her to check her hunter’s watch (and how is time going so slowly , she could’ve sworn she’d been here for hours now) and then her phone.
She has an unread message. As she opens it, she sees Rafayel’s name, and relief washes over her.
Raf: hey cutie hows your trial run at being in public office?
Raf: did the association present you with a schmoozing award?
She snorts against the rim of her fancy glass. At the same time as she wants to tell him how badly she feels like it’s going, she doesn’t want him to worry. Besides, he’d be proud of her if he thought she was doing well.
She’s halfway through typing a reply when the unsettled feeling in her stomach gets too much to bear. She wants him to be proud of her, but not under false pretenses. Reluctantly, she backspaces what she’d written.
“Excuse me, Miss Hunter?” A voice drags her attention back to the room she’s actually in.
Right. She has a job to do. She puts her phone in her pocket, and her best imitation of a smile on her face.
–
By the time everyone is leaving, she’s completely drained. Her feet are sore from standing in heels for hours. Her cheeks hurt from smiling. Something in her chest hurts. It doesn’t feel like when her Protocore Syndrome plays up; instead it just feels tender, and a little hollow. It’s one thing to feel like no one sees or cares who she is or what she has to say when she’es pretending to be something else, but there’s something about these events, time purely for networking and presenting herself, where she feels more hidden from plain view than ever.
It’s when she checks her phone to get directions to the nearest subway that she realises she never replied to Rafayel. He poked her and everything.
Me: So sorry! I guess I got caught up. Talk to you later?
His reply comes unusually quickly, like his phone was already in his hand.
Raf: no worries cutie im glad you were having fun even tho like youd deeeefinitely be having more fun with me
The next message that comes through is a photo of Rafayel’s long legs, half covered in a sprawling mess of art books, art theory books, and magazines. His own face is on the cover of some of the latter.
Raf: For some random reason i decided tonight was the perfect night to reorganise my whole home library but if thomas asks dun tell him cus as far as he knows im hard at work .
She looks at the picture for a long moment. At his hand in the edge of the shot, the filtered moonlight overlapping with the golden glow of the lamp on the other side of him.
This time, her message is genuine and she doesn’t give herself time to second-guess it before she hits send.
Me: Can I come over?
Raf: oh idk…
His reply is almost instant. Her disappointment is bitter against the back of her teeth, until he follows up with,
Raf: security here is harsh, its pretty exclusive you know .
There’s a photo of Reddie attached. The little fish does, for all intents and purposes, look like he’s sugaring up with an uninvited guest on the other side of his glass tank wall, though she supposes it could be his own reflection.
Me: Oh, surely they’ll let me past with an exclusive invite from Mr Rafayel himself.
She knows she’s pandering to him but she can’t help it; all she wants is for him to say yes, and she can’t muster her usual pride to resist feeding his preening ego.
Raf: oh cutie you know the way to an artists heart dontcha
Raf: come on over, ill tell security youre my plus one hows that
Snorting, she ditches the subway map in favour of hailing a cab.
–
By the time she reaches the studio, some of the remaining adrenaline has faded. Who knew she could still even experience social adrenaline, after all her time in active hunt zones? She tips the taxi driver generously for making the trek out this far, and heads up the drive.
The ache in her chest, however, has persisted, becoming even stronger in the absence of other, distracting feelings. Hopefully, she thinks as she spies the glow of lit windows, the studio can give her space to breathe and let go.
Rafayel meets her at the door. That’s odd, too. It’s rare he’s not so involved in a task that he doesn’t hear her arrive. Tonight it’s like he felt her presence drawing closer, and pulled towards her like the tides to the moon’s quiet glow.
“Hey,” he greets her, taking off her coat and scanning her face, perhaps more thoroughly than she’d prefer. “Are you ready to get past security?”
She raises her eyebrows and holds in a laugh. Trust him to stay committed to this particular bit. “Are you sure you can convince Rough Reddie to let me in if I’m not on the list?” She takes off her shoes, and revels for a moment in the feeling of her feet flat on his cool tile floor.
Rafayel wraps an arm around her waist. “Trust me, I have my ways. You know, don’t tell anyone, but I have like, dirt on Reddie. The guy is totally tangled up in some dodgy netting, if you know what I mean.”
He shoots her a smirk. He’s still looking at her a little too carefully. Clearing her throat, she nods her head in the direction of the hallway. “Shall we?”
“Of course. Follow my lead.”
One pantomimed blackmailing of Rafayel’s pet fish later, she’s in the main, open room of the studio. The size of the space is making her realise one thing. She didn’t fully grasp the scale of his library project until now.
“That photo did not do your collection justice,” she informs him, as he settles where he was sitting before, looking not unlike a dragon amongst his hoard.
“Thank you,” he replies, pleased. “I’ve had a looong time to collect them all. Even I didn’t realise how many there really were.”
It makes sense that he’s sitting on the ground. Teetering piles of books occupy any other surface that could’ve been a seat, from the sofa to the lounge chair, to even the countertops. He pats the floor next to him, where he’s been generous enough to clear a little extra room. “Here. I saved you a spot.”
“That’s so sweet,” she says, and if he realises she’s being sardonic, he doesn’t question her, just grins, a pretty smile that reaches his eyes. “Am I strapping in for an all nighter?”
“Me? Pull an all nighter? Cutie, I’m hurt that you think I’d do something so irresponsible, especially with a guest over. We’ll be in bed before dawn. Probably.”
It’s good enough. She’s exhausted but she doesn’t actually want to go to bed right now, not if he’s not coming. Settling next to him, she tucks her feet up under her legs and rests her head on his shoulder. He shifts, accommodates her against his side and curls an arm around her shoulders, and gets back to work.
The time starts to slip by as he reads her various headlines or tells her where he obtained one tome or another, always some strange story about a flea market halfway across the world, or a mysterious old woman he’s pretty sure was a witch, or a sea serpent who’d gotten a book stuck between his teeth when he was biting through a boat, and Rafayel helped him in return for not getting eaten.
She’s not sure she believes that last one, but she lets him tell it anyway. It’s nice to be comfortable, not to have anything expected of her. Rafayel isn’t one long experiment where she has to keep proving that she’s who he wants to think she is. She can just be somewhere, and he’s just happy she’s there. His thumb rubs up and down her shoulder, a soothing rhythm. It seems inefficient to try to sift through the stacks of books and magazines one-handed, but he’s warm and she’s feeling a bit selfish.
“I know you don’t wanna disappoint the Captain,” he says, when she’s lost track of time altogether, “but surely they don’t have to send you to every event. Can’t they send Tara? She loves people, doesn’t she?”
“Jealous I’m getting so much time in the spotlight?” she teases, but her heart’s not in it.
“I mean, duh.”
She laughs, and he turns his head to kiss her temple. “I just mean you seem tired. Like, super tired, which is saying something, ‘cause you’re not always super tired after literally fighting Wanderers all day.”
“I love people,” she says, “seriously. And I’m always happy to answer questions about being a Hunter, because I love that, too. Just… It feels like it’s not actually me they want to talk to. Which is fine and all, but.”
“I hear you,” Rafayel says softly, encouraging. “You need to have more time to be authentic, right? It’s hard to be on duty all the time, even for Little Miss Go-Go-Go. You need time to do other things. Going to the arcade, walks by the beach, reading a book just for fun. The things that make you feel like you .”
“I guess so.”
“I know so, cutie. Just think about it, okay?” Quickly as he brought it up, he naturally pivots, and holds a magazine cover up to her eye level. “Man, look at how gorgeous this photo shoot of me is. I told Thomas there was no way I was doing it, but now, I think maybe he was right. There’s only one thing that could’ve made it better.”
It’s like he’s holding his breath, waiting for her to ask, so of course she does. “And what would that be?”
“If my bodyguard was in it with me, of course.”
She pauses, looking at it more closely. “Rafayel, is that a wanted poster?!”
–
Captain Jenna calls her name when she’s almost wrapped up the last of her reports for the day. “Can I have a word?”
“Yes, Captain,” she answers right away, even though her heart sinks. There’s been word going around about a charity gala, and she’s sure that’s what this conversation will be about. It’s on the weekend, and she’s exhausted. She’d been looking forward to having enough time off to catch up with Rafayel, too.
“I just wanted to ask you about the event for the donors of the disaster clean-up,” Captain Jenna says, “would you be interested in attending on behalf of our team?”
All of a sudden, she feels the answer. In her chest, her stomach, in the back of her mind in a voice suspiciously like Rafayel’s. “I’m so sorry, Captain, I’m unavailable.”
Captain Jenna blinks, surprised. Her heart races waiting for the scolding or disappointment, the accusations of her not really being committed to her work if she isn’t willing to promote it on her time off.
Instead the Captain nods, once, curt. “Of course. Thank you anyway. Is there anyone else you’d be willing to recommend?”
Freedom. An entire weekend of freedom, just for her. Captain Jenna really doesn’t seem mad. “Actually, Tara has been saying for weeks how much she’d love to…”
–
That night, she gets two texts, one from Tara and one from Rafayel.
Tara: omgomgomg did you speak to Captain Jenna for me she just invited me to the gala on Saturday? Omgomgomg what do i wear eeeee i cant WAIT
Raf: missing you cutie weekend cant come soon enough.
Grinning at her phone, a weight lifts off her shoulders more significantly than if she’d finally caught a Wanderer she’d been tracking for days. Before she replies to her messages, she takes a moment to admire her new lockscreen. Rafayel, still dressed in his day clothes, fast asleep, surrounded by his home library. His head tilted back against a stack of frankly uncomfortable-looking art history encyclopedias, an open catalog still splayed over his stomach. He looks perfectly like himself, no posturing or pretending.
She inhales, then exhales slowly. Then replies to Tara to ask what earrings she thinks she’ll wear, and lays back in her bed, letting her mountain of plushies break her fall.