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For the past couple of days, you’d received nothing but radio silence from Rafayel. You weren’t necessarily worried—this kind of thing happened once every few months when he’d find some new bauble to crush into pigment and obsessively paint with until his inspiration would dry up. And truthfully, it was nice to not have your phone blow up with messages every once in a while. This time, the timing had worked out perfectly; the Hunters Association happened to pick this week to work you to the bone.
But today you really needed Rafayel to respond.
A few days ago, you’d managed to make brief contact and make plans to go on a date once the weekend would roll around. The stars seemed to align for your scheduled, oh-so-romantic long walk down the beach. The harrowing thunderstorm that had torn through Linkon during midday broke apart by the evening, leaving giant, puffy clouds in its wake and a warm, summer breeze that kept the air at the perfect temperature. Shadows lengthened along the street as the sun began its descent, casting the sky in golden hues.
You’d already changed into the long, pink sundress Rafayel had picked out for you during your last vacation together, and selected a pair of sandals you could slip off once you would reach the sand. Only problem? It was still crickets from Rafayel. Calls rang for the allotted six rings before being kicked to voicemail, and your texts might as well have been sent to the void. Frustration tried to sink its claws into you, but you had more patience than this. You knew what you were signing up for when dating Rafayel—the spontaneity, the dramatics, and the occasional periods of artistic hibernation. It was feast or famine, but things stayed exciting that way.
Traffic was merciful on your way to Rafayel’s. Despite the circumstances, the familiar flutter of butterflies swirled in your stomach when you slipped past the unlocked gate and rang his doorbell. Anticipation grew the longer you waited, and after the third ring, the jittery excitement turned to a restless unease that could only be settled by opening the door yourself.
The door seemed to push open on its own when you turned the knob, and you just about jumped out of your skin when you saw Rafayel opening the door from the other side.
He looked… haggard. Eyes heavy lidded with dark circles smeared below, posture slumped, skin pale in spite of the sun’s warm glow. While you were trying to guess how many straight days Rafayel had stayed up for, his expression slowly morphed from annoyed to confused to apologetic. You folded your arms, mostly concerned but a little perturbed at how long it took recognition for your forgotten date to flash across his face.
Rafayel leaned against the doorframe when your eyes moved to peek inside, blocking your view into the studio. Frustrated with himself, his fingers came to rub between his brows. “Ugh I’m so sorry, cutie. I completely forgot.”
“Yeah, I know,” you said, voice flat. “When was the last time you slept?”
The abrupt end in eye contact already told you what you needed to know.
“It’s…” Rafayel began, whatever defensive remark he was going to say fizzling with a sigh. “I dunno. Too long. Can we reschedule? I’m in the middle of something, and—”
“So you can slink back inside and keep painting? I don’t think so!” You grabbed his wrist and tugged him onto the front stoop before he could retreat.
“Waitwaitwaitwait! I’m not even wearing shoes!”
“Well good thing the beach is in your backyard!” You shut the door behind him, catching enough of a glance at the disastered state the studio was in to know you didn’t want to go in there anytime soon. “C’mon Rafayel, you could use some sunshine.”
When things came to it, though, the sunshine seemed too much for poor Rafayel. The moment you tugged him beyond the shade, he winced at the amber rays that beamed directly on his face. And though the sand had been perfectly warmed and dried by the sun, he didn’t seem too enthused about trudging atop it either.
Rafayel was silent, seemingly preoccupied about whatever work-in-progress was waiting for him back in the studio. And when you stared at him long enough, he almost seemed deflated, gaze stuck on the sand rolling off his feet as he walked.
“Don’t you think the sunset is pretty?” you encouraged, giving a nudge to the arm you’d locked around yours since dragging him out the door.
“I guess,” Rafayel said in a flat voice. He hardly gave it a look before returning his gaze to the ground. In his unique, all-too-familiar whine, he went on to complain, “It’s too bright. And hot.”
You eyed Rafayel, in disbelief at him finding anything to nitpick. The scene you could see on the other side of Rafayel looked straight out of one of his paintings. Vibrant reds and oranges bathed the sky, reflecting off the glittering ocean below and crowning the clouds in purple where the light couldn’t reach. Had the person you were experiencing the scene with not been in such a sour mood, it could’ve brought you to tears.
And too hot? The air was in one of those moments of pure stasis; where the temperature was just a hair warmer than feeling like nothing—so perfect that one simply had to remark how they wished every day could feel like this.
“Really, Rafayel?” Your patience was beginning to wear thin, sapped by the slouching lump plodding next to you.
He only sighed in response—an overly-vocal exhale that dragged out far too long to not be on purpose.
You stopped walking. “Should I really have just left you inside?”
His silence and lack of eye contact tipped you beyond reason. The claws finally sank in—you were frustrated. You didn’t know why he was being so uncharacteristically short with you, but you were done with dealing with it. Lesson learned: don’t drag him away from a work in progress.
You eyed him a moment longer, the way he was purposefully making it look like walking through the sand was the hardest thing only frustrating you more. He didn’t look the tiniest bit concerned about what an ass he was being. He hardly seemed present at all.
“Fine,” you huffed, letting his arm go so you could turn around and start heading the other way. “Let’s just go back then.”
Another sigh dragged out from behind as you stomped ahead. Rafayel still didn’t say a word. His footfalls slowed behind you and you could picture what was happening so clearly—him stopping to dramatically rub at his forehead in a cliché how-did-we-get-here fashion.
That was, until you heard what sounded an awful lot like his body thudding against the sand.
Heart instantly pounding at the implication of the sound, you whipped around. Sure enough, Rafayel seemed to vanish from the empty stretch of beach behind you. Your eyes dropped, finding him limp on his back against the sand.
Frustration? Gone in a flash. Worry was quick to take its place as you dropped to your knees beside him.
“Rafayel?!”
His eyes were closed, his face slack, the crease that had been stamped between his brows since you arrived now erased in unconsciousness. You muttered a curse, the lack of a response compelling you to press your fingers to the side of his neck.
Lack of sleep could kill. And though that was nothing more than a random fact in the back of your mind or the occasional news story before, it felt overly plausible right now too.
The thrum of a pulse weakly pushed against your fingers, relieving you of the worst-case scenario that just slammed through your mind. Still, the repetitions came far too spaced out for comfort. For someone whose resting heart rate was comparable to that of a rodent’s, the change was stark.
“C’mon Rafayel, wake up!” you urged, palm rubbing into his chest.
Just when your skin became unbearably hot from the friction, Rafayel’s eyes gave a small twitch. You let him come to in silence, watching awareness make its slow return. It wasn’t until he rolled his head to the side that you noticed the cold sweat he’d broken into, the beads reflecting off the forgotten sunset over the water.
Rafayel’s eyes fluttered open, seemingly fascinated with the colors splotched across the clouds that hung over him before snapping wide once they met your face much closer. You could practically see the moment reality crashed back into him, urging him to sit up before he was ready.
He let out a confused “wha—” before the palm still planted on his chest held him firmly in place in the sand.
You couldn’t help but state the obvious at Rafayel’s confused stare. “You fainted while we were on a walk. It’s okay,” you said, not sure if it really was. A thorough line of questioning was in order before you could be convinced. “Are you sick?”
“What? No!”
Unconvinced at the answer that came too fast, you slid your hand to his forehead. Other than being slick with sweat, it felt fine. You took a daring squeeze at the lymph nodes in his neck for good measure even though you wouldn’t really know if they were swollen or not.
All it did was rip a groan out of Rafayel and make him shove your hands away.
“So you’re not sick…” you concluded. “Are you just tired then? What happened?”
Rafayel huffed and rubbed at his forehead again, eyebrows pitching upwards in a show of pitifulness. “Can we not play twenty questions right now? Please?”
You sat back on your heels in defeat. “I just want to know what’s wrong.”
Rafayel’s stomach roared, giving you the answer that he himself wouldn’t offer.
You bit the insides of your cheeks, desperate not to smirk at the pout Rafayel gave. “When was the last time you ate?”
The fact that Rafayel had to think so hard to give an answer was enough for you. You slipped your phone out, dialing a restaurant down the street.
“What are you doing?!” Rafayel shrieked. “I told you I’m not sick! I’m fine!”
“Relax,” you said, grabbing both the weak hands trying to swat at your phone. “I’m calling in delivery so it’ll be at your place by the time we get back.”
Rafayel sank back down into the sand, continuing his pouting session while you put in your usual orders. The moment you hung up, he asked, “Can I get up now please?”
“You have to promise me first that you’ll actually take care of yourself from now on.”
“Yeah yeah,” he sighed, tugging on your hands to get you to pull him up.
“I’m serious, Rafayel. How could you go so long without eating or sleeping?”
“I dunno…” Guilty, he looked to the side. “I just get in a frenzy and it’s easy to forget. But I’m yours for the weekend. No more painting for the next few days. I promise.”
“Alright,” you said with a relieved grin, slowly guiding Rafayel to his feet.
Sand blew off with the wind as you stood, and you held him steady around the back as he silently endured a wave of dizziness. When the worst of it passed, he looked at you—truly looked at you for the first time that evening—and pulled you into a tight hug.
“I’m sorry, cutie. I didn’t even tell you how stunning you looked this evening.”
You giggled into his shoulder and pulled back, the contrast to how he was before too stark to not comment on. “Did you see God while you were passed out or something? Or are you in a good mood now because I’m buying dinner?”
You slipped your arm around his waist so you could support his weight while you walked back. “Besides, I should apologize for not noticing something was wrong. And for dragging you out of the house.”
“Eh, I needed to be dragged away.” Rafayel shrugged, reciprocating with an arm around your waist. “Besides, my elaborate plan to get you to hold me while we walked down the beach worked.”