Archive of Our Own

Raphael often wonders why he ever even agreed to take the early morning shift at the book shop. Sure, Magnus can be very persuasive when need be, but Raphael normally never has a problem ignoring his pleading eyes and refusing whatever he asks him. And yet here he is, opening up the shop at an ungodly hour. The sun isn’t even up yet, so why should he be?

Besides, who in their right mind comes book shopping at five in the freaking morning? Raphael personally doesn’t think about extending his literary knowledge when he’s high or drunk, and junkies and drunkards are quite frankly the only people up at this hour. And business people. But they definitely don’t make a stop in a book shop on their way to their early shift or on the way home from their night shift.

Raphael throws the key on the counter with a sigh, runs a hand through his hair and disappears into the back, looking through the deliveries that had been brought in yesterday evening.

He starts up his day with a nice cup of coffee (black, no sugar) from his own personal coffee machine. It was one of his requests before agreeing to come work in Magnus’ book shop, and despite Magnus being absolutely horrified by his taste in coffee (“you don’t even put milk in it?”) he had agreed with the request.

Raphael sips his coffee as he starts putting different books up the shelves. They switch books every week to keep the store fresh and new, and the older books either disappear to lower shelves or in the back. People can still buy them after ordering them on the site, but they don’t get placed on the shelves again. The life span of a displayed book in this place is suspiciously short.

It had never been his plan to work for Magnus. He’d graduated college earlier that year and, being a Business Major, he had naively assumed landing a job wouldn’t be hard at all. But five months down the line and he was still unemployed and basically homeless, crashing either at Magnus’ or Lily’s since his landlord kicked him out of his apartment. It was kind of pathetic, really.

But then Magnus had started a business – he had bought a small shop in Brooklyn and decided to make it into a book shop with hipsters as their main target audience.

“What are the three things hipsters like most?” Magnus had wondered when they’d been getting high together one night at his place. He had just informed Raphael about his plans and couldn’t shut up about it now.

“Enlighten me,” Raphael had said, taking another drag of his joint as he waited.

Magnus lifted one hand and started counting. “Books, coffee, music. So, my plan is to give them exactly what they want. A book shop with a small bakery attached to it, selling baked goods and coffee. Maybe wraps during summer. Live performances every Friday night, maybe an open stage so they can let their creativity and tortured souls out. And walls covered with shelves and shelves of books plus cozy chairs to sit in. Their own little hipster get-away.”

Raphael had to admit it sounded pretty appealing. And Magnus seemed to have it all figured out already.

“Meliorn knows this guy who owns a coffee truck. Maybe we can work with him for the coffee, like he could work with us and maybe also deliver the baked goods. Meliorn can perform on Friday nights.”

“What would I do?” Raphael had asked, not even really registering the words leaving his mouth. Magnus’ plans started to sound more like a nice fairytale the higher he got.

But Magnus had shot him a wolfish grin and had raised his joint to him in a toast. “You, my dear little Raphael, you’d be my partner in crime.”

And that’s how it all started. Raphael wouldn’t exactly call them partners, as Magnus is still his boss and he’s still an employee, but Magnus treats him like an equal more than anything. And despite Raphael’s constant complaining about the early hours and long days, he’s secretly really grateful for this job opportunity. The job doesn’t pay that much and it’s a hard life, but the atmosphere in the shop feels suspiciously like… home. He enjoys being here. He likes filling the shelves with new books, he likes the scent of books mixed with coffee. And it pays the rent. Even if he needs to share his apartment with Meliorn.

Luke comes in an hour later, whistling way too happily for this hour. Raphael glares at him over his book cart, and Luke shoots him a bright grin.

“Morning, sunshine!” He greets as he gets behind the counter to get to the small kitchen. “Want anything? A muffin, cookie? Someone to shoot your venomous look at that isn’t me?”

“My look isn’t venomous,” Raphael counters.

“Sure it isn’t!” Luke calls from the kitchen. Raphael rolls his eyes at the door and focuses his attention back on organizing the shelves. Luke puts on the radio as he bakes and sings along to the music, and Raphael can’t help but smile at his painfully off-tune voice.

He likes Luke. Of course he would never admit this, but he really does. His own father has been absent for the biggest part of his life and though his mother made sure he got everything he needed, having Luke in his life as a father figure makes him feel more at ease somehow. He’s fairly confident that Luke likes him too, if the constant invitations to dinner and questions about his personal life are anything to go by.

Luke had been the last one to join their work forces. Before him there’d been Magnus, Raphael, Lily and Meliorn, but then Luke had lost his own bakery and Magnus had offered him a job here. They form their own little weird family together, including the occasional fight and the more occasional going out together.

Raphael is so deep in thought about his job that he doesn’t hear someone enter the shop until they practically run him over in their hurry.

“Hey, watch it,” Raphael snarls, not bothering to look at the person before sinking to his knees to pick up the books he dropped.

“Sorry,” the person says. They sink to their knees as well to help Raphael pick up the mess. Once all the books are safely back on the cart, Raphael glances up at the person who almost knocked him off his feet.

“I really don’t want to ask this after you just crashed into me,” he starts as he eyes the boy in front of him up and down, “but is there anything I can help you with?”

“Uh,” the boy stutters, glancing back to look outside. The sun is starting to rise at the horizon. “You’re open, right?”

“Would you have been able to get in if we weren’t?” Raphael asks, trying to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Magnus told him his attitude scares off potential customers, so Raphael is trying to better himself.

“I – uh. I guess not. So, can I – can I just sit here for a while? I promise I’ll buy some coffee.”

Raphael shrugs. “Do whatever you want. We’re not a library, though. You read something, you buy something. Even if it’s just a cookie.”

The boy nods. He looks on edge, nervous. His shoulders are almost pulled up to his ears and he’s pale, almost sickly so.

“Are you hiding from someone?” Raphael blurts before he can bite back the words. He normally doesn’t get involved in the business of customers, but somehow the boy spikes his interest.

The boy looks at him wide-eyed.

“Something like that,” he eventually says softly.

Raphael nods. He remembers running from someone himself and pushes the thought of rapid Spanish swearwords and big, angry hands away.

“I’ll get you some coffee,” he says.

*

The boy stays in the shop the entire day, tucked away from the windows at the back of the shop. Lily comes in and offers to take over his shift, but for some reason Raphael tells her that isn’t necessary. He’s exhausted, sleep creeping up on him whenever he’s not doing something, but somehow he just can’t seem to go home. Not while the boy is still here. He’s scared that Lily might tell him to get out, especially because he’s only ordered two coffees and a cookie the entire day he’s been here. Raphael can’t explain why he somehow feels responsible for the kid, but he vividly remembers running from his own demons and wishing he’d had his own book shop to hide in.

So he stays, and so does the boy.

“You hungry?” Raphael asks somewhere in the afternoon. Luke has gone home and Magnus has taken his place, but it had only taken one look at the boy and then at Raphael for him to understand their customer would be staying here for a while.

The boy looks up from the book he’d been pretending to read and frowns.

“Hungry?” He asks.

“Yeah. You’ve been here since six and you’ve only eaten a cookie. You must be starving.”

The boy smiles. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay,” Raphael shrugs. At least he asked. If the boy starves, it won’t be on him.

“I’m Simon, by the way,” the boy calls after him. Raphael turns around to look at him and leans his back against a book shelf.

“Raphael,” he says.

“Nice to meet you, Raphael. Do your shifts normally last this long?”

Raphael cocks a bow and considers Simon for a second. “No,” he says eventually, “but I don’t trust the others not to kick you out.”

Simon ducks his head. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

“No problem. So, this person you’re hiding from… is it, like, an ex who’s bothering you?”

Simon looks up to meet Raphael’s eyes, chewing his lip thoughtfully. “I’m not hiding from a person. I’m just – hiding.”

“Mhh,” Raphael hums understandingly, “college responsibilities?”

“Yeah,” Simon breathes, “college responsibilities.”

“What are you majoring in?”

“I – uh, Accounting.” He sounds sad, somehow. Raphael figures he’d sound sad too if he were an Accounting major.

“Interesting,” Raphael deadpans, and Simon chuckles.

“Yeah, it wasn’t exactly my choice. My mom – ” he visibly flinches at the word, almost like it hurts him just to say it. Raphael aches just a little bit for him. “ – she wanted me to major in Accounting. It’s safe, you know? A lot of job opportunities.”

“Trust me,” Raphael sighs, “safe majors don’t guarantee a job. I majored in Business and ended up working in a book shop.”

“Working here sounds more interesting than Business anyway,” Simon says dryly. The way he says it makes Raphael snicker.

“I guess you could say that. So, what did you want to major in if Accounting wasn’t your first choice?”

Simon looks down at his hands in his lap. “Music.”

“What instruments do you play?”

Simon shrugs sheepishly. “The guitar. Piano. The drums. A bit of cello. I sing, too. Nothing too profound, but I think I would’ve been allowed into the Academy of Music and Art if I tried.”

“Do you perform?”

Simon narrows his eyes at him. “Why?”

“Well, you see, we have live music every Friday night, but it’s an open stage which means anyone is allowed on. Even if they can’t play at all. All those wannabe performers are scaring off the customers. It would be nice to have an actual artist perform for once instead of bigheaded hipsters with their weird flutes and whatnot.”

Simon laughs at that. “I’ll consider it. Maybe I’ll do it.”

“Looking forward to it,” Raphael smiles, and wow, okay. That sounded way too nice. Almost like he cares about what Simon does and doesn’t do. Which he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t! He’s Raphael Santiago. Raphael Santiago doesn’t care about people and what they do.

So instead of continuing the easy conversation that had been flowing between them, Raphael turns around on his heels and marches back to the counter.

When Magnus comments on the blush high up his cheeks, Raphael just scoffs.

*

Simon doesn’t come in the next day, or the day after that. And Raphael doesn’t care. He truly doesn’t, no matter how many times Magnus tells him he does. He’s just curious, okay? He wants to know if Simon stopped avoiding his responsibilities and got back on track with his college work. And maybe he wonders how old the kid actually is. If he’s a Freshman or a Junior or a Senior. And if he has any idea what he wants to do after graduating. And maybe he wants to know why he didn’t eat the cookie he bought that day he came in, because nobody buys one of Luke’s famous cookies and doesn’t eat it.

He’s angry at himself for wondering about the strange boy so much. If Raphael lives by one rule in life, it’s to not wonder about anything. Life isn’t a cute little fairytale with a happy ending. He can’t afford to skip around and smell flowers and wonder about things. He isn’t a dreamy Disney princess, and he certainly won’t find his knight in shining armor by daydreaming and looking cute. Stuff needs to get done. He doesn’t dream or ask questions or wonder.

And yet.

It’s Friday morning when Simon shows up again. Raphael had been opening up the shop like he does every morning when Simon appears behind him and greets him too loudly in the early morning air.

Raphael startles and drops his keys, but Simon shoots forward with almost impossible speed and snatches them out of the air before they can fall to the ground.

“You scared me,” Raphael accuses as he snatches the keys out of Simon’s extended hand.

“Sorry,” Simon apologizes. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans and waits for Raphael to open the door to the shop before following him inside.

“Coffee?” Raphael asks as he makes his way to his coffee machine.

“No, thanks,” Simon calls after him. He’s waiting by the counter when Raphael returns with a steaming mug of black coffee.

Simon scrunches up his nose. “You drink your coffee black?”

“Like my soul,” Raphael replies automatically. He takes a sip and leans over the counter. “So, what can I do for you today?”

“Uh – I just… came by to check up for tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“The performance?” Simon asks unsurely.

“Oh!” Raphael exclaims. “So you’re in? You gonna do it?”

“Yeah, I think I will. What time should I be here?”

“Around ten? If that’s okay with you?”

Simon smiles at him, wide and bright. It may take away Raphael’s breath just a little bit.

“Perfect. Are you gonna be here?”

Raphael shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s my night off. Do you want me to be here?”

Simon stammers an incoherent reply and ducks his head, looking embarrassed but not blushing. In fact, he still looks as pale as a few days before. Raphael wonders if he’s taking care of himself and then immediately mentally kicks himself because he’s wondering again.

“I’ll be there,” he says when it doesn’t seem like Simon is going to say anything else. “You better not suck.”

Simon chuckles as if somehow that’s funny and nods. “I’ll try my best,” he promises. “I’ll see you tonight, then?”

Raphael nods. “Definitely.”

Simon shoots him another smile before rushing out of the shop and disappearing in the early morning light.

*

Magnus isn’t really surprised when Raphael shows up later that night, wearing jeans and a dark leather jacket instead of his usual work uniform.

“Come to see your boyfriend?” He asks when Raphael sits down next to him on the couch Magnus has claimed as his own. He isn’t working either tonight, and Raphael knows exactly why.

“Come to see yours?” He fires back, nodding at the tall, dark-haired boy sitting with a dark-haired girl a few chairs away.

“I asked first,” Magnus grins.

“He’s not my boyfriend, idiot. We only met twice. Unlike you, I don’t fall in love with strangers and pine after them until it gets too painful to look at.”

“Nobody is forcing you to look.”

Raphael nudges him with his shoulder, maybe a bit harder than completely necessary. Magnus nudges back just as hard. It’s the closest they’ll get to being a comforting friend.

A few artists take the stage before Simon does, including Meliorn’s boyfriend Jace. Raphael has met him a few times and doesn’t particularly care for him, but at least he has his own place Meliorn spends a lot of time at so Raphael has their apartment to himself. He isn’t complaining. He’s also quite a good singer, which makes Raphael like him a bit more.

It’s Simon’s turn after a horrible performance by someone with a violin and no talent. It isn’t the worst person to perform after, because basically nothing will look bad after that disaster. But Simon still looks extremely nervous, almost tripping over something invisible on stage. Raphael groans with second hand embarrassment and sinks further into the couch, covering his eyes with his hand. He just prays to God Simon isn’t as bad as the violin dude.

Simon quickly introduces himself, voice shaking, and takes a seat on the stool placed behind the microphone.

“Uh, this is one of my favorite songs so I hope you like it,” he says shyly. Raphael shoots one last prayer and prepares for the worst, but then Simon starts singing.

It’s an acoustic version of Forever Young, brought with such hoarseness and emotion Raphael gets goosebumps. Simon sounds – he sounds amazing. Magnus notices Raphael’s amazement and hooks a finger behind his chin to close his mouth.

“You’re gaping,” he explains when Raphael glares at him.

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you were. I get it, though.” He nods at Simon. “He’s good. Like, really good.”

“He is,” Raphael agrees.

Simon finishes the song with a soft smile and waves at the crowd as he gets off, barely even registering the loud applause he receives. Raphael pushes himself off the couch and follows Simon backstage (which is actually just the storage room of the store).

“Nice performance,” he says when he’s reached the storage room. He leans against the door frame and watches Simon pack up his guitar and put on his hoodie.

“Thanks,” Simon grins. “I should get going now, though.”

“Already? Why don’t you stay for a drink? My treat.”

Simon seems to consider it for a moment, but then he shakes his head.

“No, I really have to go. Rain check?”

Raphael nods. “Of course. See you around, Simon.”

“Yeah, you will,” Simon smiles. He brushes against Raphael’s arm as he passes, and though he feels cold, Raphael’s skin is suddenly inexplicable warm.

*

“Okay, I got it. You’re a criminal,” Raphael says one night. The shop has been closed for an hour, but Simon is still here. It’s been two weeks since Simon’s performance and he’s been dropping by more often now. He still spends entire days at the store, coming in before dawn and leaving after sunset. He’s been buying more coffee and food, but he never touches any of it.

“What?” Simon asks exasperated. He’d been peacefully reading the same book he’d been reading for the past couple of hours in his usual corner all the way at the back of the store and Raphael had been stealing glances for the past hour, but he’s sick of not saying anything.

“Yeah, you must be hiding from the cops. That would explain why you’re hiding here for entire days and why you always look so pale and on edge. So, what are you? A hacker? You look like a hacker. Uncovered some state secrets the FBI didn’t want anyone to find out about?”

“Why exactly do I look like a hacker to you?”

“The nerdy t-shirts, mostly,” Raphael points out.

Simon makes an offended noise at the back of his throat.

“Serial killers could wear nerdy t-shirts too! This is just blatant stereotyping. I thought you were better than that.”

“So you’re a serial killer?” Raphael wonders. He grins when he sees the offended expression on Simon’s face.

“No, of course not!”

“Then why are you staking out here for entire days? Don’t you have places to be, stuff to do? You’re in college, right? Don’t you have classes to attend?”

“Maybe I just like your company,” Simon fires back. He ducks his head when he realizes what he just said and tries to hide behind his book, but Raphael can’t stop grinning.

“Then why don’t you just ask me out instead of wasting your time?”

Simon looks at him over the edge of his book. “Do you want to go out with me?”

“No,” Raphael smirks. “I don’t date serial killers.”

“I’m not a serial killer!”

“Yeah, well. I don’t really know much about you, do I? I only know your first name, that you’re an Accounting major – even though it seems like you barely go to school at all – you’re musically gifted and you’re into gay fiction, judging from your choice of books.”

“Excuse me, but have you even ever read The Song of Achilles?”

“Of course I have. How else would I know it’s gay fiction?”

Simon narrows his eyes at him and puts down his book. “I don’t know anything about you either, mister. I actually only know your first name. That’s it. You know more about me than I know about you, so who’s the real shady figure here?”

Raphael jabs a finger into his direction. “Good point,” he admits. “Guess we should go on a date after all to get to know each other and make sure neither of us has ever killed anyone.”

“I guess we should,” Simon smiles. He pushes himself out of his chair and walks to the counter, digging up a pen before reaching out to take Raphael’s wrist. He pulls his arm towards him, rolls up the sleeves of his shirt and scribbles his number on his forearm. Simon’s fingers are like ice around his wrist, but Raphael still feels like he’s on fire. He hopes his blush isn’t too visible to the other boy, but judging by the smug grin on his face, Raphael figures he must’ve either seen how flustered he is or must’ve felt his racing pulse.

“You could’ve just asked for my phone, you know,” he says when Simon lets go off his wrist. He hates how breathless he sounds. “We don’t live in the eighties anymore.”

Simon shrugs. “Where’s the fun in that?”

And then he winks, confidence suddenly radiating off him like something you can touch. It’s like the shy boy hiding behind his book has completely disappeared all of the sudden. Raphael hates how his breath catches in his throat.

“Call me?” Simon asks. Raphael doesn’t trust his voice, so he just nods. Simon grins at him and hands him a twenty dollar bill for the coffee and cookies he ordered today before leaving the store.

He almost bumps into Magnus on his way out, who calls him ‘Sheldon’ and waves him off.

When Magnus sees Raphael’s flustered expression, he just laughs.

“Shut up,” Raphael mutters, but his cheeks hurt from biting back a smile.

*

Their first date is to the movies. It’s pretty basic and doesn’t allow them to talk much, but they walk the streets of New York afterwards to get to know each other. Simon still seems to struggle when it comes to talking about his personal life, but Raphael finds out that he has one sister and was raised by his mother after his dad passed away when he was eight. His voice gets smaller the more he talks about more recent events and eventually he falters in his stories all together, his animated hands falling to his sides.

“The past year has been – uh. Yeah. I don’t really – I don’t really talk about it,” he apologizes. Raphael brushes his hand against Simon’s in what he hopes is comfort.

“It’s okay,” he says softly. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. We can talk about something else, like – ” he makes a vague gesture, searching for a subject to talk about, “ – like superheroes. I noticed you wearing a Captain America shirt the other day. Is he your favorite?”

That sets off an excited monologue about superheroes, including a personal top 10 favorite superheroes plus reasons why they’re the best. Raphael mostly listens, as superheroes aren’t exactly his expertise, and he finds himself relaxing listening to Simon’s rambling. He always found people rambling annoying – Meliorn could rant about the universe for hours, especially if he was high – but Simon’s rambling doesn’t bother him at all. It’s easy to get lost in his words, to just allow himself to not think about anything but the boy walking next to him.

“I guess Deadpool can’t really be considered a superhero. He’s probably more like a super antihero, if that’s even a thing, but he’s still my fave. Did you watch Deadpool?”

“Uh, no?”

“Truly unforgivable,” Simon shakes his head. “We have to watch it together some time.”

“Maybe as our next date,” Raphael offers. Simon beams at him.

“I’d love that, yeah. Anyway, Deadpool is my fave because he’s canonically pansexual, which is amazing. Like, it just feels so good to have representation on screen, you know?”

“Oh, you’re pansexual?” Raphael wonders.

“Yeah. Is that gonna be… a problem?”

Raphael stops walking and curls his hand around Simon’s wrist to stop him too. “No, of course not. Why would that be a problem?”

Simon shrugs sheepishly. “I don’t know. I’ve just dated some people that had issues with my sexuality. They thought the chances of me cheating were higher somehow. I don’t wanna start things with you if you’re gonna react the same way.”

“Simon, I just asked because I didn’t know. You could’ve been gay or bi too. It’s not gonna be a problem, I promise.”

Simon exhales in relief. “Oh thank g- that’s great. Because I – I kinda really like you and I wouldn’t want that to mess things up.”

Raphael smiles and takes a careful step closer, allowing Simon to step away if he wants to. But the other boy remains where he is, gazing down slightly to look Raphael in the eye.

“I really like you too, Simon,” Raphael admits. “And while we’re on the subject: I’m asexual, so. The more you know, right?”

“Oh,” Simon says, “that’s cool. I mean, thank you for telling me this.” Then he breathes out a laugh. “I can’t believe we’re coming out to each other on our first date. It took me seventeen years to come out to my family.”

“I’m still not out to mine,” Raphael shrugs. “Not about being asexual and not about being gay either.”

Simon moves even closer, until their chests are almost touching. He reaches down to grab Raphael’s hand.

“Don’t you think they’ll accept you?” He asks carefully.

“They’re Catholic,” Raphael says as a way of explaining. Simon nods like he understands.

The conversation falters between them until they’re just staring at each other’s lips, chests completely touching now. Raphael’s heart is racing in his chest as he moves even closer and then stops beating completely when Simon closes the space between them to press his soft lips to Raphael’s.

It’s an innocent kiss, with closed mouths and no tongue, but Raphael still feels lightheaded when they part. He lets his forehead rest against Simon’s, and his cold skin cools down Raphael’s a bit too.

“You’re always so cold,” he comments softly. Simon bumps their noses together.

“Bad blood circulation,” he explains easily.

“On your forehead?”

“It’s a serious condition. Don’t mock me.”

Raphael chuckles against his lips and moves forward to kiss him again. Simon’s hands are steady on his sides, resting right above his hipbones, and Raphael’s come up to curl around the collar of Simon’s jacket.

Raphael tilts his head to deepen the kiss, and Simon allows him to lick into his mouth for a heartbeat before suddenly jerking back. He covers his mouth with his hand for a moment, pressing his eyes shut like he’s in pain.

“Did I do anything wrong?” Raphael asks worriedly. He can’t possibly be that bad of a kisser, right?

Simon shakes his head. He lets his hand drop to his side, presses his lips together once more and then offers Raphael a sweet smile.

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. Can I walk you home?”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Are you sure?”

Raphael nods. “Yeah, go home. I’ll call you later?”

“I’d love to,” Simon says. He moves to give Raphael one more kiss before saying goodbye and taking off.

The kiss lingers on Raphael’s lips long after he’s arrived home.

*

They go on a second date, and then a third and a fourth, and suddenly they’re going steady. Simon doesn’t drop by the store anymore, instead comes around Raphael’s apartment after sunset. Though Raphael loves having someone to kiss and cuddle with, he can’t help but grow annoyed at Simon’s policy to only see him when it’s dark out.

“Are you ashamed of me?” He asks one night, when they’re watching some Netflix.

“What? No! Why would I be ashamed of you?”

Raphael sits up from his position curled up against Simon’s side to look at him. “Because you only want to see me after sunset. Am I like a non-sexual booty call to you?”

“Raphael, no. Not at all. Don’t think that.”

“Then what else am I supposed to think? You never want to go on coffee dates with me, you haven’t introduced me to your friends yet, you come here after sunset and disappear before dawn. It’s almost like you want to keep me a secret.”

“I don’t! I swear I don’t, Raphael.” Simon reaches out to take Raphael’s hand, but Raphael gets off the couch to get out of his reach.

“Okay, prove it. Meet me tomorrow for lunch.”

“I can’t, Raphael – ”

“Why not? Just give me a reason, Simon!”

“It’s complicated – ”

“Complicated, my ass. Do you have someone else? Is that it? Am I just a nice snack on the side to you? That would be sick, by the way. It’s one thing if you would just use me for sex, but we’re not even having sex.”

Simon stands too to face Raphael. “I don’t have anyone else! Are you saying that because I’m pansexual? Is my sexuality a problem to you?”

“Oh, don’t twist my words! I told you your sexuality isn’t a problem. You sneaking into my apartment each night and leaving before I wake up like I’m a dirty little secret is the problem! And I just want to know why. I think I’m entitled to an honest answer.”

Simon sighs. “I can’t give you one. I’m sorry.”

Raphael claps his jaws shut in anger, fist shaking by his side. “I think you should go,” he says between clenched teeth.

“Raphael, please – ”

“Go away, Simon!” He snaps, pushing against Simon’s shoulders to make him move. Simon takes a single step backwards and lifts his hand to take Raphael’s wrist, but Raphael jerks his hands away.

“Simon, if you don’t leave right now I swear I’m calling the cops.”

“Okay, okay. I’m going. I really am sorry, Raphael.”

Raphael just glares at him until Simon has gathered his stuff and steps out of his door. Raphael slams it shut behind him and then slides down against it until he’s sitting on the floor. He fishes out his phone and dials speed dial with shaking hands.

“Magnus?” He asks when the other man picks up. “Can you come over?” He takes a deep, shaky breath. “Please?”

*

Simon leaves him alone after that night. He doesn’t show up at the store right before dawn, he doesn’t ring his doorbell after sunset, he doesn’t even call. Raphael misses him, but he also feels stupid for ever being naïve enough to think Simon actually cared about him. If he cared, surely he would’ve tried contacting him by now. Even a simple text would suffice. But nothing. Complete and absolute radio silence.

Magnus tries cheering him up by bringing back their weekly Bitching Broment in which they just complain about everything to vent, but it turns into Raphael drunkenly cursing Simon for being a huge fucking dick and Magnus agreeing by offering him more alcohol. It’s a mess, honestly. Raphael’s a mess, which is just embarrassing. He’d only been dating Simon for a few months, nothing too serious, and yet he feels completely and utterly played with. He hates feeling like this. He hates that Simon made his head spin and his heart race and his palms sweat. And above everything else, he hates that Simon made him wonder. About dating a boy. About telling his mom. About being who he is and being proud of it.

But life isn’t a fairytale. And Raphael doesn’t wonder.

*

Raphael was never scared to open the store before sunrise. Sure, there are some sketchy people in New York, but never in the neighborhood of the book shop. It never even crossed his mind that he was in danger of being robbed or stabbed or kidnapped.

Maybe he shouldn’t have been this careless.

Maybe then he would’ve seen them coming.

There are some flashes in the corner of his eye – blue and black and white. Too fast for him to realize what they are before it’s too late. Raphael drops the keys to the store and wants to run, but someone is already grabbing him by the throat and slams him against a wall, so hard his back screams out in pain. The face in front of him is wrong, somehow, though he can’t say exactly what it is. The woman holding him against the wall hisses, and her two friends grab both of Raphael’s arms to drag him along.

And then they’re running.

It should be impossible for them to run this fast. The world blurs around Raphael and he feels dizzy on fear and from how fast they’re going, but his throat is screwed shut. He couldn’t cry out even if he wanted to.

They enter a building and race up some stairs, barely even slowing down before dropping Raphael on a couch like a sack of potatoes. The woman who had grabbed him by his throat says something too fast for him to understand, and then they’re gone, leaving him alone in the room.

Raphael doesn’t allow himself the time to look around to see where he is. He beelines to the door, but of course it’s locked. After frantically searching the room, Raphael comes to the conclusion that there aren’t any other exits either. He’s trapped.

He looks for something to defend himself with. A bottle or a vase or anything, even a candle would do. But there’s nothing he could use. So he tries the door again, bangs on it and calls out for help, but he doesn’t think anyone can hear him. And if they can, they don’t seem in any hurry to come rescue him.

Raphael plops down on the couch, defeated. He pats his pockets to check if he’s got his phone on him, but he must’ve dropped it at the store too. There’s no way to contact someone, nobody knows where he is and there’s probably a bunch of lunatics standing outside the door, waiting to kill him. Great.

It doesn’t take long for one of them to come into the room. Raphael jerks his head up to meet their gaze and jumps off the couch, figuring he’s got a better chance in a fight when he’s on the same level as his attacker.

But the woman standing in the doorway wasn’t part of the little gang that kidnapped him.

“Who are you?” Raphael asks. His voice sounds surprisingly steady.

The woman smiles and closes the door behind her. The click of it locking is too loud in the quiet room, and Raphael swallows audibly.

“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough, darling,” the woman purrs, slowly approaching him on her high heels. She’s swaying her hips what’s probably supposed to be seductively, and Raphael can’t help but laugh humorlessly at that.

“If you’re trying to seduce me, I have some bad news for you. I’m gay.”

The woman cocks a bow. “Oh, I hear that a lot.” She’s standing in front of him now, and reaches out her arm to caress his cheek. Raphael jerks away from her cold touch. “They never really are.”

“Trust me, I am.”

“Not when I do this,” the woman smiles. She snaps her fingers, and suddenly every muscle in Raphael’s body goes limp. His willpower fades, he forgets why exactly he’s fighting. All he sees is a beautiful woman in front of him, smiling flirtingly at him. And he sees his own hands reach out to grab her waist, feels his feet move to the couch to drag her down and into a kiss. His brain is screaming at him to stop, stop, stop, but the rest of his body is yelling to do, do, do.

So he does.

*

Raphael barely registers anything. He feels extremely drunk and high at the same time, but there’s a solid body pressed against him and cold lips against his and that’s all that matters. His neck stings and he vaguely remembers the person in his arms biting him there, and he’d done the same to them and liked it. The person laughs against his mouth, high-pitched and dangerous. Something inside of Raphael is on high alert, but it quickly gets smothered by the rest of him.

There’s a loud bang on the door. Raphael ignores it and dives back to capture the lips of the person next to him with his own, but the banging gets louder until there’s a crash and the sound of someone stepping inside.

Raphael looks up, eyes dazed and vision blurry.

“Simon?” He slurs once his vision clears enough to make something out of the shape standing in the middle of the room.

“Camille, stop,” Simon spits. It sounds so unlike himself that Raphael sobers up enough to detach himself from the person next to him. A woman. The same woman as before.

“What – what’s happening?” He asks, frowning. He has to put all of his energy in forming the words.

“Raphael, we’re leaving,” Simon says.

“No, you’re not,” the woman – Camille – counters. She pushes herself off the couch and walks over to Simon, hips swaying. “This is none of your business, fledgling,” she spits.

“Actually, it is,” Simon snarls. His voice sounds venomous. “You know damn well that it is. I don’t know what kind of sick game you’re playing, but I’m not participating. So spare yourself the trouble.”

Camille’s laugh is ice cold. “Who says I’m playing a game? I just saw a nice piece of candy and decided to bring him home to have some fun. No harm done.”

Simon growls at her. An actual, feral, dangerous growl. Raphael flinches instinctively, as if his body is reacting to an ancient danger.

“You stay away from him,” he threatens.

“Or what? You’re gonna kill me?”

“I just might try.”

Camille laughs again. “Oh, how very brave of you. Fine.” She gestures to Raphael, who’s still sitting on the couch. “Take him. I don’t care. I’ll get my way in the end.”

Simon hisses at her again and then walks over to Raphael, whose eyes are starting to droop with exhaustion.

“Raphael, come on. I’ll take you home.”

“Okay,” Raphael says weakly. He allows himself to be pulled to his feet by Simon, who hauls him into his arms and runs.

Somewhere halfway out of the building, Raphael loses consciousness.

*

Raphael wakes up in his own bed, a splitting headache behind his eyes and a nasty taste in his mouth. He thinks he might’ve dreamt everything that happened earlier, but then his neck stings when he sits up. He reaches up to touch it where it hurts, and can feel two tiny wounds on his vein.

What the fuck.

Raphael stumbles out of bed and his room to his living room, only to be met by a very worried looking Simon and a girl he’s never seen before.

“Raphael,” Simon says when Raphael enters the room, “you’re awake.”

“Mhh,” Raphael grunts. His head is killing him. He shuffles to his window to close the curtains, despite it being the middle of the night. Even the dim moonlight is too much for his tortured brain.

“What the fuck happened to me?” He croaks on his way to the kitchen. Simon waits for him to come back with a glass water and an aspirin before explaining.

“Raphael, this is Maia,” he starts, pointing at the girl awkwardly standing next to him. She raises a hand in greeting, but immediately drops it when it becomes clear that Raphael isn’t returning her gesture.

“Is she your girlfriend or something?”

“Wh – no! She’s just a friend. I asked her to come because – well, because what I’m about to tell you is really hard. And I need her to back me up with this.”

“What, you’re part of an underworld gang and your leader just kidnapped me?” Raphael questions.

“Actually, that’s pretty close,” Simon mutters. Then he sighs and sinks down on the coffee table in front of Raphael to face him. “Raphael, this is going to sound insane, but you have to believe me. I swear everything I’m about to tell you is the truth. Do you trust me?”

Raphael wants to tell him no. He wants to tell him to fuck right off because he just went through the worst night of his life, and he’s also pretty sure he got drugged and sexually assaulted and he really wants to deal with that in his own way. But Simon’s eyes are soft and pleading, and when Raphael looks at him his headache might become just a bit more bearable.

So he finds himself nodding yes.

“Okay, so. The reason why I couldn’t see you during the day, why we always had to meet after sunset or before dawn is… it’s because – ” Simon inhales sharply “ – it’s because I’m a vampire, Raphael. I died almost a year ago with vampire blood in my veins, and I reemerged from my grave as a fledgling. We burn in sunlight, that’s why I came into the store that first day. I wasn’t hiding from college responsibilities; I was hiding from the sun. And that woman, Camille? She’s my clan leader. She thinks she can do anything she wants because most of us are too scared to go against her, and she knows how I feel about you. She kidnapped you to torment me, and I’m so sorry, Raphael. I tried to keep you out of this, I really did. But she must’ve seen something. Must’ve noticed something. This is my fault, Raph. I’m sorry.”

Raphael is dumbstruck. He can’t even begin to wrap his head around whatever Simon just told him.

“So, you’re a… you’re a vampire? Are you kidding me?”

“I’m not,” Simon says. “I can prove it.”

Raphael sits back in anticipation. Simon sighs and opens his mouth to show Raphael his fangs dropping.

“Holy fucking shit. This – this isn’t happening. You’ve been a vampire the entire time we dated?”

“I’ve been a vampire since way before that, but yeah.”

And honestly, it explains a lot. It explains the cold skin, why he never ate or drank in front of him, why they always had to meet up during the night. And Raphael can’t fucking believe he actually finds this plausible.

“So what the fuck happened to me? Your leader – she…” Raphael breaks off his sentence, absentmindedly touching the two small wounds on his neck.

“She basically hypnotized you,” Maia shrugs. Raphael looks up at her.

“Hypnotize me? Why?”

“Probably to feed off you. Exchange blood.”

“Feed off me?” Raphael sounds close to hysterical now.

“That’s enough, Maia,” Simon says quickly. “Like I said, this is all my fault. Camille doesn’t like me. Well, hates me would be a better description, to be fair. I’m the only one who dares to question her authority, and she can’t stand me for it. She knows how I feel about you and she wanted to hurt me by hurting you.”

Raphael looks from Simon to Maia and back. Both look as serious as ever, looking at him with anticipation, but this is just – everything about this is insane. No matter how plausible it may sound, no matter how this would explain a lot. It just can’t be. It’s impossible.

Raphael gets to his feet, head spinning, and pushes past the duo in his living room to get to his front door.

“Raphael, where are you going?” Simon calls out.

“Out,” Raphael says, yanking open his door. “I need some air. I can’t – I can’t be here anymore. I need to go.”

“I’ll go with you,” Simon offers.

“No,” Raphael says, maybe a bit too loud, “I need to be alone. Just – just give me some time. Please.”

Simon nods slowly, as if Raphael is the crazy one here. As if Simon didn’t just tell him he’s a vampire.

“Okay,” he says gently, “okay. Be careful. Come back. I’ll be here if you need me.”

Raphael isn’t sure if he wants Simon to be here when he comes back, but the thought of coming back to an empty apartment isn’t exactly appealing either. So he jerks his head in a curt nod and walks away, closing the door behind him.

He takes the stairs to the lobby. He needs to think, put everything together, and the only way he can do that is by moving. He descends the five stories too fast and is out of breath once he reaches the lobby, but he ignores the confused look of the receptionist behind the front desk and pushes his way outside.

The night air feels cool and welcome on Raphael’s burning skin. He still has a massive headache, but the fresh air is helping him clear his head. He starts walking into a random direction, not really knowing where he’s going but just happy to be out.

Raphael tries to process what Simon just told him. If he’s a vampire, that means vampires are real. They don’t just exist in horror movies and bad teen romances. They’re real and they’re in New York and Raphael knows one, even dated one. He barks out a humorless laugh at the thought. Who would’ve thought his first real boyfriend would be a vampire? What kind of sick joke must the universe be playing on him.

Despite how hard he tries not to, his thoughts keep getting pulled back to that woman from earlier. Camille. Even her name tastes bitter on his tongue, like something rotten. She had looked so pretty when he was under her power, but now all Raphael can think of when remembering her is a rotten corpse. She might’ve looked pretty, but underneath it there was nothing but decay and ugliness.

He hates her. He truly, deeply despises her. He wants nothing more than to go back there and kill her himself, and he doesn’t even know where this sudden bloodlust comes from. All he knows is that his hands are itching and his heart is beating rapidly in his chest and the two neat puncture wounds on his neck are throbbing.

His feet seem to know what he wants to do, as they carry him away from the lit streets of Brooklyn and into a dim alleyway. He doesn’t know where he is, but somehow he knows Camille must be close. He can feel her.

“Well, well, well,” a voice calls from behind him. Raphael turns around and is immediately faced with Camille’s red lips and dangerous eyes, face twisted in something resembling a smile. “I knew my blood is strong, but you’re the first one to find their way back to me so soon.”

“Get the fuck away from me!” Raphael snarls. Camille raises an eyebrow.

“You’re a feisty little one, aren’t you? Did Simon tell you about what he truly is? What I truly am? What you are becoming?”

“What I’m becoming?” Raphael echoes. Simon never mentioned that.

Camille tuts. “He didn’t, did he? How very inconsiderate of him.” She takes a step closer to him, and then another one. Raphael can feel his will to fight drain from his body with each step she takes. His body seems to have caught up with the situation before his brain can, and is yelling at him to run. But Camille is blocking the only exit, and he’s sure there’s no way of getting past her.

“You see, Raphael,” Camille purrs, rolling the r of his name in a way that makes him feel sick, “I told you I always get my way.” She’s standing in front of him now, raising her hands to cup both his cheeks.

Her lips are ice cold on his forehead where she kisses him. Like frostbite.

“Welcome to the family,” she smiles.

The last thing Raphael registers is a loud crack and the feeling of his head spinning, and then everything goes black.

*

At first there’s nothing.

Blackness. Endless darkness around him, suffocating him. Raphael tries to move, but it’s as if he’s being held in a tight, heavy embrace. Nothing around him budges.

He tries to scream, but immediately chokes on dirt. There’s dirt everywhere, he realizes. It’s too dark to see anything, but he feels his way across wherever he is and feels dirt under his palms, damp and cold.

And then there’s the burning. It’s like a match being lit inside of his throat, the fire slowly spreading out and eating away at his entire body. It’s unbearable. The fire is in his throat, in his chest, in his fingertips. It’s everywhere, and Raphael can’t move, can’t scream. He can only suffer and burn.

He thinks maybe he’s in Hell. Everything around him tells him he is. He wants to call out to God, to ask why he has forsaken him, but as soon as the thought enters his mind he feels sick to his stomach. He gasps and groans in pain, trying to curl up into a ball to make it go away, but the dirt on top of him is heavy and unmoving.

But the thought of God seems to wake an ancient instinct in the pit of Raphael’s stomach. He suddenly realizes that he isn’t in Hell, but that he’s buried. And the only way to get out is to claw himself out.

So he starts digging, his fingernails getting covered in dirt in seconds. He keeps digging and clawing and pushing, the burning in his throat and the instinct to dig moving him forward.

And then the final layer of dirt disappears and Raphael can see the clear night sky. He pushes his hand out first, then his arm and shoulder and head.

He gasps for air once he emerges, blinking rapidly to get the dirt out of his eyes. He doesn’t know where he is, doesn’t even care. The burning is still in his throat, rapidly spreading over his body, and he’s afraid he’ll combust into flames if he doesn’t find a way to put it out.

“Raphael,” someone says. Raphael jerks his head up and hisses at the figure standing in front of him.

“Raphael,” the person says again, “it’s me. Simon.”

Raphael snarls at the figure when it tries to move closer. The person stills, sighs audibly and throws a bag in front of Raphael.

“Drink up,” they instruct.

Raphael looks down at the bag, colored dark red with blood, and before he knows what he’s doing he’s ripping the bag and pouring the blood down his throat, begging for more, more, more.

The person keeps providing him with bags, and around the fifth one Raphael finally recognizes them.

“What happened to me?” He cries out. The blood suddenly disgusts him, and he throws the half drank bag as far away as possible. “Simon, what happened? What am I?”

And Simon explains. He tells him about Camille. He tells him about burying him and waiting for him to be reborn. And he helps him get the dirt off his clothes, guides him back to the Hotel Dumort where the Children of the Night have their home. He gets him out of his clothes and into a shower, offers him more blood for him to drink. He stays with him the entire time, but Raphael is unresponsive. Numb.

He’s sure he’ll feel like this for the rest of his undead life.

*

The numbness lasts for a few weeks. Raphael thought it would last forever, but slowly the ice around his heart starts melting. He still cries himself asleep most of the time, longing to feel his mother’s embrace one last time or see Magnus smile just once more. But Simon is there, and he helps him cope more than anyone else. He sits through his nightmares with him, tells him about his own Turning, protects him from Camille. It’s not the life Raphael wants, but it’s the life he got. And he’ll need to find a way to live with it.

The first few weeks turn into months, and then in a year. He manages to suppress his bloodlust and is able to see his friends again when it’s dark out, even starts visiting his mom again. He and Simon learn how to hold down solid foods together and are sick for days afterwards, but sharing the pain somehow makes it more bearable. They’re not the same as they were before Raphael found out about this secret, supernatural world, but they’re good together.

Camille is still as horrible as ever. She torments the clan members, abuses her power to no end. She seems to have taken a special interest in Raphael as her new play thing, and Raphael allows her to play with him as much as she wants until he finds a way to kill her.

In the end, he doesn’t kill her after all. He finds something even better; he overthrows her.

Raphael becomes the youngest clan leader in vampire history, barely older than a fledgling. But he’s a born leader, and the clan has started treating him as such long before he officially overthrows Camille.

She gets locked away in the basement in a chained coffin with the promise that she’ll never get out, and peace settles in the Dumort. There are no more Turnings, no more mistreating of the clan members, no more abuse of power.

This is a year and a half after Raphael’s Turning. He and Simon have been rebuilding the thing they once had for months now, taking it so slow it sometimes seems like they aren’t moving at all. But they’re both unsettled now, both forever scarred by what Camille did to them, and taking it slow is the only way to get somewhere at all.

Simon finds him in his room the night of Camille’s downfall. The clan is celebrating downstairs, drinking spiked blood and dancing to weird music, but Raphael had excused himself to his room an hour ago.

“So,” Simon says as he steps into Raphael’s room, “I guess I’ll have to take orders from you now.”

Raphael smiles and approaches Simon slowly. He’d been thinking about this, about them, for a while now, and somehow tonight seems like the perfect night to finally take the next step.

“Well, if that’s the case…” Raphael muses. He takes Simon’s hand and holds it in his own between their unmoving chests. “I order you to kiss me.”

Kissing Simon isn’t like it was when he was still human. Back then, something about it had felt almost… unnatural. Simon’s lips were too cold against his, his chest too still. But now, now that they’re both the same, it’s as if heat has found its way back to Simon’s lips. They no longer feel cold against his, instead feel impossibly warm. Almost like sunlight.

The kiss turns dirty embarrassingly quickly, and suddenly Raphael is pressed against a wall and Simon’s hands are pushed up his shirt, fingers moving up his sides, over his ribs. Raphael moans softly into Simon’s mouth. There’s an urge closing a fist around his throat, one he doesn’t understand until Simon reaches up to cup Raphael’s neck.

“Simon,” he breathes. They part just enough to look at each other, and Raphael tilts his head almost out of reflex. He doesn’t quite understand why exactly he does it, but suddenly he feels the overwhelming urge to have Simon drink from him.

Simon seems to be feeling the same urge, as he immediately ducks forward to press a hot, openmouthed kiss to Raphael’s neck. He grazes his sensitive skin with his fangs, and Raphael’s fingernails dig into Simon’s back.

“Please,” he pleads, still not sure what exactly he’s asking for. But Simon seems to know what to do. He wets Raphael’s skin with his tongue, presses one last kiss to his pulse point and sinks his fangs into his neck.

“Fu – fuck,” Raphael gasps, hips jerking. The feeling of having Simon drink from him is unlike anything he’s ever felt before; overwhelming and searing hot and right. Everything about this feels right.

Raphael captures Simon’s lips with his own immediately after Simon pulls back from his neck. He tastes himself on Simon’s lips, and somehow that makes it even better.

Simon parts with his lips and moves his tongue over the tiny puncture holes he left on Raphael’s neck to close the wounds, pressing a final kiss to his collarbone before taking a step backwards.

“That was – ” he starts, but he can’t seem to finish it.

“I know,” Raphael says, knowing exactly what he means.

He looks at Simon, noticing his chest rising and falling unevenly despite not needing to breathe. His pupils are blown wide and his hair is a mess, his lips red from the blood and the kissing. His hands are trembling, just like Raphael’s.

And for the first time in over a year, Raphael allows himself to wonder.

He wonders about this boy. About spending the rest of eternity with him, having him by his side wherever he goes, holding his hand even when the world crumbles around them.

And somehow, that makes everything just a bit less scary.