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“Do you have anything new to discuss, Raphael?”
It’s something that they do, albeit rarely; he comes to Raphael in the morning and stays until the end of the night, and they talk. Oh, they talk. Meliorn tells him stories about what he’s heard, because Meliorn knows things, knows so much that it’s intimidating, and Raphael tells him stories about what it’s like, living every day as a vampire. Meliorn’s interest in his life is always genuine. Everyone always wants something from him, everyone always wants to take and take and take, but with Meliorn – with Meliorn it’s natural.
“Not much,” he replies. “Do you have anything new to discuss?”
“Surprisingly, I don’t.”
He takes a seat on the chair next to Raphael and stretches back, slightly. There are flowers braided into his hair – something that Raphael would ask about under different circumstances.
He heard about what happened with Jace Wayland.
“Are you sure?” he asks Meliorn, because Raphael understands, in a way. He understands. Raphael always understands.
Helping others is quite freeing, gives him back the freedom that was taken from him. It also ends in pain, always, always, with Raphael thinking I’m such an idiot, but—
That isn’t relevant. Meliorn deserves comfort, because Raphael understands.
“There have been some instances,” Meliorn says slowly, choosing his words carefully, “where some things have happened, but they aren’t very nice to talk about.”
“I see.”
Raphael won’t push him. He pushed Si—
No. He promised himself that he would stop thinking about that. It’s too late, and whatever they had – whatever they could have had, something resembling love, the horrible word, has faded. It’s irreperable.
Simon is on his mind too often. It is terrifying, how much he thinks about Simon.
“And I bet you could say the same thing,” Meliorn says, “right?”
Meliorn smiles softly at him. Raphael feels – warm.
“I suppose,” Raphael replies, but they both know the answer. They are both in mourning.
He watches Meliorn stare at the ground; he’s sighing like something has been taken from him, something deep.
Again: Raphael understands, more than anything. More than anything, Raphael feels the same emptiness.
“Meliorn,” he says lowly, “you know how I view the Shadowhunters. I’m sure you know what happened… but I know that they’re very loyal, very determined, even at the expense of others.” He coughs. “They’ll get him back.”
“I know.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Why did you fall for a Shadowhunter?”
Meliorn looks up at him, right into his eyes, and says: “Why did you fall for your fledgling?”
Raphael hasn’t laughed like this in a very long time.
“You got me,” he says.
They both know that it’s only a distraction.
They both cherish any distraction they can get.