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In the end, Raphael finds him. It shouldn’t be surprising, but it is, and Simon’s whole world narrows down to the man at the other end of the alley. Raphael looks like he just walked off the runway, his clothes on just the right side of casually expensive, and his hair is perfectly styled. But his face is caught in an expression of anguish, faint and trembling beneath his façade of cold eyes and thin-lipped smile. Simon takes it all in, the tiny twitch of Raphael’s mouth and the way his fingers skitter over his thighs in an irregular pattern, too fast for human eyes.
“Your friends aren’t here to protect you.” Raphael says. his voice low and raspy. “Your precious Shadowhunters can do nothing about my kill order.” Simon doesn’t say anything, even as he instinctively takes a step forward to get closer, because he misses Raphael’s voice. He misses everything about him, an ache that’s carved into his chest. He misses Raphael in the way he misses the sunlight warming his skin, in the way he misses the taste of warm bread melting in his mouth or the sound of God’s name on his tongue. Things he’ll never get back, thing’s he’ll spend an eternity looking at hungrily.
“You’re alone.” Simon finally notes, his eyes jumping to the shadows along the walls. There’s no one there, and he has enough of a handle on his senses to understand that much. Raphael shrugs, the movement causing the material of his jacket to rustle into the silence. Simon traces the slope of Raphael’s jaw, the powerful shoulders shifting as Raphael stares him down.
“I’ll take my chances.” Raphael responds.
“Raphael – “ Simon says, and it comes out all wrong, too desperate and painfully raw, his voice giving away all of his intentions, his anguish and his misery. Raphael sucks in a sharp, unnecessary breath, eyes snapping up to meet Simon’s gaze, and he sounds, for the first time, the way Simon feels – like he’s coming apart at the seams with no hope of being pulled back together. Simon looks away, wants to backtrack and erase his temporary moment of weakness, because he’s not allowed to have that. They both made their choices, and now they have to live with it, and there’s no way around that. Some things are strong enough to last through wars, but this fragile thing blooming between them isn’t strong enough to last anywhere. He wants to take everything he said back, every little word or glance shared between them erased so that it won’t hurt quite as badly.
“Simon.” Raphael says back quietly, and his tone is just as hurt but it’s softer, and his eyes when they stare at Simon are a challenge. His smirk is gone, replaced by a somber expression that does nothing to hide the way he’s looking at Simon, like even now he would drop everything and bare his neck to protect his fledgling for just a little longer.
“Don’t – “ Simon chokes out, bringing a hand up to wipe furiously at his eyes as he takes another step back. “Please.”
And it always comes back to this, Simon trying to run away but being rooted to the spot by everything that lies between them. It’s the reason he hesitates, every single time, the reason he looked back at Raphael when he let Camille out, the reason that he walks around at night near the DuMort with no escort, unprotected, the reason he waits and waits and waits for something he knows that neither he nor Raphael can give to the other.
Raphael takes several steps forward, backing Simon up until he hits a fence and stops, his eyes roaming over Simon’s face like he’s searching for something. Simon holds still, clutching the chain links underneath him hard enough to leave an imprint across his palms, trying to ground himself from the rising heat in his chest as Raphael moves closer and closer. It’s bitterly cold outside, but the air between their bodies is so warm, a molten heat that pours between the two of them and drips down into the cracks in the pavement.
Simon prays in that moment, open-eyed and unholy as he is; he stares into Raphael’s eyes and prays for absolution.
“Simon.” Raphael repeats, barely a whisper, and then he’s closing the space between the two of them and leaning in to swiftly press their mouths together, a moment of nothing but his lips, soft and full, pressing against Simon’s. Simon feels like he’s been shot, pain exploding outwards from his chest as he makes a wounded noise and practically melts into Raphael. The moment twists into something hotter and more possessive as Raphael’s strong hands come up to grip Simon’s waist, his nails digging tiny crescents into Simon’s hips as Simon clutches at Raphael’s jacket with one hand and slides another up Raphael’s neck. Their lips part and come back together, close-mouthed and chaste. Raphael lets out a low groan that has Simon tightening his grip on the fragile skin under his hand; if he concentrates, he can feel the blood running through the veins of the body pressed against him. They’re barely kissing and Simon feels light-headed and overwhelmed with desire. He never wants to let Raphael go. He knows that when he does, something will irrevocably break.
“Baby.” Raphael murmurs, pulling back long enough to let the endearment roll off his tongue before he dives back in, this time aggressively opening up Simon’s mouth under his. Simon lets him, pliantly letting his tongue slide against Raphael’s as one of Raphael’s hands push underneath his shirt and smooth over the muscles working in Simon’s back. His sharp nails dragging across Simon’s skin set off sparks of pain that war with the haze of lust that overwhelms Simon when Raphael pushes him back even further against the chain link fence, his hips coming down to mirror Simon’s. They’re pressed together from chest to toes now, Simon’s longer legs digging into the soft flesh of Raphael’s denim-clad thigh. The fence rattles behind them and Simon makes a noise that Raphael soothes away, biting and tugging at Simon’s bottom lip until Simon lets his head fall backwards on a ragged exhale. Raphael ducks down to press a wet, open-mouthed kiss against the tendon in Simon’s neck, and Simon can feel how close Raphael’s teeth are to the rush of blood beneath the skin there.
“Raphael.” Simon mutters, his voice weak as it filters through his clouded mind. Raphael presses one last kiss to Simon’s skin before he pulls away far enough to stare at Simon. They take each other in; Simon’s lips are raw and kiss-bitten, and Raphael’s are no better. Their hair is in disarray and, in Raphael’s case, a few curls are hanging loose in his face, softening his appearance and making him look younger ad boyish.
He’s beautiful; he’s everything Simon has ever wanted in his life. He’s the one thing that Simon won’t get.
“I’m going to lift the kill order.” Raphael says suddenly, his hand still warm on Simon’s back. “You still can’t – “
“Come back to the DuMort.” Simon croaks out, smoothing his thumb over the hairs at the nape of Raphael’s neck. “I know. I wouldn’t, even if I could. I don’t belong there. It won’t ever be my home.” Raphael nods.
“We understand each other, then.” He says softly. “I’m sorry.” He draws back, untangling himself from Simon, and the loneliness hits him acutely as he feels Raphael slip away. “Goodbye, fledgling.”
They look at each other one last time, drinking in their fill of the other person. Simon memorizes the liquid warmth of Raphael’s eyes, the curve of his lips, and Raphael’s eyes are flickering across Simon’s body like he can’t decide where to stop. Simon looks away first, tearing his eyes from Raphael to the night sky, blinking furiously as he tries to realign his world once again. He hears more than he sees Raphael walk away, the solid beat of his boots hitting the ground slowly moving away. It occurs to him, suddenly –
“I wish I could say that you’re my home.” Simon blurts out unthinkingly. He looks to see Raphael’s shoulders stiffen, his body going very still. “But we both know that’s not enough for either of us.” He continues softly, and Raphael’s body relaxes.
“Maybe one day it will be.” Raphael’s voice carries to him, and Simon smiles even through his blurring vision as Raphael leaves and the wetness in his eyes spills over.
.
Five years pass. Simon falls in love and out of love. He forgets, and he remembers.
Simon Lovelace is standing in the foyer of the Institute, discussing a demon attack on Staten Island when Raphael Santiago walks in with his delegation of vampires for a meeting Alec called. Simon feels his heart stop, and then start again in double-time. Through their parabatai bond, he can feel Clary’s amusement as she takes in the scene from the other end of the room.
“I heard there was an old friend back in New York.” Raphael says lightly, his eyes guarded but curious as he takes in Simon. Simon stares at him hungrily, his chest blooming with unfamiliar warmth.
They’re different. This Simon is rune-scarred and hardened from battles he never thought he’d have to face five years ago. There have been demons and megalomaniacs in his past, nightmares that he knows he’ll never escape. He’s got a parabatai bond singing through his veins, his commitment to Clary even more powerful than it was five years ago. He’s got Magnus Bane on speed dial, and Magnus Bane’s kids on his babysitting list. There’s no longer the insatiable urge to drink blood welling up in him, and these days his weapon of choice is a bow and arrow, or a seraph blade.
Raphael’s changed too. Physically, he’s the same as he was five years ago, but Simon can see the sorrow in his steps with the pain of losing more over the last five years than he ever expected to. There’s a weight on his shoulders, the heaviness of having his world changed one too many times. Raphael’s no longer clan leader, but he plays a part in facilitating connections between vampire clans, something that leaves him as somewhat of a loner. This isn’t the first time they’ve met over the years, but it’s the first time in a long time they’ve set eyes on each other and seen enough different things to feel like falling in love all over again.
It’s just enough to make their second chance worth it. It’s just enough to make Simon laugh and ask, “How about a drink, Raphael?”
“Are you asking a vampire on a date, Nephilim?” Raphael asks, his lips curving upwards, and Simon grins, twirling his stele.
“I am.” He confirms. “I promise to only make a few vampire jokes, and I promise to not ruin your jacket.”
Raphael laughs, startled despite himself, and steps forward until he’s in Simon’s space.
“I look forward to it.” He breathes out, reaching out and trailing a finger across Simon’s jaw before pulling away with a smirk and spinning on his heel to walk off.
Simon lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and laughs giddily, running a hand through his hair. Raphael leaves, and this time Simon knows that they’ve got it right.