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littlechivalry · 14 days ago

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You Won't Regret You Got Up

littlechivalry

Stranger Things modern AU, no Upsde Down

Pre relationship Steddie, established Eddie & Chrissy and Robin & Steve bestie-ism

---

"I'm dying," Eddie said, coughing. "I cant go any further." He collapsed to the curb and pressed his forehead into his denim clad knees.

"Don't say that, Eddie," Chrissy said, her voice soft and pleading. "We're so close."

"Go on without me, you have to. They won't wait for us." His chest ached, his quads burned, his feet really hurt. The new boots had been a bad decision.

Chrissy planted her feet, hands set firmly on her hips. Eddie felt the darkness rise around him and wondered if she planned to cheer him back to life.

"Edward Munson if you do not get up right now I'm gonna order those cinnamon roll pancakes you like and just throw them away."

Eddie was jolted to his feet. "You wouldn't."

Chrissy smirked. "I absolutely would."

---

The diner was pretty big and very busy but Eddie and Chrissy knew their path by heart, nodding to the cashier on the way past.

Gareth waved them over from their booth in the corner. "What took you guys so long?"

Eddie laughed awkwardly, "Uh, you know how girls ar-" he was cut off by a quick elbow to the side that left him gasping as Chrissy moved past him to slide into the bench.

"The bus stalled out a few stops away. Eddie didn't want to wait for the next one so we decided to walk it," she said, shoving the guys further down the curved seat.

Freak grinned. "How far?"

Eddie opened his mouth but before he could answer, Chrissy cut in. "A mile, if that."

"Okay," Eddie said. "It was way more than that. I can walk a mile, no problem. Hell, five miles. No big deal."

Gareth grinned, slow and mean, before looking from Eddie to Chrissy.

Eddie turned to face Chrissy and saw a matching grin on her face. Maybe slightly less mean. "That sounds like a challenge."

Eddie felt his stomach crash inside him. He and Chrissy had been friends since middle school when he dared her to join him on stage at the talent show and she immediately stole his jacket and a tambourine from the band room.

Corroded Coffin featuring Chrissy Cunningham placed second and Eddie learned never to underestimate the petite blonde.

---

An hour later after ordering food and being harangued by his friends, having brunch while being harangued by his friends, driving to the gym in Jeff's Chrysler being harangued by his friends, insisting he needed a break to digest so he wouldn't cramp and still being harangued by his friends Eddie found himself doing something he never thought he would, somewhere he hoped he would never see... walking into Gareth's gym, and after a few perfunctory stretches onto a treadmill.

Chrissy and the rest of the band were standing by with paper cups of water and a towel Chrissy had snagged from the receptionist at the front desk. Gareth had charmed the woman out of a handful of guest passes, an empty manila folder, and the use of her sharpie and was standing in front of the treadmill with a sign that said, "WE R THE CHAMPUONS."

Eddie would be laughing at them if he could catch his breath.

In a fit of hubris he had set the machine, with Chrissy's guidance - and despite her warnings - for intervals so the speed would rise and lower at what felt like random moments while the incline shifted madly under his feet.

Eddie hadn't even changed clothes and his leather jacket felt like an anchor on his back.

Twenty minutes in and Eddie was only upright from sheer force of will and stubbornness.

A mile? He had four more of these to do?

He thought about taking off his jacket for another five minutes before finally doing it. His belts, hastily unwound from their strangling denim loops followed and Eddie got a second wind from the relief.

In retrospect he should have taken Jeff's sneakers when they were offered. They were a size too big but they would have been better than his boots.

Chrissy had cheered him on for the first two miles but as he got closer to the halfway point of the trudge from hell what little he could see of her through his curtain of sweat soaked hair looked concerned.

Seriously concerned.

Eddie forced himself upright.

He could at least finish this. He was feeling the weight of his own braggadocio but he wasn't a quitter.

Eddie tossed his hair back and if he'd had the breath he would have laughed at the way his friends flinched away from the flying sweat.

Another half mile went better and he felt refreshed, his confidence had taken a knock but he was back in it now.

Then he had one mile left to go and the treadmill slanted upwards, the steepest angle so far. Simultaneously the speed went up. Chrissy had controlled it so it wouldn't go too fast but the combination of speed and angle meant Eddie was half jogging uphill and he could feel his legs begin to tremble.

He closed his eyes for a moment and felt himself miss a step. He lurched to the side and heard Chrissy gasp.

Eddie opened his eyes to see a thin arm reach across him to the controls of the machine and slowly the angle went back down and it got slower. Eddie kept going, waving Chrissy away from the controls, and made his way through the last mile half hanging off of the grab bars.

Eventually the machine came to a juddering halt and Eddie let himself collapse forward, his forearms resting on the console at the front.

"Told you," he panted. "Told you I could do it. And with a handicap too." Eddie raised a foot, waving his thick soled boot at his friends for a moment before dropping it back down.

He felt like he might vomit himself inside out but Eddie was fairly confident that could wait until he got home. Steeling himself he moved to step off of the treadmill only to have his knees collapse underneath him.

"Whoa there, man," Gareth said, holding Eddie upright.

"I'm cool," Eddie said, feebly batting at Gareth's hands. "Jus' gotta catch my breath."

Eddie staggered over to the bench against the wall and let himself sink into the seat.

He was too tired to raise his head but he watched his friends move back and forth around him until Jeff and Gareth walked away and only Chrissy's pristine white Van's were in his field of view.

She moved to sit next to him and Eddie shifted down the bench, groaning a bit at the motion.

"You did it," she said softly.

"Did I," Eddie muttered, leaning back against the wall, his chin pressed to his chest. "Doesn't feel like much of a victory."

"Seven years ago we thought you were never gonna walk again. Now every step is a victory," she said, her voice soft but steely.

Eddie clenched his eyes closed. So much time had passed but there was a part of him that would forever exist in that moment. His overturned van filling with smoke, the pressure of his seat belt the only thing holding him in place. And Chrissy's voice, harder than he had ever heard it, ordering him to stay with her, to stay awake.

He had done it. He had stayed for her, and for his friends and for Wayne. Fought through the accident and the recovery, another lifetime of physical and occupational therapy learning how to do things again.

It took him months to walk again, even longer to run. The manual dexterity to play guitar took a year and he still needs a capo for some songs.

Over time Eddie had stopped the therapy, stopped the exercise. He went back to his life as usual. And it was okay. He would never be the man he had been before the accident but he was doing better, doing well enough not to think about it anymore.

Except at moments like this.

They sat together in silence as the gym's playlist transitioned from the 00's boyband playlist to a 90's r&b playlist.

As the last notes of Boyz II Men's End of the Road faded out Eddie pushed himself to his feet.

"You know how you've been trying to get me to work out more," he said.

Chrissy stood as well. "Of course."

Eddie took a deep breath. "Let's do it."

Chrissy offered her hand for a high five. Eddie feebly slapped at it before letting himself lean on her shoulder and start the slow walk out of the gym.

---

Two days after the brunch debacle that Eddie refused to think about he found himself following Chrissy into a gym. Unlike Gareth's, all chrome and glass, this one was smaller, warmer.

The floors in the main hallway were covered in linoleum tile and Eddie could see small studios branching off where hardwood gleamed softly in the sunlight pouring through windows.

"It used to be a community center," Chrissy said as they walked up to the receptionn desk.

"It still is," the girl at the counter said, smiling. "The community has changed a little bit but the feeling never goes away."

The name tag pinned to her shirt pocket said Robin in rainbow colors and Eddie looked from her smiling face to Chrissy's beside him.

Chrissy Cunningham Patented Pining - Level 3? Already?

Oh, this could be bad.

The girl, Robin, talked them through the community gym's rules and set up. Most of it went over both Eddie and Chrissy's heads but for different reasons.

Though given Eddie had caught how many times Robin stumbled over her words things might not be as hopeless as he feared.

Eddie caught something about schedules and trainers and specialty classes but the rest was a blur mostly aimed at Chrissy who seemed to be lapping it up.

Finally Robin clapped. "Okay. Tour time." She looked over Eddie's shoulder and snapped her fingers.

Before Eddie had the chance a guy walked around them to join Robin in front of the desk.

"Hey dingus, I'm going to give Chrissy a tour of the facilities. Can you take Eddie around?"

The man turned to say something but before he could she cut him off. "Eddie? This is Steve. Steve, Eddie."

And then Robin was gone. Chrissy threw back a look and all Eddie could do was shrug before she hurried off in the other woman's wake.

"Wow," the guy - Steve, according to the girl and his own rainbow nametag - said. "That was way too smooth."

This guy was hot. Eddie knew there were gonna be hot guys, it was a gym, that was expected. A too-tight baby blue ringer tee and shorts at a length that couldn't possibly be legal only highlighted miles of mole spotted golden skin. Topped off with a head of hair that made Eddie's hands itch with want and that sweet face? Eddie was a goner.

Oh shit, he's talking to me.

"Huh," Eddie said.

"She's usually a nightmare when she tries to flirt--" Steve turned to face Eddie, a nervous look on his face. "I mean-- uh, Robin is normally shy around clients. She gets--"

Eddie waved him off. "No, no, don't worry. Chrissy is a disaster lesbian, so if Robin..."

Steve nodded. "Absolutely. Me too--" He caught himself with a laugh. "A disaster, I mean. Not a lesbian. Bisexual. Me. I mean," Steve said, pointing a thumb at his own chest before laughing. "You? If you don't mind me asking, that is? No pressure."

Eddie shook his head. "No, I-- I'm gay."

Steve sighed. "How's your disaster threshold?"

And Eddie thought oh no, he's a dork too? Eddie just shrugged. There was nothing else he could say.

Steve smiled and Eddie knew he was absolutely done for.

A half hour later found Eddie and Chrissy walking out of the gym holding hands. Their other hands were full of brochures.

"The dodgeball team looks like fun," Chrissy offered.

"Not a chance in hell," Eddie replied. "Heavy Metal Meditation?" Eddie had no idea what that meant but he had to admit he was curious. He loved metal but even he had to admit it was more mindless than mindful.

"I'll pass but if you think you'll enjoy it, have fun," Chrissy answered before pulling them both to a stop.

She turned to face him and her eyes were serious. "I'm really glad you're doing this, you know."

Eddie opened his mouth to say something, though he wasn't sure what response she wanted.

Chrissy waved him off. "No, I just. I know you don't like exercise and stuff but you're my best friend and I could have lost you and so seeing you open to try new things, to take care of yourself? That's really special."

Eddie pulled free of Chrissy's grip to wrap his arms around her, the pamphlets in his other hand crunching against her back.

He left a smacking kiss on her cheek and stepped back. "Miss Chrysanthemum Cunningham, I would do anything for you. Even," he shuddered, "exercise."

She laughed as they linked arms and kept walking down the street.

---

Eddie wasn't sure what to expect from meditation. Except for the long hair the teacher looked nothing like a metal head but Eddie had never met anyone so chilled out in his life and after the first class he was hooked.

A few months later found Eddie settled on one of the low benches that lined the wall outside of the studio after class, relaxing into the heavy thrum the music left in his bones.

"Be honest. Argyle is giving you guys edibles, isn't he?"

Eddie looked up to see Steve standing over him, a clipboard in his hands. Today's outfit was butter yellow, another in a long line of matching tee shirts and shorts Eddie was pretty sure were intended to drive him insane.

This vision in oleo joined Eddie on the bench, nudging him further down the seat.

"It's okay, you can tell me."

"What," Eddie sputtered. "High? What? No-- it's meditation? Argyle isn't getting us high."

Steve smiled. "I don't know... I've heard the music blasting, I can't imagine it's very restful."

"You should join us one day." Eddie let himself lean over and bump his shoulder into the other man.

"Not my speed," Steve laughed.

"Oh," Eddie murmured. "I'm intrigued. Where do you get your gym jollies, Stevie?"

Their awkward introduction had evolved into something Eddie was happy to call a friendship and they had spent too many days hanging around the reception fesk and watching the delicate courtship of their favorite lesbians to be strangers.

Steve knew what brand of deodorant Eddie preferred and that he was scared of spiders despite having one tattooed on his body and Eddie knew that Steve was allergic to hazelnuts and called them filberts because it 'didn't sound as cute, those stupid jerks', and that he purposefully bought his tee shirts a size too small but claimed the shorts were his actual size.

which was either absolute bullshit or if true some kind of punishment from god for me, specifically

They were friends. And Eddie was cool with that. So what if Steve was hot. And sweet. And kind of a dork. And maybe he made Eddie feel comfortable in a way he had never been before. It didn't mean anything.

If Eddie flirted a little now and then it didn't have to mean anything, did it? Steve gave as good as he got, anyway.

It was fine.

"You should check out my class one of these days, Eds," Steve said.

Steve taught a class?

"You teach a class?"

"Yeah," Steve snorted. "What did you think I do here every day?"

"I assumed you were here for decorative purposes." Eddie flailed at Steve's... everything.

Steve only laughed and brushed Eddie's waving hands out of his face.

Steve looked up at the clock on the wall before standing. "I have to go but Thursday morning, okay? 10:30?"

"Yeah, sure," Eddie said. "Thursday. I'll be the one in all black."

Steve started walking backwards. "As long as it's spandex." He turned away and was off down the hall before Eddie could ask any follow up questions.

Spandex? What the hell have I gotten myself into?

---

"Jazzercise," Eddie squawked, letting go of the hem of his sweatshirt to reach for Chrissy's hand. He had bigger problems now than somebody getting a flash of his black spandex encased goods.

Chrissy had leapt at the chance to join Eddie and now he knew why.

"Jazzercise," Chrissy echoed with a disturbing amount of relish, swatting him away gently. "We are gonna kick ass."

"You are. There's no way I'm coordinated enough for this," he muttered, jerking to the side as another in a long line of nearly identical old ladies in matching leotard shouldered past.

"That's what I said," Robin murmured from her place next to Chrissy. "And look at me now."

Eddie did. She was wearing jeans and a tank top.

"Can you work out in that," he asked.

"Oh, absolutely not," Robin said. "I told you I'm not coordinated. I tried when we first started working here and barely made it past the warm ups. I tripped over my own legwarmers during a stretch and took out three of the granny brigade. Mrs Chavez still hasn't forgiven me."

She gestured to an iron haired woman in a goldenrod catsuit glaring daggers at them.

"Now I just man the hydration station and play Candy Crush on my phone. Plus I act as bouncer."

"Bouncer," Chrissy echoed, a giggle in her voice that Eddie could only call disgustingly besotted.

"Oh yeah," Robin said. "They're old, not dead. I'm here to protect Steve's virtue, what's left of it."

Robin threw Eddie a wink and blew a kiss to Chrissy before making her way inside.

"You two are disgusting," Eddie hissed, and Chrissy only giggled in response, her hand pressed to her chest after she caught the kiss.

"Green does not look good on you, Eddie," Chrissy muttered. "Robin said Steve is interested, that he was really excited you agreed to try his class. You know, you're taking care of your health, now maybe it's time to take care of your heart? Take a chance? I hate to be gender normative but man up, Munson. "

"Oh sure," Eddie said. "I'll just march up to him and say 'hey Steve, I would like to do you'."

Eddie kept his voice low to make sure none of the old biddies in the studio could hear him but he still had to camp it up for Chrissy.

She seemed to enjoy the show at least, her grin was contagious.

Until Eddie realized she wasn't actually looking at him.

"I mean, I'm down," Steve said, his voice coming from behind Eddie. "I'd prefer to take you to dinner first if that's okay?"

Eddie froze in place.

He could see Chrissy's eyes moving from him to somewhere over his shoulder at Steve presumably before she giggled again. "I'm going to go in and... get some water."

Eddie watched her run inside, dodging past lines of women and a few men stretching on the floor. He saw her half tackle Robin out of her folding chair.

"I'm never going to hear the end of this," Eddie muttered.

"You," Steve laughed. "Robin's been on my case to ask you out for weeks now."

"Weeks," Eddie asked. "Wow, yeah... crazy..."

He finally turned to face Steve, absolutely resplendent in a grey and pink set of his usual uniform with pink head- and wristbands to match.

Eddie imagined his own face was about the same shade.

"You know," he sputtered. "I was only taking this class for you so if we have a date then I don't have to--"

"I dont know," Steve said, planting his hands in his hips. "I didn't peg you for a quitter."

"You haven't pegged me at all," Eddie muttered between his teeth.

Steve laughed and moved past Eddie. "Come on, time for class. Afterwards we can get a coffee and see how things go."

Eddie sighed. They hadn't even been on a date yet and he was pretty sure he would follow Steve anywhere, and not just for the view.

"Hey Stevie," he called. "How do you feel about cinnamon roll pancakes?"

#fanfiction #fanfic #littlechivalry #my writing #steve harrington #steddie #eddie munson #stranger things #chrissy cunningham #robin buckley #Buckingham #eddie and chrissy are besties #steve is wearing spankies under his shorts #just to keep everything under control #jazzercise

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awionetka · 2 months ago

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❝ 𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐑'𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄 ❞ ft. 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥

in which you want nothing but to finally film your magnum opus. so much so that you find yourself willing to trade part of your freedom for a chance at greatness.

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫: slice of life...? mostly angst for now, but also heartwarming at times. arranged marriage / marriage of convenience. (old money) actor!rafayel x (sort of new money, sort of aspiring) film director!you. some entp x intj dynamics but maybe i'm just projecting. is he misunderstood or simply spoiled? let’s take a look. just showbiz, baby!

𝐜𝐰: foul language. alcohol(ism...?). (cigarette) smoking. trust and attachment issues. unhealthy coping mechanisms. burning of a building.

𝐰𝐜: circa 14k… when will i ever get to the point honestly

You shifted in your place, uncertain if you’d heard him well. "Pardon?"

Nikolai, one of your assistants, sighed in defeat, turning his laptop around and presenting you with a rather unpleasant sight.

As your eyes shifted quickly from word to unbelievably audacious word, you realised that you’d heard him incredibly well.

"You cannot possibly be serious."

There was a certain bashfulness in his gaze, as though it was him taking on the responsibility of shattering your long-held dream. "Apparently they’ll be starting a new mini series on some streaming platform. That’s what they used as an excuse at least."

"Motherfuckers…" you muttered under your breath, knuckles turning white as you gripped onto the chair situated in front of you. "I’ve spent years working on this goddamn script and they know that better than anybody else!"

And to think that merely a couple of hours ago you were cheerfully visiting local diners, a box of fries in one hand and a worn out notebook in the other, searching for the perfect place to shoot at. Swallowing the growing lump in your throat (or at least trying your absolute best to do so), you forced yourself to come up with a way to solve this brand new, soul crushing problem.

Nikolai reached out towards you awkwardly, patting the table right next to where your hand was resting.

"For what it’s worth… you’ll succeed. You always do."

Do you now?

"Thanks."

"No problem, boss." He smiled, already rising from his spot, laptop propped under left arm. "Oh, also. I almost forgot to remind you. Your meeting with the marketing team director is scheduled for half past six this evening. I noted it down in your calendar some time ago, so I just wanted to make sure you didn’t forget."

Shit.

Of course you forgot to check that god forsaken calendar.

"Sure thing, Nikolai." You beamed right back at him, raising your arm to wave him goodbye. "I’ve already made the necessary arrangements."

Not only your beloved project had been brutally tossed away like garbage, but now you also had to spend a fortune to secure a last minute reservation at one of the most luxurious restaurants in the district.

Days like these truly did make life worth living.

The Linkon Retreat served primarily seafood dishes.

Which was unfortunately a loss in your book, since you’d rather eat pretty much anything else other than fish, shrimp and ostriches.

Malena – your manager, an (almost worryingly so) optimistic UPenn graduate with a gummy smile and a plethora of old school tattoos, seemed to enjoy the dietary options quite a lot, however.

"He agreed to the arrangements I’d made and said he’ll go over it with the board but…" She chased a piece of shrimp with her fork for a bit before stuffing it in her mouth. "Let’s be honest here, I will probably have to constantly nag him until he does. I truly have no idea whatsoever why nobody in this field can actually carry out their responsibilities like a normal person."

You just hummed in response, staring down at your own plate.

The waiter managed to find you a dish that didn’t contain the entire oceanic ecosystem, but it still seemed unappetising. At this point, you couldn’t care less about Malena’s updates, her polite inquiries towards you or literally anything else for that matter. The safety of your flat half an hour away from this place was calling you relentlessly and, God be your witness, you were about to pick up.

"Hey…" She cleared her throat. "Are you doing alright?"

Not even bothering to look her way, you downed the rest of your drink.

"Sure."

Malena reached over the table to wrap her hand around your curled fist.

"Love, I am so sorry." Her expression softened. "I’ve heard what happened. You’ve worked so hard for this…"

You shrugged her off. "Live, laugh, learn to lose, isn’t it?"

She only frowned at that, clearly unamused by your half-hearted attempt at a joke.

"Doesn’t matter anyway." You tried to hide your discomfort by pretending to stretch. "Let’s not dwell on it, yeah?"

"You know…" There was a certain look in Malena’s eyes as she spoke, one you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to know the origin of. "There is something I’ve thought of that could possibly help you out. However, it’s not exactly… a conventional solution."

You raised a brow, wordlessly urging her to continue.

"Well… You know that I’m not just your manager, right?"

"Ouch...?"

She rolled her eyes. "Ugh, I didn’t mean it like that. You know it."

"Suppose so." You gestured at one of the waiters, requesting yet another drink. Your companion for the evening chose not to speak on that, even when she saw you absentmindedly checking your nails, clearly not expecting much from the upcoming offer.

"Anyway." She cleared her throat. "I took this job recently, it’s more of a PR thing, really."

"Are you trying to turn your new client into some grandiose lesson for me?"

"God, no. It’s not like you’d listen to my advice anyway."

A fairly amused chuckle escaped your lips. "Fair point. Go on."

"This family… They’re struggling with their public image quite a bit. However, their finances are doing pretty well, considering."

God, she surely knew how to keep her interlocutor on their toes.

"Okay."

"It’s not like I’ve set this up beforehand, you know." Her gaze kept slipping away, as if she became embarrassed. "Just… on my way here, I figured it out. God, I am so sorry about your project…"

That you just couldn’t hear anymore. Everyone was sorry. Everyone wished they could do something. But without actual deeds, all these words were worth less than dirt stuck to the soles of your shoes. It’d be better if they just didn’t mention it at all.

"Malena,” you chose to say instead. "I appreciate your concern, but please get to the point."

She sighed, leaning over the table just slightly.

"Would you be opposed to signing a business contract with them?"

A what now?

"Sorry?"

"Don’t fret, I can vouch for them. Well… sort of. I’d be the one writing the agreement anyway."

"Hey. Hold on a second." Your left hand immediately went up to stop Malena right in her tracks. "Agreement on what? They’d fund my filming, that you’ve made quite clear, but what do they want in return? For me to go around chirping about how wonderful they are?"

"Not… exactly."

"Malena–"

Your reply was cut short by a human-shaped shadow appearing on the tablecloth in front of you. Malena rose to her feet in an instant, suddenly much more cheerful than just seconds before.

"Oh, perfect timing! Good evening, dear!" she exclaimed, shaking the unknown woman’s hand with deliberation. "Love, there is someone I’d like to you meet."

The woman stood before Malena looked and felt like royalty. Tall and striking, in a magnificent, shimmering gown made of dark blue velvet complete with delicate pearl detailing. She lifted one of her hands clad in an ivory glove that reached past her elbow and you froze, panicking.

"You must be the brilliant director," she spoke, smiling in an utmost dignified way that left your throat dry. "I am so pleased to finally meet you, I’ve heard many great things."

Malena chimed in, watching excitedly as the two of you shook hands.

"This is Lady Talia, my newest associate."

Your brows furrowed involuntarily, yet you didn’t dare to speak just yet.

"Lady Talia, please, take a seat. Would you like anything to eat? Or a drink perhaps?"

Watching as the woman settled in the booth right next to you, back straight and elbows nestled neatly at her sides, you couldn’t help but wonder what on bloody Earth Malena had cooked up for you in your absence.

Newest associate meant newest client, an easygoing euphemism created to form some sort of bond between the employer and employee. That much you knew. So, Lady Talia had to be one of the apparently disgraced family members in urgent need of Malena’s assistance. And those two simply couldn’t coexist in your eyes, not with the way she held her champagne glass in between two fingers while politely inquiring about tonight’s special dish, gracing the nervous waitress with a distinguished smile on her lips.

She had probably never shopped at a farmer’s market before, wore nightgowns instead of pyjamas to bed and put out candles with one of those bell-resembling devices instead of extinguishing it with her fingers. You tried long and hard to imagine her pulling up to a McDonald’s drive thru, but it just wouldn’t stick.

If you were to be the one to help her with a PR problem, it would mean that Malena considered you a god.

"Love, are you alright?"

You looked up, meeting your manager’s worried expression across the oval table. The corners of her lips twitched slightly, as if she was nervous.

"Perfectly fine," you assured, forcing a tight-lipped smile.

Lady Talia also looked your way.

"I am glad to hear that." There was a certain warmth in her tone as she spoke. "Miss Malena told me of your recent difficulties regarding your film."

Oh, of course she did.

"Is that so?"

The woman hummed, glancing down at her drink.

"I believe we could be of some help." A pause. "Only if that'd be your wish, of course."

For a while you stayed silent, trying to come up with an eloquent and polite reply that hid how anxious you’d become. Trying to navigate this game of distinguished business offers you felt as though you were set up for failure from the very start.

Malena cleared her throat.

"I had only just gotten to explaining the possibility of a contract, Lady Talia. There is still plenty to discuss. But, I do believe we are on the right track here. It is certainly a lucrative arrangement, for all of us."

A droplet of champagne slid over the rim of the glass, making its unhurried way down.

"For you, it would mean full financial support of your project," Malena continued on. "Lady Talia would provide you with possibilities you wouldn’t have encountered otherwise. You’re free to film wherever you wish. It could be the moon for all we know."

"I see."

"On the other end…" She sighed, clearly avoiding your scrutinising gaze. "The Qi family would benefit greatly from your position in the professional scene and associating themselves with your line of work. Public appearances, a dinner party or two, a movie screening. Two birds with one stone."

"And how exactly would that happen…?"

"Now, that is trickier to describe. However, we–"

Lady Talia placed her glass back on the table with a dull clink.

"I would like you to marry my nephew."

A moment of silence. Someone started laughing a couple of tables over. One of the waiters dropped a fork on their way back to the kitchens.

Then, a storm.

"WHAT THE ACTUAL FU–"

Cigarette smoke furled around your form as you paced from one side of the terrace to another, fuming.

"I’m sorry." Malena was one step behind you, trying her absolute best to console you with her pleading eyes. "If I only had more time, I would have explained to you–"

"Explained what exactly?" you snapped back, turning around to face her. "That you decided to just marry me off like it’s the 1920s? What the hell, Malena!"

She seemed remorseful, she really did, but you just couldn’t help yourself. First you lost the biggest opportunity of a lifetime, then forced yourself to commit literal bribery to get a table at some boujee restaurant where even a glass of water cost an arm and a leg, and now you were being asked to get engaged to a man you’ve never even laid your eyes upon, because apparently he held such a catastrophe of a reputation, the only thing that could save his sorry ass was public hand holding and tagging along to your events.

And the undeniably worst of it all – he was an actor.

"I’ll be frank with you here," you stated, voice low and almost threatening. "Shit like this only works in movies. And even there it barely makes a fucking difference. I don’t see why I would babysit a twenty-something old man who crashes two cars every month and gets banned from every foreign country he visits."

Malena whined in response, knees bent as if she was about to get down on the cold tiles and beg.

"It was only three countries, not all!" You rolled your eyes at that. "Love, please, consider it. I mean, come on, they’re filthy rich! You’d live in a house so big you probably wouldn’t even have to see him much. And she offered to put a time limit on it too! As soon as he hits forty, you’re free to file for divorce!"

You scoffed, turning around to take another drag.

"Oh, that is just lovely, isn’t it?" Malena looked away at the bitter tone of your words. "Just a couple of years, maybe the most crucial ones of my life, maybe not. But who can tell! Especially when there’s such a magnificent man by your side!"

The silence that stretched in between you two seemed non-disputable, final. You didn’t look her way and she made no further effort to convince you. The last remnant of Malena’s presence was a thick purple envelope she placed on the railing in front of you. The golden seal shimmered in the light pouring from the wide terrace doors behind your back.

The air began to gradually thin out and you stood there, watching as cigarette ash coated the edges of the expensive stationery.

Oh, what a horrible, horrible mistake you’d made.

The silky fabric of your dress pants kept tugging at the underside of your heels as you made your way to the correct seat.

They must’ve splurged quite a bit (well, Lady Talia must’ve splurged quite a bit), just to situate you two on the highest balcony of the opera hall. Actually, it would’ve been much more fitting if you said you alone, since Rafayel, your "date", was still nowhere to be seen.

You were supposed to meet somewhere in the main hall, maybe have a cup of coffee or tea in the cafeteria downstairs, before proceeding to go watch the ballet performance. It was an agreeable spot for the first meeting between two (potential) soon-to-be business partners, one that arrived into your hands in the form of a scented envelope with a personal ticket and a brief, printed invitation.

You’d never seen a ballet before, although you did listen to all the musical pieces included in The Nutcracker back to back when you were still a university student. It seemed personal, the way it just so happened to be the very play you were somewhat familiar with, as though it was chosen for you on purpose. So you thought and thought, and then drank half a bottle of wine before fishing out Lady Talia’s business card from the inside pocket of your jacket and sending her a quick text, confirming your attendance.

Defeated, at last. Tempted so easily into agreement simply because your eyes managed to catch the name of your favourite composer. That night you went to bed more disappointed in yourself than you were back when you allowed some rookie to beat you in the high school screenwriting contest. The bitterness of it remained somewhat the same.

The attendees below moved along the seats, slowly finding their assigned places. You observed them through a cautious, guarded lens, eyeing their tailored attire and exquisite jewellery.

This wasn’t where you belonged, not in the slightest. Your blouse didn’t fit you quite right, pooling under your arms in an almost worrisome manner. The bracelet draped over your wrist seemed too shiny and too dull at the same time. There were leftovers from yesterday’s casserole in your fridge and half a packet of off-brand maltesers waiting for you back home. And, truth be told, you considered whether or not that was where you were actually meant to currently be.

It would be easy, sneaking off, while hopefully not getting too tangled in the heavy curtains which guarded the door to the main corridor. Two buses back home, maybe a double serving of raspberry sherbet on your way there. You weren’t above taking off your heels and walking the remaining distance barefoot either, already predicting the dull ache your feet were about to inevitably suffer.

However, the atmosphere of the opera hall was utterly mesmerising. It was almost magical, the way you felt in that moment, as though you were royalty yourself. How could you deny yourself such an indulgence? Especially when it was completely and utterly free of charge.

Besides, as far as you were aware, your companion could even skip the entire event altogether, crashing some party or terrorising an art auction instead. That seemed more up his alley, at least from what you’d managed to rip out of Malena during your earlier interrogations.

No, you were already there. Lights were beginning to dim and the lorgnette you managed to find at the very back of your underwear drawer laid patiently on your lap, waiting to be of use.

He’d have to personally drag you out of that seat to get you to leave.

The whispers gradually quieted and you eased further into your chair, excitement creeping in as you waited for the performance to start. The twenty year old you squealed almost audibly when the crimson curtain began to rise. This is for her.

Time seemed to pass differently in the opera hall, as if you entered some sort of enchanted bubble that kept you hidden from the outside world. Your chest rose as the various instruments picked up their pace and eased back again as soon as the dancers gracefully landed back on their feet. It didn’t take long for you to forget how you even secured your ticket for this performance in the first place. How could it matter, when your entire being physically shook with each step, each musical note?

In fact, you were so immersed in the performance, you didn’t even register where those annoying sounds were coming from at first. Furrowing your brows, you tried to shut them out, but to no avail. Then, giving up, you spun around in your seat, just in time to see a silhouette slipping through the doorway.

"Thanks, man."

No fucking way in hell this guy actually dared to show up.

The shuffling continued on as he made his way to the seat next to yours. The chair creaked under him as he draped himself over it leisurely.

"These doors are menace, I can say that much." He sighed, head slightly turning in your direction. "So… what’d I miss?"

You didn’t bother to look his way, although the closeness of his hand placed on your armrest irked you to no end.

He muttered something again, shuffling in his seat.

"Can you stop?" you hissed at Rafayel, finally giving him half a glance.

His eyes met you somewhere halfway, shining in the dark almost unnaturally. The corners of his lips twitched slightly as he tilted his head to the side.

"Are you mad at me?"

Oh, the sheer audacity of that question.

"Take a wild guess."

He let out an amused chuckle and it took every single muscle of yours, straining and fighting in order to NOT give in to your violent impulses.

For a while, it was quiet indeed, even though his fingers tapped along to some imaginary beat he’d conjured up in that brain of his. God be your witness, you could see loud and clear exactly why people absolutely despised him.

You were slowly beginning to drift back into the magical state induced by the ballet, when suddenly an outstretched hand came into your view.

"I’m Rafayel."

"I’m aware." You swatted his palm away, refusing to give it a shake. "Now back off."

His eyes widened in pure bewilderment.

"I’m sorry?"

"Oh, you will be even more sorry if you don’t close your mouth right this second, I can tell you that."

The sigh that escaped his lips sounded more theatrical than the performance you were trying to watch.

"Forgive me for merely wanting to get to know you… What an unpardonable crime."

With blood already boiling in your veins, you turned around abruptly to face him yet again.

"You had time for that before the ballet. Missed your chance. Not my problem. Now sit back down, stay quiet and for the love of God, stop fucking moving so I can watch the performance in peace."

Not even waiting for his reply, you let your eyes drift back to their rightful spot. Your mind, however, refused to return where you wanted it to. Instead, it wandered around the balcony, looming over the odd presence situated at your right. You could barely make anything out in this light, but you swore you saw him somewhere. Definitely not in a high end production, not with that boyish grin of his. Maybe some romantic comedy or one of those low budget tv shows that run for fifteen seasons, supplying the viewers with a whole bunch of nothing. He’d definitely suit something of that sort. It was an easy, non-demanding job, ideal for pretentious rich people who wanted to play house for a bit.

Although, you kept questioning yourself how exactly he’d ruined his family’s good name. No background research was made on your part since you met his aunt, there were more pressing matters on hand and frankly, you didn’t really care. Malena supplied you with enough entry level information to last you up until he finally hit the forty year mark. Anything besides that seemed rather redundant.

But what if he was addicted to gambling? Handling stolen antics? Did he sell hard drugs?

Suddenly wary of the fact that he was nothing more than a stranger, you sneaked a quick glance at him, only to jump in your seat as soon as his eyes met yours. Rafayel was already staring at you.

He let out an amused chuckle, clearly pleased with himself. Didn’t say a single word.

Good.

Because the vivid image of his multi-coloured eyes, part ocean and part sunset, sent an unfamiliar shiver down your spine.

The performance was nearing its end. Your companion stayed utterly silent till the very final musical note that graced your ears that night. Not like that could help much at this point; not when your heart was racing faster than your usually rational mind could make its calculations.

Applause filled the room and the two of you joined in, rising from your seats politely. You were suddenly a little too aware of how crumpled your pants looked in this light and that singular broken fingernail on your left hand.

His hands looked positively pristine. Adorned with intricate rings of all shapes and sizes, made of gold and gems. A thin, shimmering bracelet hung loosely around his wrist, making you hide your own jewellery under the fabric of your blouse. It’s a good thing you didn’t let him shake your hand before.

The attendees were unhurriedly making their way to the exits, prompting you to do the same. Rafayel motioned you to go first, still situated at a reasonable distance. As he was pulling back the curtain to let you pass, it happened – the narrow streak of light allowed you to see a bit more of his face.

There could be no doubts whether or not him and Lady Talia were related, not with how regal he looked in that moment. Dressed in an écru shirt with wide sleeves and a hand-sewn waistcoat fitted neatly to his figure, Rafayel could very much be a prince of some far away region, where sun set late and all the palace windows were open wide to let in the evening breeze.

And then you saw it – the soft arch of his nose, sprinkled with the faintest of freckles, his long bottom eyelashes casting lazy shadows across his cheeks and the most obvious, vulgar hickey right at the base of Rafayel’s neck.

All the yelling that surrounded you in that instant made your head throb and throat go dry. Already partly turned away, you hissed as Rafayel looped his arm with yours and tugged in the opposite direction.

"The exit is that way!" he yelled, unnervingly close to your face.

"I don’t give a fuck!" you shouted back at him, making sure his right eardrum wasn’t left in too good of a condition.

Swatting his hand away, you slipped past one of his bodyguards and the crowd of fans surrounding him, ignoring the way he called for you to come back.

That face of his, those sharp yet soft features, all of it framed by wavy strands of lilac hair, of course you’ve seen it. It belonged to the Rafayel, rising star turned misfit, the one who drove one of his most luxurious cars right off the cliff for a movie scene, showed up to auctions where they sold his own memorabilia, only to buy them all and toss in the trash. Rafayel who gave long, detailed interviews on how exhausting it was to be the people’s sweetheart. The one who whisked away some European princess a day before her wedding, took her on a week long cruise and left her right back where he found her. Modern day casanova, lover boy extraordinare.

And now, apparently, also your to-be fiancé.

"Well, that escalated quickly."

Your laptop screen effectively covered the newspaper tossed onto the table by Nikolai. Even if you wished to grab it, you were surely no match for Quinn, your second assistant, whose eyes widened in pure shock as she read the article on the front page out loud.

"'Serial heartbreaker out of his league? Rafayel Qi shoots his shot at the industry’s best and brightest – and scores!' Well, that is just gross."

You rolled your eyes, busing yourself with something on your own computer.

"I’ve had relatives I thought were already dead call me just to say how much of a disgrace I am for having a quickie in the opera," you mumbled, taking a sip from your mug.

Quinn and Nikolai exchanged wary looks.

"And did you…?"

"Are you being serious right now? No, I didn’t. What the fuck?"

After catching yourself typing the same exact word over and over, you furiously slammed the laptop shut and stuffed it into your bag. Nikolai cautiously handed you your worn out leather jacket before you could say anything.

"Leaving," you stated briefly, finishing the remnants of your morning coffee in one sip. "If anyone ends up needing me more than necessary, you know where to find me."

Refusing to wait for anything else they could potentially add, you made your way downstairs, already eager to escape this utterly suffocating office building. A gentle breeze passed through the floor to ceiling windows which were cracked open just slightly in some spots. It was as though everything else was waking up from its slumber, ready to bring in brand new experiences and fresh inspiration. Everything and anything other than what you needed. Why was it always you who got the short end of the stick…?

The annoyingly insistent vibrations of your phone pushed you off this new trail of thought. You looked at the screen. It was Malena.

"Just saw the news…" she trailed off. "Congrats…?"

She couldn’t see your clearly displeased expression so you opted for the next best thing – an exaggerated huff.

"Don’t piss me off."

There was something suspiciously similar to hope in her tone as she spoke.

"At least you took a liking to him, no?"

"Jesus, Malena, don’t tell me you also think I spent two hours eating his face on the opera hall balcony."

The chuckle that fell through the phone made you involuntarily roll your eyes.

"It’d be quite romantic though," she drawled, smile evident in the way she responded to your quip.

"Im not even going to grace that with a comment."

"So, how is he?" Malena angled the subject just slightly. "Funny?"

"Forty minutes late," you replied instead, nodding at the receptionist who greeted you from behind the lobby. "Couldn’t open the balcony door on his own and hoarded my side of the armrest. Yapped my ear off throughout the entire performance. Should I go on?"

Malena responded with a sigh of obvious defiance. "No need… Point taken."

You pushed the glass doors open, squinting at the sun reflecting off the neighbouring buildings. The buildings, as well as this absolute marvel of a car which stood parked neatly right at the bottom of the staircase.

It was an undeniably majestic third generation Cadillac de Ville with chrome detailing, all in pristine condition. Spray-painted blood red, it looked as if someone pulled it right out of an old gangster movie. It took you a good couple of seconds to realise you’d stopped breathing altogether, desperately taking in each carefully crafted detail.

If you only could produce this god forsaken film of yours, complete with the actually useful cast and costumes that made sense, maybe you’d have earned enough to buy yourself one of these. Was this one up for sale? You couldn’t see even a speck of rust on the Cadillac’s body, it must have cost a fortune to keep it that way. The owner was probably some old man with one foot already situated in the family grave, so your chances could be pretty high...?

All your hopes were crushed just a couple seconds later when the doors opened, presenting you the car’s owner, young and energetic, with a pair of retro looking sunglasses and a colorful newspaper in hand. The breeze swept through his long-ish curls; curls the color of freshly cut lilac flowers and agleam amethyst stones.

"Hold on…" You could feel your throat going dry in an instant. "I’ll call you back."

Before Malena could protest, you shoved your phone back into the inside pocket of your jacket, stopping mid-step.

"This can’t fucking be."

Rafayel looked up from his magazine, pushing the glasses up and letting them tangle in his wind tousled hair. The smile that graced his features a second after could be only described as radiant.

"Hey there, pretty girl. Done with work?"

Choosing to ignore the nickname, you raised a brow.

"What are you doing here?"

"Not happy to see me?"

He pushed himself off the car in a laid-back manner, stopping right in front of where you stood. You couldn’t ignore the playful glint in his eyes, even if you tried.

"We’re not scheduled to meet until Friday," you said plainly.

"Schedule this, schedule that…" he drawled, clearly unamused. "What are we, business partners?"

"Yeah, well, pretty mu–"

"Hop in," he interrupted. "I’m taking you to dinner."

You just stood there, dumbfounded, watching as Rafayel made his way around the car. That day he was wearing a more casual jacket (a leather jacket, much to your dismay), one that made him look like a motorcyclist. Slipping his sunglasses back on, he gave you a pointed look from where he stood, one leg already inside the Cadillac.

"Come," he urged with an impatient wave of his hand. "I didn’t even drive you back home last night, let me atone for my sins."

A couple of your distant coworkers passed by, eyeing down the vintage car and its peculiar driver. You felt awfully exposed, much like yesterday when hoards of reporters surrounded the two of you after the ballet. How you managed to slip past them all, grab your coat downstairs and catch a cab in less than than seven minutes total was still beyond you. Yet here you were, presented with an opportunity to go through all of that again.

The gentle spring breeze flew in between you, creating an invisible barrier. Rafayel’s smile had diminished by then but there was still this curious spark in his eyes that made him seem content. You wondered how he managed to stay this joyful regarding your current circumstances. How badly did he want this deal to go through…?

Well, guess you had around fifteen years to find that out.

"Fine."

He beamed at you.

"No seafood though."

"Hey, I was just about to suggest–"

"Absolutely not."

Having an obscenely rich, fairly charming man at your side proved to be more helpful and prosperous than you could’ve ever imagined.

Not like you were prone to dwelling in delusions of this sort, God forbid, he just suddenly seemed much more useful than any potential contract would describe. Perhaps it was yesterday’s misfortunes that caused Rafayel to act this way – giving in to your each and every whim without a question. And perhaps it just simply did not matter to him, at least not in a capacity it did to you, certainly with the abominable prices plastered atop of the restaurant menu.

"Did you see how much they’re trying to sell this risotto for?" You pointed at the sum, as Rafayel used his straw to fish out a lemon slice from the bottom of his drink.

"Trying and succeeding, may I add."

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. "Have you ever eaten here before?"

A nonchalant shrug.

"Don’t remember. Hey, are you going to eat those?"

You slid your own glass towards him without a word, observing as Rafayel repeated the citrus-retrieving process. He squeezed his eyes at the taste, shaking his head a couple of times.

"Ooh! It’s like the whole rum got sucked into this thing… Magnificent."

"I apologise for the interruption." The waiter from earlier appeared right next to you, almost out of thin air. "Madame, Sir, did any of today’s desserts capture your attention?"

You opened your mouth to speak, but Rafayel beat you to it, tongue darting out to get rid of the very last remnants of brown sugar on his lips.

"Actually, no," he quipped, turning you anxious in an instant. "I’d like to request a cherry cobbler for the lady."

The waiter glanced at you curiously and your face immediately flushed with embarrassment.

"Rafayel–"

"I’ll have a tiramisu." Ignoring you completely, he smiled up at the man without even a gram of shame.

As soon as the waiter disappeared behind the steel doors of the kitchens, you leaned forward, almost leaping over the table.

"Are you out of your mind?" you hissed. "There’s no cherry cobbler on the menu, you can’t just–"

"Darling." He placed a finger on your lips to shush you, leaving you entirely flabbergasted. "You said you wanted cherry cobbler. I’m getting you one."

Rafayel let out a huff when you slapped his hand away from your face. His eyes trailed your movements, not without certain mischief hidden somewhere behind his pretty words.

"I said." You closed your eyes for a brief moment to collect yourself. "I said I wished they had cherry cobbler on the menu. It wasn’t a suggestion for you to bother the fucking chef to bake me a simple cake out of the blue."

The smile that lit up his features was anything but bashful. With his chin resting on his palm, Rafayel observed you casually, as though it was the easiest, most natural thing in the world. Unable to hold his focused gaze, your eyes darted back to your lap, silently cursing out any deity that would listen for making you cross paths with this man.

Luckily for you, Rafayel knew exactly when to shut his mouth (albeit it did not happen often, as you’d noticed). Your desserts arrived earlier than expected, a gracefully served cherry cobbler with a generous scoop of traditionally made ice cream placed right in front of your hungry eyes.

Rafayel watched you silently, smiling to himself. "Looks good."

"Don’t." Your left hand came up to face him in an unspoken warning. "I genuinely feel so bad."

That seemed to stir something in him. The silver fork froze right in between the tiramisu and Rafayel’s mouth. He set it aside with a delicate clink.

"Please don’t."

His hands were twitching slightly, as though eager to reach over the table in a makeshift peace offering.

"If they didn’t want to make it for you, they wouldn’t," he assured, brows furrowed slightly. "Why do you think they ask if you liked anything?"

"To be polite…?" you suggested.

He rolled his eyes.

"If it helps ease your discomfort, I’ll double my usual tip for your sake. Sounds good?"

You just nodded in defiance, knowing well this was a fight you’d never manage to win.

"So…" he hummed after a minute or two, sending you a playful glance over his dessert. "How’s your cobbler?"

"It’s fucking amazing."

The genuinity of Rafayel’s laugh washed over your entire being like a tidal wave, leaving you helplessly sprawled on the shore.

Two weeks have passed since your unfortunate first "date" at the opera hall.

You tried and tried, focusing on decoding his entire demeanour more than on your own work; yet you were constantly failing to figure Rafayel out. All those scandalous whispers you’d encountered, vividly painted newspaper headlines and compromising photographs seemed to belong to someone else entirely. Sure, he did have a certain flair for dramatics and kept embarrassing you with his unashamed antics wherever he dragged you to, but you were yet to witness Rafayel "ruining" his family’s good name.

The fact that he accepted it all, this abnormal courting period and business arrangement in one, without any protests whatsoever had only made it worse. When your phone buzzed, signalling one of his countless daily messages, you just rolled your eyes and went about your very day. It was all easy. Talking to Rafayel was easy. And that was perhaps the most worrying aspect of this entire predicament.

"So." Malena put away her pen, finally done with the document. "You’re halfway there. Two more weeks till the agreement takes place. How do you feel?"

Odd. No other word could describe it better than this.

"What does he even get out of this?" you questioned her instead, clasping your hands on your stomach. "I mean, he could marry anybody."

She scratched her chin, deep in thought. "Maybe, yes. But not anybody could marry him."

Your brows furrowed.

"Is there a difference...?"

"He’s tough to deal with. Demanding. Talks a lot and rarely listens. It’s a true miracle that throughout all these days you’ve been together he didn’t make a single condescending headline."

"We’re not together," you corrected. "Besides, he’s really not that bad. Obscenely rich, yes, which does make him horribly annoying, but…"

You trailed off, realising just now that you took on a role of his public defender, shielding your potential soon-to-be husband from anything that could harm his precious image.

Malena just raised a brow, intrigued.

"Yeah, well, you’d be the only one to have that kind of opinion on him. The other day I met up with Lady Talia to discuss her involvement in your project and she received a call from him. Turns out he got arrested and was asking her to bail him out."

Your mouth went dry in an instant.

"I… I didn’t know about that."

"Of course not." Despite her harsh words, Malena’s features softened upon looking at you. "It’s not exactly a husband material anecdote."

Leaning back in your chair, you anchored your eyes on the expensive chandelier in Malena’s office. Should you ask what he was arrested for? Did you even want to know?

"That being said." She cleared her throat, sliding a plain white envelope your way. "Are you sure you want to invite him? I still haven’t informed Lady Talia about this. It’d be great for his image but it is also a huge step forward. And, you’re not even legally bound by any contract just yet."

You thought back to that one time the two of you completely missed a movie because he stopped to play marbles with some random kids near a park fountain. Or when he scraped both of his knees on the harsh pavement after having urged you to pick a hang out activity, only for you to come up with cycling, which he apparently despised.

Rafayel was always just slightly late, his outfits were rarely coordinated with the weather, so he was constantly either overheating or freezing, and he genuinely had some acting talent. Upon meeting him (actually meeting him, not after that god forsaken opera hall incident), you sat down to conduct a brief google search and watched a couple of episodes of a tv show he starred in a few years back. His hair was longer and they kept styling him in these oversized flannels that he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing in real life. As of then, you were yet to ask him about those, embarrassingly curious to witness his reaction first hand.

Rafayel wasn’t inherently reckless or rude or spoiled. He opened the car doors for you, gave generous tips in restaurants and made you laugh in ways you hadn’t laughed in what felt like millenia.

So what if he got arrested? Let he who is without sin… He probably just drove over the speed limit or talked back to a policeman or something. Since they let him go so easily, it couldn’t have been anything actually harmful, at least not to a degree that mattered. Jesus, it’s not like you could go on and make a fuss about such matters, not when for the first time in years you felt like you’d made a friend. As peculiar as he was, Rafayel gifted you a space in which you could exist without pretence. And despite your rather rocky beginnings, he became someone you didn’t care to perform in front of.

And, against your own better judgement, you were starting to hope he felt the same way in your presence.

"Barely two weeks ago you were the one trying to convince me to do this," you prompted, leaning back in your chair. "It'll be fine. I've been through worse."

Malena only nodded, handing you the envelope. As you exited her office, you could only pray what you'd just said wasn't about to turn on you in some vicious, malevolent way.

The Valentine Club was the first of your projects to "make it".

Before the medium sized, yet steady success of the film, you stumbled around many different production companies, scribbling down scripts and conducting small-scale evaluations. So, when precisely five years ago you saw a chance to create your very own project entirely from scratch, you didn’t dare to leave it hanging for too long.

Back then you didn’t have nearly as much creative freedom as you did now. One of the main actors would normally never make it on screen if you could help it, but still had the necessary connections, so you were „strongly advised” to accept his offer. The budget was limited, so you hand-painted all the shop signs needed for the movie. Nobody forced you, of course, they even encouraged you to let it go, deeming it unnecessary, but you wanted, you needed it all to be perfect.

Looking back at it now, it obviously wasn’t anywhere near your definition of perfection. However, over the years you managed to make at least some peace with the fact that nothing could ever reach such state. Not like that ever stopped you from trying your absolute hardest nonetheless.

And that was precisely why you were currently picking out shades of purple for sashes that were to decorate buffet tables at the venue you decided to hold your event at.

"What about the other one?" You pointed at the rack behind the shopkeeper. "Sorry, I just can’t get behind any of those…"

The woman waved you off, patiently laying out yet another material on the counter.

Well, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be this monstrosity. Still, you feigned contemplation out of politeness.

"I’m not sure…"

Then, something situated in your peripheral vision caught your eye. "And that one? Number… number twenty four?"

"It’s one of the more expensive ones." The shopkeeper sent you an amused glance over her shoulder, already reaching for the fabric you spotted. "You have a great eye."

"Yeah…" Your fingers grazed the delicate material, marvelling at the way it shimmered subtly. "Unfortunately for my wallet."

Your eyes fluttered shut, already imagining this particular shade of purple lighting up the entire venue. With the slightest of reflectiveness and these intricate details made with silver thread, it would be a (near) perfect addition to your anniversary banquet.

"I'm taking this one." You sent her a smile, trying to make up for all the time you spent complaining at each one of your own previous picks. "Here are the measurements."

Sliding an unfolded piece of lined paper over the counter, you mentally checked your bank account in nervous anticipation.

However, the shopkeeper’s brows furrowed in worry.

"Oh, honey. That is quite a lot of fabric… We don’t have even near this much at the store."

Your throat went dry.

"What…?"

"I’ll try to see if any other of our stores have some left…" She rummaged through a couple of drawers, fishing out a phone number scribbled on top of a pizza joint flier. "It’s a rather old-fashioned motif."

Just a couple minutes later, you were presented with a list of shops (a list that contained only one place, actually), and even though things were beginning to look up, the address of it made you internally swear.

"Chansia?"

The shopkeeper sent you a sympathetic look.

"I can contact them and make sure no one buys it before you get there?" she offered.

With all the preparations you were still to overlook and a rather unforgiving, narrow timeframe, you wondered if any of this could even prove successful in the slightest. The fabric of your choice was undeniably beautiful, precisely what you were searching for, but maybe you could find something else still, something that wasn’t preferably situated in Chansia City, a place only Rafayel could frequently visit without missing ten deadlines…

Rafayel! What if he was there right now? Chances weren’t too high, but… Plus, he did explicitly say to let him know if you ended up needing anything for the event. Ever since you’d given him the invitation, he’d been gushing about your movie constantly, possibly ending up even more excited for the anniversary than its director herself.

Letting the shopkeeper know, you took out your phone and dialled Rafayel’s number. He didn’t make you wait long before picking up.

"Hey there, pretty." You could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke, tone bright and welcoming. "Whom should I thank for the undeniable pleasure of receiving a call from my dearest director?"

Trying not to let his sweet words get to your head, you decided to keep the matter brief.

"Hi, Rafayel. Are you currently in Chansia by any chance?"

He hummed, seemingly used to not hearing direct replies to his half-hearted advances.

"Why?"

You let out a sigh. "Remember when I was telling you how I’d like to set the tables? So, I found the perfect fabric for those sashes, but the only store to have enough of it is in Chansia."

"Well… Today’s your lucky day then, miss director."

Your breath sped up. "Really?"

"Just send me what it is you need." You could tell he tried his absolute best to feign indifference. "How much time do I have?"

"Till this evening...? Tomorrow also works, as long as it's early. There's still plenty I need to do at the venue." You couldn't contain your excitement. Glancing over at the shopkeeper, you gestured for her to make a reservation on your behalf. "Keep the receipt. I'll pay you back when you get here."

"Now, that is just plainly offensive," he huffed over the phone. "It's already taken care of. Don't worry 'bout it."

Your brows furrowed, almost out of habit.

"You do realise that I have the funds for this, right?"

"Sure thing." The tone of his voice was cheerful as always. "Now why don't you go ahead and use said money to buy yourself something new to wear at the event?

Well... You didn't hate that idea.

Judging by the quiet chuckle on the other end of the call, Rafayel caught on in an instant. "It's set then. See you this evening, cutie."

"Yeah, see you."

Already about to hang up, you were abruptly stopped by Rafayel chiming in yet again.

"Now, quick question." The way he said this made it seem as though he was presenting you with a business deal. "Would you be opposed to watching the next episode of The X Files with me? Yes or no. They've been adding a lot of those connected ones lately and I can't lie anymore, I am rather invested in this."

Smiling to yourself, you texted him the necessary fabric measurements, ones he received with a characteristic "ding" you heard even through the phone.

"Bring some Vietnamese take out and I shall consider your request."

"Are you sure...? I still think that seafood restaurant–"

You sighed audibly, dragging a hand over your face in an exaggerated manner, almost like a cartoon character. "Rafayel..."

"What? I'm just saying!"

Back when you were a child, around five, maybe six years old, you had three potential careers in mind.

The first one was an astronaut – fueled by your never ending thirst for knowledge and adoration of the unexplored. Drummer was your second pick, warranted by your mom's almost career as a rockstar. And when it came to the last ideal job description, you fell victim to the classic case of peer pressure, as well as a couple of surprisingly well written fairytales – you wished to become a princess.

Movie director was, obviously, nowhere on this entirely probable list of yours, and sometimes you did in fact wonder if the young you would approve of the life you chose to live. What you were absolutely sure of however, was that she would definitely give you a thumbs up after seeing the venue you picked for your anniversary screening; all organised and decorated, it looked eerily similar to a princess' castle.

Although, you did have to admit that choosing to rent one of the smaller mansions on the outskirts of Linkon had probably more to do with it than the rest put together.

The way it all clicked, the entryway decorations, various poster designs propped artistically upon wooden easels and, of course, the purple sashes looped around the tables, made you almost giddy with excitement. The photographers you hired for the night were making sure everything would end up documented thoroughly, saving you the trouble of preserving the memories any other way. Even Malena found an empty spot in her rigid schedule, stopping by with her girlfriend to congratulate on your anniversary.

It seemed perfect. Well, as perfect as anything human-made could turn out to be, except for one, rather crucial matter at hand.

He was nowhere to be seen.

The event was launched personally by you less than half an hour ago and you knew Rafayel had the unpleasant tendency of showing up fashionably late. In fact, you actually considered switching the inauguration time on his invitation to trick him into being there for the opening, but ultimately decided against it, deeming it all not too important anyway.

However, with the hour of the anniversary screening approaching steadily, you were beginning to worry you'd made a mistake choosing to be truthful.

"Everything alright?"

You blinked a couple of times, snapping out of your trance.

"Yeah?"

Quinn tilted her head to the side, letting a couple of elaborate braids slip over her shoulder. "Someone inquired if there'll be non-alcoholic drinks at the reception later tonight, I said I'd ask and when I did, you replied with 'not for too long'...?"

"Did I...?" You internally squirmed at that. "My bad. I... There'll be some freshly pressed juice options available? I don't remember ordering any mocktails."

"It's perfect, you know." She placed a hand on your shoulder in a reassuring gesture. "As perfect as can be. There's no need to worry."

As perfect as could be... And surely, before all this it would have been undeniably enough. So why couldn't that be the case now...?

You tried not to stress while sitting next to a hauntingly empty chair right next to you in the screening room. After all, he'd told you before that he ended up watching The Valentine Club thrice, back to back. Perhaps he just didn't deem it necessary to sit yet through another portion of the same thing. However, despite your attempted reasoning, it did sting. Not enough to whip out your phone and send him a passive aggressive text, no, but just enough to grow bitter at the feeling of getting stood up. Again.

At some point, between a brief speech after the movie and transferring everyone into the main hall, you even began to wonder if anything unfortunate had happened. What if he ended up in a jail cell again? You still haven't asked what prompted him to go there in the first place and you were slowly beginning to lose your resolve over that. Not wanting to judge him so harshly, you also spent some time worrying for his wellbeing, various kinds of accidents flashing through your head as you tried to figure out where the actual hell he was at that very moment.

In order to avoid your assistants' attention, you busied yourself with the guests, making polite, surface level conversation and accepting their congratulations as gracefully as you could. Steadily making your way through the hall, you took notice of how people moved away from a certain faraway corner, one occupied by a group of men laughing jovially. Already slightly suspicious, you moved forward cautiously to investigate, trying to catch some of their conversation.

"And, and then he offered me the same fucking deal, you know? The audacity of that! As if I was on the same level as him, can you imagine?"

Eyeing down the middle aged man situated in the very centre, you pushed through the crowd, accidentally stomping on someone's foot in the process.

"H-Hey! Watch out!"

Filled with burning hot anger, you whipped your head around to face the other man.

"No, you watch ou–" The harsh words got stuck in your throat as you took in the sight in front of your eyes. This couldn't be... "Rafayel...?"

The man you grew to be somewhat fond of, the very same you binge watched like five episodes of your favorite show with just a couple of days ago, now stood before you, clad in a crumpled navy blue suit and a pair of the most ridiculous shoes you'd ever seen.

"What..." Are you doing here? You failed to force anything out your throat.

"Hey there, sweetheart." He sent you a smile, one that didn't quite reach his absent gaze. "Congrats on your movie, yeah?"

You just stood there, unsure of how to react to this utterly absurd scene. Rafayel must have taken that as a sign of annoyance (maybe he wasn't that far off, anyway) and breached the distance between you two, enveloping you in a clumsy hug.

"Come on..." he drawled, cozing up to you like a kitten. "Don't be mad."

"Rafayel, you... Is that–" You involuntarily took a whiff, spotting an unfamiliar scent. "Are you drunk?"

He took a step back, eyebrows furrowed as though he was the one offended by you, not the other way round.

"N-No?"

Exhaling shakily, you closed your eyes for a brief moment before grabbing his clammy hand and dragging Rafayel away from the crowd despite his whiny objections.

"Hey, let go! Where are you taking me? The event is still going–"

You rolled your eyes. "If you'd actually made it here on time, that wouldn't be this big of a concern to you, I bet."

It was almost like your words weren't even registered by Rafayel's brain. He still wiggled in your unforgiving grasp, up until you stopped by one of the emptier tables.

"What's going on?" You looked him right in the eyes, hoping that would somehow sober him up, even a little. "Are you okay?"

He tried to shrug you off, waving his hand right in front of your face.

"You're late," you pressed, growing more and more annoyed with each passing second. "You're late, even though you promised me you'd show up on time. You missed the entire screening and now I find you next to some random men, drunk out of your fucking mind–"

"Stop... yelling. God..." He groaned. "I'm here now, aren't I? What's the big deal?"

"What's– What's the deal?!" You were flabbergasted.

A couple of guests, including Malena and Nikolai, stopped in their tracks, watching the scene unfolding in front of them. Rafayel leaned on the table, rubbing his forehead.

"Jesus Christ, won't you get off my dick already–"

"Excuse me?!"

He seemed to sober up at that. Jolting from his half-folded stance, Rafayel faced you properly, using his entire frame to tower over you.

"You're always so... so stuck up. Always unsatisfied. With everything that I do! Nothing is ever enough! So what does it matter, if I get here on time or not? If I stand here, pretending to care about these random people neither of us will probably see in the next five years? I might as well do what I want instead. At least I know how to have actual fun."

God, you wanted nothing more than to slap him across the face and wipe that snarky grin right off. But instead, mindful of your reputation, you grabbed his elbow, trying to take all this outside.

"This isn't the place for this. You're embarrassing both me and yourself."

"Like you give a fuck!" he snapped, yanking his arm right out and reaching straight into his pocket.

"I don't think that– Hey, what is... Is that a cigarette?!"

Rafayel gave you an absentminded glance as he flicked a lighter. You couldn't believe your own eyes, alarmingly aware of how warm your face had gotten from all these intense emotions.

"Rafayel, you don't smoke. Put that down."

"Oh? And you know that from...?"

Reaching towards the cig, you attempted to jerk it away.

"So you can but not me?" he questioned tauntingly, keeping it just barely out of your reach.

"Put that out right now, Rafayel. You can't smoke in here, it's–"

"Yeah, sure..." He looked positively bored. "Can't do this, can't do that, it's almost like– Ouch!"

He yelped, yanking his hand towards his chest, as though burned.

"I don't know what you think you're doing right now," you started, forcing yourself to sound at least partly reasonable. "But this is the last place you'd want to argue with me at. I can promise you this."

"Oh, forgive me!" he mocked your tone in cocky amusement. "I somehow forgot that you know everything there is to know! My bad!"

Already furious, you had to force yourself to do makeshift breathing exercises in a rather futile attempt to calm down. Instead, it kept making you even more agitated, especially while accompanied by that horrendous scowl on Rafayel's face, one that twisted his features in an almost devilish manner.

"You know what, you poor excuse of a man–"

But before you could finish your cold-hearted retort, someone on your far left began screaming bloody murder.

"Fire! The table's on fire!"

That sent a jolt through you, from the soles of your feet to the very top of your head. Stumbling backwards, you tried your best to assess the situation, suddenly overwhelmed by panicked guests fleeting left and right.

"The sash!" You grabbed it with both hands, trying to put out the fire with some of the excess material. "Rafayel, get back!"

"Where... Ow!"

He jumped back clumsily, not noticing when a part of his attire began catching flames itself. In a desperate attempt to avoid making the matters at hand even worse, you rushed to his side.

Shortly after, hell broke loose.

Your luxurious, eye-catching purple sashes, albeit beautiful, turned out to be entirely impractical, as they were the ones to catch fire the fastest. Acting almost like a fuse, they passed the intensifying flames from table to table, surrounding you both with an abnormal amount of smoke in the process.

Somewhat still partly rational, you yanked Rafayel's suit jacket off his body before he could become a human torch. He, on the other hand, possessed less than half of your quick thinking, still disoriented and not entirely sober. You were forced to cage his face in between your palms, shielding his eyes from the smoke as you yelled loud enough to be heard above the ever-present chaos.

"You need to show people the exit! Gather half of them and go through the backdoor, the one near the pond!"

It was as though something had clicked in Rafayel's brain upon hearing the urgency in your voice. You had no doubts whether or not he knew where to lead the panicked guests; just a couple days ago he tagged along when you visited the mansion for some last minute check ups and the two of you spent half an hour playing sea battle near that exact pond. It was particularly hard to miss, especially with this enormous statue of Apollo situated in the very middle.

As soon as you saw him nod in agreement, you headed in the opposite direction, but Rafayel took hold of your wrist and turned you back around to face him yet again.

"And you?" After noticing you couldn't hear him well, he stepped closer, leaning down, and accidentally brushed your nose with his in the process. "What about you?!"

"Me?!" You placed your thumb on the front of your elaborate outfit. "I'll grab the other half and leave through the main entrance. Meet me in the garden!"

He nodded yet again, although failed to let go of your arm. The way his eyes kept jumping from one spot on your face to the other made your stomach twist and turn. Then, before you could wriggle out of Rafayel's grasp, he pulled you closer to him, letting his lips graze your temple as he spoke directly into your ear.

"Be safe."

You barely had time to register the featherlight kiss he'd given you just now, placed right next to your eyelid, because he was, somehow, already halfway across the room when your eyes fluttered open.

Wasting no more time, you also decided to put your plan into action. The adrenaline present in your veins did its absolute best and you managed to lead most of the guests towards the right exit without breaking a sweat. As soon as you stepped out into the gardens that hugged the mansion tightly, your gaze flickered from person to person, intuitively searching for Rafayel.

You did spot a couple of guests you were sure had headed near the backdoor and Nikolai, as well as Lady Talia, were among them.

"Did you see Rafayel?" you breathed out as soon as you caught up to the woman, tugging at her sleeve like a lost child. "We were supposed to meet here but I cannot find him anywhere."

She shook her head hesitantly, opening her mouth to offer some words of comfort, but you were already running to the next person in line, asking the same question, over and over.

Hours had passed and you weren't able to find him still. There was a couple of fire brigades at the scene, as well as a few ambulances, and you navigated in between them like a skier on a particularly unforgiving slope.

It was well after midnight when the firefighters managed to convince you to finally go home; one of the ambulances even gave you three fourths of a ride back to your place. Amidst it all, you somehow lost your left shoe, as well as the bag you took with you to the event, but when you plopped on the bed, you could only stare mindlessly at the phone in your hand, waiting for Rafayel to give you a call, which didn't come that night.

He also didn't contact you the day after that, and the next. If it weren't for some meaningless press article released the following evening, documenting one of his many reckless incidents, you wouldn't even know if he made it out of the mansion in one piece.

As you stared at the blurry photograph placed next to a wall of condescending text, you kept asking yourself this one thing.

How could it not mean anything to him?

She'd told you not to do it.

Used words more suitable for a hardened sailor rather than a marketing team manager, just in hopes of getting her point across. But you'd always been stubborn. A few would say that it turned out to be part of your charm, in some wicked, roundabout way. And that drove Malena positively insane, because each time she urged you to do something, you'd become absolutely hellbent on turning around on your heel and attempting the exact opposite.

Just like in this case; your fingers were tapping faintly on the steering wheel as you navigated through the grim forest leading to the Qi Mansion. Out of pure spite, you assured yourself. You yearned to see that look on his face, the embarrassment, the poorly masked exasperation. It was so palpable you could almost envision it.

You drove like you had something to prove, and perhaps that was the case here. While Rafayel was used to running away when things went sideways, you taught yourself to chase after what you wanted and needed, despite the unfavourable circumstances. So, when the one month mark finally hit, you decided to show up to the preplanned meeting scheduled when things between you two weren't in such a horrendous condition. You also believed you sort of owed it to Lady Talia, who'd been nothing but utterly kind and doting to you, despite all the mishaps caused by her own nephew.

After passing the main gate of the premises, you assumed a rather languid pace, curiously looking around the land. Before this day, you had never visited the Qi Mansion, which turned out to be not as far from Linkon as you suspected it to be. Tall and striking, decorated in expertly placed outdoor lamps that hung to the faded brick walls, it emanated status, wealth and prestige, all of them in their highest achievable form.

Stopping somewhere near the main entrance, watchful not to park right in the middle of the pathway, you fiddled with the cigarette case placed in the pocket of your corduroy trousers. Only a few windows were lit up on the front and you couldn't help but wonder if Rafayel's rooms were among them. Ever since the burning of that damned mansion you held your event at, you did in fact have plenty of time to think it all through. Constantly switching between pure, unfiltered rage and this unfamiliar affliction, you weren't even entirely sure what you sought at the moment.

And that, this act of going in blind and undecided, you weren't used to in the slightest. Hell, this entire situation felt like something out of a novel you'd read during vacation trips, something that didn't even stand near your day to day activities. It was almost as though after meeting Rafayel, each decision you made seemed entirely new and different, like you were forced to discover parts of yourself you weren't even aware of existing prior to that. And you realised that you weren't exactly opposed to letting that continue.

As soon as you entered the mansion, someone took your coat and offered a pair of vintage looking slippers. Besides a couple of polite greetings, no one gave you any explanation to what was awaiting you whatsoever. As you passed corridor after corridor, you couldn't help but notice how utterly empty this place was. Spotless and pristine, yes, but absolutely devoid of life altogether. Like a priceless painting, locked away in a safe. Or a bottle of expensive perfume, unused and put on a pedestal, reduced to a piece of interior design.

Upon reaching a dimly lit living room (one of many, you'd noticed), you were greeted by the lady of the house herself, who enveloped you in a rushed, somewhat cumbersome embrace.

"Good evening, dear." Her hands rested on your shoulders in an almost motherlike manner. "Words fail to describe how delighted I am to see you tonight, truly. I was almost sure I would never get to meet you again."

Granting her a bittersweet smile, you sat right where she pointed at, in a spacious, patterned armchair near the fireplace.

"I..." You swallowed the lump in your throat which grew with each second spent in this peculiar house. "I wasn't sure either. If I would come."

She sat across from you, in a similar chair, one that bore clear signs of frequent usage. Her hands were folded neatly on her lap, atop of her elaborate nightgown.

"I wouldn't have blamed you, dear," she spoke. "It was only this morning I learned what truly happened that night. Although it may not mean much, I am deeply sorry for your loss and still, utterly grateful for a chance at retribution from our side."

They paid for it all.

Well, she did, you'd assumed.

"I suppose it was bound to happen. It was made rather clear what I would be stepping into, so..." you trailed off, unsure of how to continue the sentence. It was almost as if you were offering excuses. Again. You despised the sound of that.

"It truly is a shame that Miss Malena could not join us this evening." Lady Talia leaned back in her armchair, crossing her legs elegantly. "When you see her, please do send my warmest wishes for swift recovery." You nodded. "In the meantime, I had prepared a certain document that–"

"My Lady." One of the butlers, the very same that stood right by the entrance of this room, stepped in for a brief moment. "Lord Qi."

Oh, how you hated the way your body reacted in that moment, twisting around in such an utterly pathetic way and making you seem so, so desperate for merely a glimpse. Your fingernails dug in the thick armrests with such force that if it wasn't of high quality, the material would have surely ripped in half.

He stood there, stiff as a board atop the spiral staircase just outside the doorway. Hair a mess, pointing in all possible directions. Wearing this loose, tattered sweater with one sleeve rolled up and the other covering half of his palm. And the sincerest, most heart-wrenching look of stupor on his face, one you were absolutely convinced you would never forget, for as long as you lived.

You had never seen Rafayel so... raw. Without his planned outfits, fancy accessories and jewellery, generous amounts of cologne that followed him everywhere he went. How he was in that very moment, lukewarm and vulnerable, tugged at your heartstrings in such a violent way, your knees almost gave out.

He just stared at you wordlessly, not daring to look away for even a split second, as though terrified you'd disappear if he did. And, truth be told, if you weren't going through all five stages of grief back to back in that very moment yourself, you'd most likely find his gaze almost eerie.

Slowly, Rafayel came down the stairs and you met somewhere halfway, even though you didn't really plan on walking up to him. He looked even more candid here, up close, and you could feel the heat radiating off his body merely half a step away from yours.

His voice was quiet, strung-out.

"You... came."

A greater woman would put up another wall, guarding herself from what was to come. She'd prepare for the worst and be ready when it struck. But you were exhausted, so exhausted. And, judging by the slump of Rafayel's shoulders, he was too.

"You invited me."

He failed to mask the way his hands twitched at your words, or maybe he wasn't planning to do so. With utter terror, you realised that you wanted him, no, needed Rafayel to reach out instead, unashamedly, just like he'd done merely a few days earlier. And that feeling filled you with an entirely new wave of dread.

Lady Talia excused herself, muttering something about the kitchens and an extra meal, but, in all honesty, neither of you could even sense what was going on outside of this little energy field created in between you both. The way you were taking in each little detail of Rafayel's figure, from the dark circles under his eyes to the faint promise of his waist hidden behind a slightly see-through sweater, could be only described as desperate. Outside of this, in cafeterias and parks, in afternoon sun and the glow of the crescent moon, Rafayel was undeniably beautiful. You couldn't deny that, even if you'd never spoken of it out loud. It'd be utterly foolish to think otherwise and also a lie in its purest form.

But now, Rafayel was more than that. More than just beautiful or attractive or pretty. His slightly disheveled appearance had made him into something you didn't think was even possible – into perfection.

Somehow, through all the fragile, uneven parts that shone through, he achieved the absolute ideal of a man.

Rafayel broke the silence to clear his throat.

"I was sure you wouldn't come," he confessed, voice still low. "Thought you hate me."

You scoffed. "Maybe I should, after you decided to ignore me for three days straight."

Apparently, that was what touched him. With trembling hands, he reached out, gently wrapping his fingers around your wrists.

"I... I just wanted to give you some space. You were upset and I–"

"You really thought this would make me less upset?" you interrupted, brows furrowed. "For God's sake, Rafayel, for solid fifteen hours I didn't even know whether you were alive or not."

His gaze dropped to the ground for a moment and the faintest of blushes spread across his face, up to the tips of his ears. "I apologise. Sincerely. You... You deserve better than this. Just– Please, stay for dinner. Yeah? I'll eat separately if it makes you feel better?"

Distracted by the warmth of his hands oh, so near your own, you almost failed to register his words.

"What?" you mustered. "What are you talking about?"

"I..." he trailed off, suddenly unsure.

Twisting your wrists just slightly, you laced your fingers with his, letting your joined hands dangle in between your bodies in a makeshift promise.

"Of course I'm staying for dinner." You couldn’t miss how Rafayel's eyes lit up at that. "I didn't drive all the way here just to grab the contract and go."

Another staff member showed up, offering to lead you to the dining room where food had just been served in your absence.

"Wait–" Rafayel caught up to you mid step. "You're willing to go with this?"

He looked absolutely bewildered in that moment and that made you realise that he had not only believed he would never see you again, but also that you called off the almost-engagement right after the mansion incident. You couldn't help but smirk at that, realising he was still yet to see the amounts of your innate perseverance when it came to getting what you wanted.

"After all this," he continued, stepping into the dining hall right after you. "you still choose to marry me?"

"Yes, I do," you retorted, picking one of the many places behind the long wooden table. "Now, won't you sit down already? Your jumpiness is making me anxious."

He obeyed without question, most likely still rather shocked by the turn of events. As Rafayel sat down, choosing his own place right across from yours, your gaze absentmindedly locked onto the delicate skin of his collarbone exposed by the oversized sweater.

God, you felt like a Victorian era man catching a glimpse of some lady’s ankle.

Rafayel did in fact take notice of your laser focused gaze, however misinterpreted it in its entirety.

"I look horrible," he muttered under his breath, awakening a wave of immediate and all-consuming protest within you. "I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d be here tonight. Otherwise I’d have ... gotten myself ready."

You stared at him, unable to form a proper answer when he just criticised the greatest view you had ever gotten to experience.

"I’ll go change–"

"Don't." This time, your response was produced right away, resulting in a confused quirk of his brow. "There's no need. After all, the sooner you get used to spending your evenings like this, the better. Unless you genuinely want to wear suits and ties and whatnot for the rest of your married life."

Rafayel lifted up his right hand, as though he was about make a solemn promise, but the unmistakable glint in his eyes gave away the suddenly upbeat mood in an instant.

"Is that so?" he taunted, his usual bravado coming back full force. "You plan on doing that often?"

"Got anything better to do?" You playfully stuck out your tongue and he chuckled.

"Not really, no. I suppose I could get used to this... predicament."

You felt your eyebrows lift at that. "That is an interesting choice of wording."

"Well..." Rafayel leaned forward on the table, smile wide and beaming. "Do you have any other... words in mind?"

Somewhen in the meantime, Lady Talia had returned, offering you a variety of beverages to choose from. The meal that got served shortly after was kept rather simple, but still tasted incredibly well; only after devouring it whole you realised how hungry you'd been prior to that.

Rafayel was actively chatting you up the entire night, (and, unbeknownst to him) more effectively than all the times before summed up and doubled. There was something so hauntingly beautiful in the way he appeared that evening, skin gleaming ever so slightly in the flickering candlelight, hair tousled and neck bare. It was in that moment you finally allowed yourself to admit that maybe, just maybe, all of this wasn't as unpleasant as you kept claiming it was.

Even while accompanied by the utter fiasco of your movie screening barely three days earlier. And that particular thought terrified you like no other.

After dinner you were invited by Lady Talia to her private office upstairs in order to finalise the engagement. The shock you felt upon noticing Rafayel's signature on the document already there was so evident, she even disclosed he'd put it there over ten days ago, the same night your manager dropped off the papers at the Qi Mansion. You were yet to decide how exactly you felt about that.

Rafayel was waiting for you just outside the door, most likely nonchalantly pretending like he stumbled upon you on complete accident (even though this was, quite literally, his own house). It was late, you could see that in the way his eyes gleamed softly, in the way he followed you back to the living room you met Lady Talia in, observing as you slipped your sweater on.

"Leaving already?" he questioned, sending you a cautious glance from his spot on one of the couches.

You sighed. "Soon, yeah. I'm just going for a smoke."

"Can I come with?" He smiled bitterly at your distrustful expression, memory of the last time you two were in a similar situation still fresh. "Just to be there. I don't think I'll be touching any cigarettes in a while."

"Good."

The balcony led to the other, so far undiscovered side of the property, currently enveloped in almost absolute darkness. Leaning over the marble railing, you glanced up at the night sky and Rafayel followed suit. "They are so much brighter here than in the city."

"Light pollution," he muttered, as though the late hour required all words to be whispered reverently. "How good are you at spotting constellations?"

You shook your head, blowing out smoke in the opposite direction. "Not very. I think I know the Little Bear."

"Hey, that's pretty good."

"Just don't make me test this theory," you cautioned, taking notice of how the evening breeze made Rafayel shiver slightly.

He smiled, in a different way than usual, even by today's standards. Then, he leaned in a little bit closer and pointed upward. "Here's your Little Bear," he whispered. "And if you go just slightly lower than the North Star... you'll find the Dragon. Here. See?"

Using his finger, Rafayel traced the constellation step by step.

"All this?" you questioned, making him chuckle. "That's a lot of stars."

"Mmm. Just wait till you see the Pegasus."

You whipped your head around. "Where?"

"It's a little farther out. Maybe I'll introduce you two some other time."

With your neck already slightly sore from looking up, you shot Rafayel the meanest glance you could muster. "Are you seriously gatekeeping constellations now?"

"You know." He rubbed his chin, completely ignoring your little jibe. "You're sort of like Pegasus yourself. As a mythical creature, it represents the ultimate form of sovereignty. The truest embodiment of freedom and creative expression. There is no other quite like it, no matter how far you'd look."

Despite his gaze being directed elsewhere, you still looked away in hopes of hiding the warmth slowly creeping up your neck.

"Then..." you spoke slowly, careful not to disturb this contemplative atmosphere. "Which one would you be?"

The wind tugged gently at the hem of Rafayel's worn out sweater, although he didn't seem to mind the chilly air anymore.

"I'm not sure..." he hummed, sending you a sly wink. "Maybe a peacock."

It's been quite some time since you felt such a sense of peace, one even slightly similar to what you got to experience that night on the balcony with Rafayel. Cigarette ash scattered around with the wind long ago, yet you couldn't bring yourself to retreat to the familiarity of your car parked right outside the main entrance. It was as though by merely speaking of leaving you could have broken this bubble, existing in a place and time no one else besides the two of you could ever reach. You knew, however, the longer you'd stay, the harder it'd be for you to return to what once was. Rafayel must have realised that too.

"I want you to know," he spoke, weighing each word with utmost care and consideration. "how much I appreciate you doing this with me. I can be a handful, that much I'm aware of. But this... this is different. And I think that's what scared me. That's what scares me still."

Unsure of what to reply to the sudden sincerity that soaked Rafayel's words right through, you just stared at him as he took your hands in his, gently, like he'd already assumed you'd yank them right back.

"So." He straightened up. "No more running away. Not from you."

You smiled at that, looking at your intertwined fingers.

"No more running away," you agreed after a brief moment of silence. "Not without you."

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