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Raphael knows that Magnus is behind him, but not by any means he can explain. Call it his sixth sense; even when Magnus isn’t moving, isn’t touching him, is barely breathing so as to not make a sound, Raphael knows he is there.
He appreciates it, though. The way Magnus makes sure to make himself invisible so as not to bother Raphael. He knows Magnus should have half a million questions on why the hell Raphael decided to invite himself into his house, but he waits for him to finish praying first, doing his best not to disrupt the moment.
Raphael really, really appreciates it. It’s one of the few times where he can truly feel at peace with himself, these days. Especially now that he doesn’t live with Magnus anymore, and is still getting used to the other people on his clan - and Magnus’ bitch of an ex, which he fully intends to take down in his name, but that’s a topic for another time.
And he breathes a little more easily with the way Magnus so clearly understands and respects that, making himself invisible so Raphael can have his sacred space. If anyone in the world were allowed to be wary of Raphael’s religion, it would be Magnus; Raphael knows what catholicism put Magnus through, ever since he was a small child trying to understand why his stepfather thought his mother was always dirty. Nevermind after that, when he had to watch everything he was be used as justification to kill others like him by the very same church who justified slaughtering his people all those centuries ago. Raphael knows Magnus sees nothing but blood when he looks at a crucifix, and Raphael can’t blame him.
Sometimes, he feels the same way.
But- but God feels like everything he has. He’s lost his family and all the ways he can remember them by, except for this. The crucifix and the prayers his mom had taught him and Rosa, the easy, calming words that felt like home and protection. If he loses his praying, he loses the last threads he still has to hold on to them.
He misses the chance to hear his mom and Rosa’s voices going along with him, echoing his words. Being together and in tune again.
He rises from his knees and turns to Magnus. “Sorry for barging in,” he says.
Magnus dismisses that phrase with a practiced flourish of his hand. Raphael knows he’s more worried than he’s letting on - he’s very fluent in Magnus’ body language by now. The more comfortable he looks, the less he feels, and the more smoothly he moves, the more chaotic his mind is. “That is no problem. You’re always welcome here, my dear boy,” he says, pouring himself a drink. “If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have been able to get past my wards, anyway.”
Raphael smiles, despite himself. “I’m pretty sure I’d have found a way if I needed to.”
Magnus raises an eyebrow at him. “This loft is more secure than most of the Clave’s buildings,” he says. “You might be fast, but you’ll never be faster than magic.”
Raphael doesn’t find it in himself to take Magnus’ disguised little challenge. He wants to throw another little jab at him, he does, but he can’t do it. Instead, he just flops down on his couch, picking at nonexistent seams in the armrest. Magnus sits across from him soon after, even if his movement is a lot more elegant than Raphael’s. That has him raising his eyes. Magnus really worries too much.
Magnus is looking directly at him. “You know you’ll always be welcome here, my dear,” he says carefully, taking a sip of his drink. He doesn’t say anything else, but Raphael knows the question he’s making.
He doesn’t leave it to hover over their heads. “I just,” he sighs, “I’m not into people.”
Magnus lets out a small chuckle, even if his smile morphs into an almost thoughtful look almost as soon as he hears it. He’s not looking at Raphael anymore, but rather at his drink. “You know, after living with you for quite a few decades, I don’t think that’s really true,” Magnus says.
“No,” Raphael says, desperate for a meaning he can’t quite grasp, “I’m not into people. I’ve never been.” He looks up at Magnus, who looks back at him with furrowed brows. “No one,” he finishes lamely.
Magnus keeps looking at him, something unreadable trying to hide in the corners of his eyes.
It puts Raphael in a situation he’s very rarely in - feeling oppressed by the silence, rather than calmed down by it.
So he continues to talk. “It’s not a vampire thing. Or a Catholic thing,” he adds. “If anything, the priests seem to think there’s something wrong with me, too. I’ve tried- asking them. If that’s how they felt. But they said celibacy is a sacrifice, so it can’t be. That was when I was a kid,” he clarifies. “Well, not a kid, about 15 years old or so. I was just so confused. So tired of waiting for it, to start feeling like everyone said I would when I grew older.”
Magnus seems to have relaxed in his chair now, even if he’s not touching his drink. Now that he knows what to expect, he just settles into letting Raphael speak, careful and attentive. Raphael really, really loves Magnus for it.
“Ever since I was 13, that seemed to be all everyone could think about. It started to feel like such a cage. You know, in México,” the word rolls slowly off his tongue, swiftly and comforting. It’s the best taste of home he can have these days, ever since he was bitten and lost his rights to everything else. He loves saying it, loves the familiar sounds of his native tongue, the one word he allows himself to always say in it. Loves how it feels like coming home, like it dances with voices that tell a million stories, “touching people was just- normal. Kissing people on the cheek. Hugging them. Speaking loudly,” he laughs, “It was a part of everyday life. And then I came here, and every time I did that, people would yell. Adults thought I was being dirty and disrespectful, and the other kids, they thought about sex. And I hated it, because I didn’t want that. I just wanted to feel a little like home.
“That’s not- that’s not the reason,” he continues. “It didn’t make me uninterested. I was never interested, don’t think I could ever be. The idea that every time I touched somebody, it had to be related to sex, it was disgusting to me. I started to hate being around people and getting close to them, because everyone would make it about that."
He takes a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts.
“Even when I wasn’t touching them. Sometimes I’d just be around and someone would tell me that I looked like I was good in bed.” A shiver runs down his spine at the memories of that, of how many times he had been told that of course he meant his touches or words in a sexual way, that’s what people like him are all about. “It made me want to rip my skin off.”
Magnus looks sympathetically at him. There’s a pain in his eyes that feels too similar to Raphael’s own.
Raphael draws in another breath and tries not to shake. He knew, of course he knew, from every single rational part of his being, that Magnus would never judge him for it, not when he had seen such worse sides of Raphael before. But something still made him nervous of telling Magnus about it.
Magnus was so- normal. He was so into sex. And Raphael knew, of course, that for someone like him, who didn’t restrict his attraction to women, that was a double-edged sword that could cut him just as deep as Raphael. But a part of him couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of Magnus for the way sex seemed to be so natural to him, even when Raphael knew that wasn’t exactly the truth.
He just wishes he could be like the person Magnus sometimes pretended to be.
“I felt like either I was completely wrong, or it was such a cruel joke. Everyone thought I could be nothing but that, and I never wanted anything to do with it."
He barely registers the small, sympathetic nod Magnus gives him. He's not registering much of anything; his eyes feel foggy, unfocused. Like they're not facing outwards.
“I asked for God’s forgiveness, you know,” he finally says, the words tasting like bile. “I prayed that He’d forgive me for not being like He wanted. Like He made everyone to be. It didn’t even occur to me to ask Him to change me, because the idea was so disgusting, I just couldn’t bring myself. But I was so scared that He’d turn his back on me for not complying to His plan.”
“My dearest boy,” Magnus says, his voice sounding like tears.
Raphael goes on, unable to stop. If he halted at Magnus’ words, he’d he run over by the words he’s trying to say; they wouldn’t wait for him, and are perfectly willing to crush him under their weight. “And then I was Turned, and I thought, this is it. He’s really abandoned me. I’m officially an abomination. It felt like He was saying, ‘I won’t forgive you. I will never forgive you’. Like He was making me a monster on the outside, so it could match the inside.
“And one of the worst parts- God, there are so many, but definitely one of the worst parts- is that I was even more sexualized."
His following chuckle is so bitter it feels more like a spit.
“Everyone thinks vampires are so- sexy. Even vampires themselves. And don’t get me wrong, I’m starting to find a family in my clan, I am. Well, except for,” he grimaces, trying to stop his fangs from showing in threat. He doesn’t miss the way Magnus crosses his legs like he’s trying to justify the way his body tenses. God, Raphael didn’t even say her name. A fresh new wave of hatred washes him over, and it feels almost welcome after so much emptiness. “I’m gonna take her down, Magnus, I promise.”
“That’s not your-” Magnus starts, making something with his face that looks like a smile, but feels nothing like one. When Raphael just looks at him, he interrupts himself with a sigh, and gestures for him to go on.
“Yes, it is. She makes everyone miserable, Magnus.”
They look at each other. Stillness stretches between them, like a rubber band being pulled by both sides. It feels threatening, the kind of threatening that makes you want to flee.
Raphael relents. “But there’s just this- atmosphere, with vampires.” he gestures vaguely around himself. “Everything, it just feels so sexual, all the time. And everyone thinks that of us, too, even other downworlders. God, and I thought the one upside was that if it made me more pale, people would stop saying stuff like that.”
Magnus looks at him way too sadly, so he rushes to continue, scared of Magnus’ ever-present empathy. It feels too real to be talked about right now. “But when I’m with them, especially Camille-” he can barely contain the venom in his voice at her name. He idly hopes it doesn’t drip on Magnus’ carpet, “It feels as oppressive as it did in middle school. Just, everything seems to be about it. And she- when I refused to help her turn a mundane, she said, you’re way too hot to be so fucking frigid.”
Magnus closes his eyes at that like he’s been punched, and Raphael flinches. Fuck. How can he just go around running his mouth like that? He knows how it’s gonna land. “I’m sorry,” he says.
“No,” Magnus sighs, “I’m the one who’s sorry. Camille is-” he stares into his drink, at a loss for words.
Raphael hates seeing Magnus without words. They’re some of his best weapons. It makes Raphael want to shield him, to take bullets in his place.
“That’s why I came here,” he says, voice small, like it’s trying to pick up a lost animal. “I just. I couldn’t take being there anymore. I needed a few minutes, I needed- some peace.”
Magnus nods. “I’m glad you find it here.”
Raphael huffs out a laugh, and doesn’t say that he can’t find it anywhere else.
“You know,” Magnus says after a long pause, “you’re not the only one.”
Raphael looks up at him. There is no way Magnus feels like he does.
Magnus chuckles like he knows what Raphael’s thinking. “Ragnor is like that, too. He doesn’t terribly mind it, isn’t disgusted by it, but he doesn’t like it. And he’s never- liked anyone, even beyond the physical aspects, either.”
Raphael shakes his head. “It’s not like that. I do like people. Just- never enough to want them like that. To want to be like that.”
Magnus nods. “I’ve met other people who were like that, too. When I used to hang out with Marsha and Sylvia, and the others. Right before I found you, in fact.”
Raphael finds himself smiling, despite himself. ‘Hang out’ is an amazing code for helping them wreak havoc all over town in the fight for liberation. Of all the things Magnus has done, Raphael thinks this is one of the most amazing ones.
“I know I already told you about that, but there were all kinds of people in those marches. People like me, who liked people of every gender. People who were of every gender you can think of. People who liked only one, but not the “right” one. And people who liked neither. Or only liked them sometimes. Or liked them, but never wanted them. Somewhere along the beginning of the 70s, they wrote a Manifesto.”
“A Manifesto?,” Raphael asks, hating the way his whole body perks up.
Magnus smiles in such an understanding way Raphael immediately relaxes. “Yes. I don’t remember the details, because I wasn’t a part of its writing, and I wasn’t particularly close with Lisa,” he clarifies, “and it didn’t get as much attention as all the- brick throwing. But they said they felt just like you - like sex had always been forced on them one way or another, and that it made them feel trapped. There were quite a lot of people like that involved with the marches. It’s not just you.”
Raphael stops for a moment, feeling like the whole world is about to drop from its axis.
“Yeah?” he asks, hoping for something, and not knowing what.
“Yes,” Magnus says, firm, like he’s trying to regain Raphael’s footing with his words. Raphael takes a deep breath, and somehow, the air tastes different. He feels- sure-footed, something he just now realizes he hasn't felt in a long, long time.
Magnus hesitates for a second, hand hovering mid-gesture. “You know I’m not christian,” he says, “But I don’t think god would make so many people like that if they were against his plan. And you, my boy,” he says, slowly reaching out to hold Raphael’s hand in his. Raphael lets him. Truth be told, he misses it, terribly misses the days where a touch was just a touch, and he didn’t have to run from its implications. He thanks his God every day for giving him Magnus, and Ragnor and Cat, the only people he truly felt comfortable enough with to allow himself to appreciate that. He feels something rising in his throat, a kind of belated shaking, like he's mourning himself. “You don’t have to ask for forgiveness. There is nothing wrong with you.”
Raphael takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He closes his eyes to try and keep any tears from falling, like it would have been a personal offense to let them. He appreciates how Magnus doesn’t comment, either, or reaches up to wipe them, just leaves Raphael to it, to putting himself back together and finding his way through their silence.
He feels like a cheap copy of himself sometimes. He craves the silence, but only so his mind can fill it with noises. The laughter of his sister, the screamings of his mamá, the loud songs they would sing together and the yells of the pressure cooker when they were making frijoles. He can’t hear these sounds anymore. He needs the silence if he wants them to come out, tentative like they’ve been hiding.
He’s lost everything. The comfort of touches, the smell of home, the taste of the foods that are so dear to him, his family. All he has is a language no one around him knows how to speak, and a crucifix that seems to grip him back, just as tightly and oppressive, when Raphael prays.
Magnus just sits there, sharing his loneliness with him, and he knows Magnus understands better than he wishes he did. Raphael gives them both a few more moments, tries to focus on the warmth of Magnus’ hand on his, and not on how cold his own must feel in return.
“You know,” Magnus says, breaking the silence. “When Camille and I broke up, I slept around a lot.”
Raphael nods. He knows that.
“But- I never wanted anyone to touch me,” he continues.
That one is new to him.
“I just felt so- disgusting.”
He makes a long pause, takes in a breath. “She’d tell me I was, too.” Magnus looks up at his own ceiling, as if trying to drop something down his throat. “I know it’s not the same, I’m not saying it was. But I just- so long with her telling me what a freak I was, how weird my body was, how disproportionate. You know she used to laugh when I undressed. Or when I got dressed, for that matter,” he laughs.
It doesn’t sound like a laughter should.
“I just wanted to please her so bad, and never felt like I could. And when I didn’t want to, she’d get - so vicious. She’d make me feel worthless. After a while, I started to forget what I used to like or not in bed. It was all about her, about that nagging fear that I was going to lose my- my worth, my everything, if I didn’t get her what she wanted.”
Raphael tries not to growl, and concentrates his energy on gripping Magnus’ hand back, instead.
“So when we broke up, part of me wanted to find that again, to remind myself what good things felt like. To feel like I could do whatever I wanted with my body. But- but I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want anyone to touch me. I felt disgusting. I’d- pleasure them, and then I’d wave them away, and even if I was the one who didn’t want them to touch me, I still felt like they were disgusted with me. I felt used. But I’d still do it again and again. Sometimes, looking back, I think I was just trying to find my worth the only way I still remembered how. The only way that ever worked with her.”
Magnus makes a brief pause to let out a shaky breath. Then he continues, “what I’m trying to say is, I know how oppressive sex can be. I know it can feel so- imposing. Like a cage. Like something so terrible and scary you’d rather lock yourself away than ever let it be near you. And I know how no one talks about that, how they always want people - particularly people like me and you, immigrants, downworlders, brown people, you name it - to want it. All the time. How scary it is to not want to. How wrong you feel. It’s not the same, but- but I know that it feels all of that, and I know that it isn’t true. There’s nothing wrong with you. There isn’t. And I’m glad you respect yourself enough to not do what I did, even if I wish you didn’t feel so- suffocated, all the time.”
“Not all the time,” Raphael manages, squeezing Magnus’ hand again, and letting his forehead rest on Magnus’ shoulder. The both of them shake, and Magnus kisses the top of his head.
They stay like this, holding hands, Raphael resting against Magnus’ shoulder, feeling the careful circles he makes on the back of his neck. It’s peaceful, and it’s quiet, and it feels like sharing sorrows, but not loneliness anymore.
“You’re not alone,” Magnus says again.
Raphael smiles, invisibly. “I know,” he answers.