Chapter Text
It was a charming trapping of finery how the chandelier dazzled overhead, its light casting the room in a lively, golden glow. Trays of champagne glasses twinkled by Rafayel’s line of sight when servers passed by, attending to every guest in the room with bubbly drinks and pleasant smiles.
Every attendee was shining with opulence too, a captivating sight perhaps for those with the proclivity for social interactions.
Rafayel, much to Thomas’s dismay, had no such interests.
On the contrary, Rafayel’s interest couldn’t have been further out of this room. He gazed out the magnificent windows, large enough that it made up a wall and was framed with the richest velvet reds, and saw himself there— a hollow husked reflection dressed in sophisticated black-tie— pretending to be someone he wasn’t.
Rafayel wouldn’t be here if he had a choice. Thomas was insistent on Rafayel’s attendance, and given how his persistent manager dropped by the studio on his own to discover that not only was Rafayel lazing around but he has also been lying all this time about ever painting.
By then, it was a useless struggle as Rafayel found himself physically dragged out of his art block to be here.
Thomas was understandably worried— it’s been three weeks since Rafayel lifted a paintbrush. He was sketching, filling paper with idle musings, making figures in the sand, but nothing had captivated him enough to reach for the brush.
Rafayel wondered if he came to this gala tonight because Thomas had asked him what was he doing? and he found no answer to give because the question sounded like an accusation.
If he was not painting, then what was he doing?
Who is he?
For the time being, the first question was easier to answer. Rafayel would be drinking champagne as he stared at the discolored spot on the wall that no one else seemed to notice, all while daydreaming that he was anywhere but here.
“Ah, Rafayel.” He heard Thomas’ speak and Rafayel instinctively placed a smile. “Let me introduce you to Ms. —“
Rafayel barely even heard her name before his attention drifted off elsewhere, but he smiled and went through the motions of proper conversation, and no one else was the wiser.
“Rafayel?”
“Oh?” He tunes in again, finally staring at the woman’s face. She stared at him expectantly as if searching for approval. “Oh, yeah. Sure.”
He did not understand what he agreed to or what she was chuckling about but Thomas spoke again, subtly nudging Rafayel’s elbow as he did.
“I’m sure Mr. Rafayel is much closer to today’s star of the show, isn’t he? The opera singer was an old acquaintance, if I recall correctly.”
Rafayel made a noncommittal gesture as he recalled that actor with a passable enough tenor. He couldn’t exactly remember the actor’s name, only his voice and performance, but the woman Thomas introduced laughed shyly anyway, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“How did you like today’s performance, Mr. Rafayel? I personally prefer the start of second act when—“
This conversation was buzzing in his ears, idle enough to not be a distraction but annoying nonetheless, like a fly hovering near one’s head.
“I really don’t have an opinion on the matter.” But at the mention of the performance they just watched, Rafayel turns to Thomas with a faint smile. “By the way, did you look into what I asked?”
Earlier during the show, Rafayel was restless and uneasy from unseen attention. It was almost as if someone was watching him under close scrutiny instead focusing on the actors on stage.
He turned to look for the culprit— possibly from the crowd? Anyone else from the nearby private boxes? Rafayel even excused himself several times just to get rid of the feeling and yet it followed him persistently only to stop once the performance has concluded.
It was no wonder Rafayel couldn’t recall the actor’s face since he was stuck to listening to the actor all night instead. Regrettably, Rafayel was too busy looking for the source of that nagging feeling on the back of his head to even pay attention to the play which would be a sin to his past self as an opera singer but for the artist Rafayel, he simply can’t find the capacity to care.
Thomas gave the woman a tight smile, “Excuse us.” and he took Rafayel aside to the open balcony past the large glass doors where the cool evening air muffled the sound of conversation and glasses clinking from the inside.
“It was a private box, Rafayel. They didn’t find anything.”
Rafayel sighs and sets his gaze on the large hedge maze in the courtyard below. The stone bannister under his palm was cold, much like his nerves. “Really? I swear I was being followed by a stalker.”
Thomas sighs, exasperated. “Look at this event, Rafayel— of course there’s bound to be media people in the mix.”
“No, not paparazzi.” Rafayel’s eyes were determined. Thomas found it hard not to worry. “I swear it. Someone was watching me.”
With every ounce of care and understanding, Thomas sighs. Still, it was difficult not to notice the deep bags under Rafayel’s eyes. “Are you sure? You haven’t been sleeping again, haven’t you?”
Rafayel clicks his tongue, “Not important and none of your business.”
“But it is!” Thomas didn’t mean to raise his voice, so he reels it back in in one quick moment. “Look, I understand the not painting part and the lying to me part, but can you at least take care of yourself? Inspiration won’t come to you even if you wait for it for two whole days without sleeping.”
Rafayel laughs dryly, “You never know, Thomas. Maybe the third time’s the charm.”
“Maybe it isn’t.” With a wide grin, Thomas steers Rafayel around by his shoulders, ushering them both back into the party. “Aren’t you wondering why I took you here?”
“Oh do pray tell. God knows I’m wondering what I hired you for.”
“So you can tire yourself out from socializing and then get some sleep, yeah? Sounds good, right?”
Rafayel immediately reached for the nearest structure. He caught and held on to the frame of the glass door as Thomas struggled to drag him back. “Wait!”
“What now?”
“Tell me— what did I agree with that woman earlier? The girl?”
“If I tell you then where’s the fun in that?”
Rafayel grunts and shrugs off Thomas’ hold on him with a promise that he’ll behave and return to the party.
“Be sure you do.” Thomas said with an underlying threat of or else.
“Oh, and for the record.” Rafayel spoke, urging Thomas to turn back to look at the artist, “I was not hallucinating it. Someone was watching me.”
Thomas had a sincere look in his eyes, “I know. I believe you. Hopefully it’s just an admirer.” With that, his manager returns to the party, footsteps echoing out to join the lively atmosphere.
Rafayel stayed back, patting down his suit with a sigh before finishing his glass of champagne with one swift gulp. With one last look at the courtyard below, Rafayel decides that he cannot jump this height to escape the party without breaking a few bones.
Rafayel returns into the ballroom and beelines to the bar at the far edge of the room. He needed more alcohol to survive this night.
Or so he thought he did until he felt a sudden gaze land on him. He stops on his tracks and subtly turns to the other partygoers in the room, hoping to finally catch and put a face on that persistent watcher.
There wasn’t exactly a sinister feeling to the gaze on him— Rafayel would know intimately how being hunted felt like— but this attention on him was not exactly like that. It was only bothersome because he felt like a fish in an aquarium, trapped and helpless to his onlooker.
Rafayel would’ve dropped it if not for the flash of silver hair that had his chest twisting in an unfamiliar feeling. He would say that he stood there in his own volition but that would be a lie. It was those red eyes that had him still and rooted in place as they met his own multi-colored ones.
Sylus was standing there, an exceptional beauty with eyes that looked exacting, gaze calculating as it landed on Rafayel. His hair was slicked back, suit fitting well to his figure. He was an image of subdued luxury that spoke more than anything else in this room.
As his gaze met Rafayel’s— however brief it was— the artist felt a kindling of fire drop in his dry mind. It had set everything ablaze and Rafayel turns away before he burns from the inside out.
He makes haste for the bar, grabs the next glass the bartender places down (which was clearly meant for someone else) and drinks it down in one swift motion as the patron who clearly owned the drink looked stupidly at him.
“What the hell, dude?”
Rafayel ignores the stranger as he sets his attention back on Sylus. Regrettably, Sylus was in a conversation with an older gentleman now so he observes instead just as Sylus did to him during the performance.
From Rafayel’s point of view, Sylus had an immense stillness radiating from himself. The stillness was beneath every gesture, his glances, his practiced smile, as if he sought nothing from his surroundings. In this kind of room, around art and upper society where everyone fancied themselves as a curator of other people’s opinions, it was a striking sight.
Rafayel could see the conversation growing wearisome until Sylus’s imposing aura drove away the rest of the crowd as if suddenly realizing the vague sense of danger close to them. Although Sylus didn’t look amused, he seemed undeniably whole, as though his world was contained within himself and he had no care that other people judged him with fear.
Rafayel wondered two things. First: the reason Sylus was here, and second: why was it regrettable that he wasn’t looking at Rafayel anymore?
Gods. He needs another drink.
The bartender was happy enough to serve him something stronger and it went down with a bitter aftertaste of clarity.
It has been six months since he last saw Sylus. After that night from Rafayel’s exhibition, the artist avoided all forms of contact with the underground, the Nest, and especially with the N109. There weren't any leads there anyway. His targets have been getting smarter, hiding themselves further from Rafayel’s informants.
Still, all of that had nothing to do with Sylus. Rafayel doubts his presence here even had anything to do with Sylus’s attendance either.
It was simply a coincidence, isn’t it? Surely there was no other reason for it. Rafayel was not nearly that important in Sylus’s life to be chased like this. Not like they shared two nights together, is aware of each other’s true nature, or is waiting for the same immortal being’s next life.
Oh, he thinks to himself stupidly, is that why he’s keeping tabs on me? To see if she’s around already?
Rafayel finishes his glass to drown out the disappointment in his own chest. It was an irrational feeling no one needed but the alcohol doesn’t douse out everything, especially not the kindling of inspiration he felt upon seeing Sylus. On the contrary, Rafayel had no intention of putting that fire out. He wanted to burn fervently, to translate this sensation to a canvas somehow.
Maybe this was enough of an excuse to leave the party early.
He slid away from the bar and collided into a wall. Rafayel curses, rubbing his forehead, before the slow realization sets in.
“You’re staring.” The wall says, which wasn’t a wall at all but a tall, silver-haired, red-eyed crow.
Rafayel immediately stood up to his full height, “You did it first.”
“Did I?” Sylus’s smile was easy and disarming.
Rafayel realizes that he was under-prepared for this confrontation. “Since the start of the show.”
“Hm.” Sylus shrugs, placing his hands behind him. “Guilty as charged.”
Shameless. Sylus didn’t even try to deny it. “Can I ask why?”
“Just mentally comparing.” Sylus turns to the room, regarding the rest of the attendees with palpable disinterest. “That actor on the stage missed a few notes you wouldn’t have.”
Rafayel didn’t even care to compare that, didn’t understand why Sylus cares enough to do so. “And?”
“And nothing. Can’t a man enjoy his night in peace?”
Rafayel doubts that immensely and he makes his thoughts show up on his face. Sylus feigns ignorance at the unspoken question or maybe it’s just the truth and Rafayel was the one in the wrong for doubting his reasons.
But now that Rafayel was in Sylus’s orbit, it seemed as if the gravity of this room tilted to Sylus’s presence. For him, no one else was as interesting Sylus was and yet no one was even paying attention to him. Does no one else see he stuck out?
“What are you really doing here, Sylus?” he asks, finally meeting Sylus’s gaze.
“To appreciate art.”
“Again?”
This entire conversation felt like déjà vu, the outcome is all too familiar. By the end, it would be Rafayel waking up with slight soreness and a vague sense of newfound hunger.
“Business too but that’s mostly done.” Sylus says. Rafayel mentally wonders where Sylus hid the dead body and that thought must have shown up on his face because Sylus immediately asks, “Do you have such low expectations of me?”
Thankfully, Rafayel wasn’t in a delicate situation like Ebb day this time around. He doesn’t feel lust for Sylus, that’s for sure. In his head, Rafayel repeats a mantra: I’m not having sex with him.
“I don’t expect anything from you at all.”
Sylus nods dismissively, a wordless if you say so if Rafayel ever seen one.
“Well, it was nice seeing you, fishie.”
Wait, what?
Before Rafayel could even comprehend the nickname, Sylus’s quick strides were already heading for the exit.
“Wait—“ Rafayel catches himself calling and following after the other man. He doesn’t stop even as he realizes this. “Sylus! Where are you going?”
“Away from this dull party.”
Rafayel tailed after Sylus, briefly glancing back to where Thomas was too busy conversing with a group of people to notice Rafayel.
Right, Rafayel meant to sneak out of the party but as he feels around for his pockets for his car keys, he finds them surprisingly empty.
Fuck. Thomas took them earlier by the balcony, didn’t he?
Thomas was right. Rafayel was too tired to even notice his manager subtly stealing his car keys, an early subterfuge to Rafayel’s attempts of escape.
But that didn’t matter. With a final look, Rafayel heads on out with Sylus.
“Take me with you.” He says as they bound down the steps of the theatre toward the expansive driveway.
“Oh?” Sylus’s tone was teasing, his smile devious, but he didn't stop on his tracks.
“I— It's not what you think!” Rafayel was quick to amend, his ears burning in embarrassment against the cold, night air. “I’m not going to sleep with you!”
“You mean you won’t have sex with me?”
Gods, does Sylus just say anything without a filter? Rafayel scoffs into his hand. “Yes, that. But I need a ride.”
“Then call for a cab service. I’m not your chauffeur, Rafayel.”
“It’s the middle of the night.” And that will take too long. Any time now, Thomas will realize Rafayel has gone and that’ll be another round of verbal lecture which Rafayel has no patience for— not when he has a kindling of inspiration he has to nurture.
“Not my problem.” Sylus says, indiffirent.
Rafayel ignores his tone and overtakes Sylus in reaching the parking lot. Several high-end cars were lined next to each other, Rafayel’s own sports car was parked in the far end of the lot. “Okay, so where’s your ride?”
If Rafayel had to guess, Sylus would probably have a Mercedez or a Rolls-Royce. Probably something obscenely priced but still sleek and fast, top of the line engine and in design.
But Rafayel’s expectations were subverted when Sylus approached a large motorbike.
“That?” Rafayel couldn’t hold back the incredulity in his tone. He looks at Sylus from head to toe, noticing the pristine state his suit was in. “You came here on a bike?”
Rafayel was unbelieving not because the bike looked cheap— it was not cheap at all, it looked like it would cost even the regular attendees in the party an arm or leg— but because, how can Sylus still look put together to attend a black-tie event with a bike for a ride? It was unfair to the common peasant. They should bring back the guillotine or something.
Sylus shrugs, “I’m too impatient for Linkon traffic.”
Rafayel couldn’t believe him, can’t believe his slicked back hair and unwrinkled suit, can’t believe his long leg easily swinging over to straddle this oversized bike.
Rafayel can’t believe that this was his ride out of this godforsaken party.
“Are you gonna keep gawking? I think your manager is looking for you.”
At the mention, Rafayel turns back to see Thomas’s silhouette by the entrance doors. “Oh fuck.”
In a quick movement, Rafayel climbed on the seat behind Sylus.
“I never agreed to this.” Sylus says, doing nothing to remove Rafayel despite being perfectly capable of it.
“You don’t have a choice.”
A deep chuckle comes from his front and Rafayel doesn’t hold back the urge to pinch Sylus’s side.
“And people think I’m the bad guy. You’re the bad influence, making me your partner-in-crime like this.” Sylus says while red-black mist circles around Rafayel’s head and places a helmet on him. The mist moves to close the visor too before it disappears under the fabric of Sylus’s cuffs.
“Oh please. you’ve been an accessory to murder and this is what you’re complaining about?” Rafayel muttered under his breath, “Just drive.”
Sylus chuckles again, that deep sound making its way down Rafayel’s belly. “Hold on tight.”
“I am.” Rafayel placed his hands behind him, holding on to the back of the bike. He drives sports cars for crying out loud, he can handle a bit of speed— “AH— What the fuck?!”
One moment they were stationary, the next Sylus throttled them forward and stopped abruptly. The motion startled Rafayel and he instinctively moved his hold from behind to Sylus’s waist instead.
“Must I repeat myself?” Sylus angled his head over his shoulder. In a moment of indecision, Rafayel studied Sylus’s spine as he bent expectantly over the handlebars.
Sylus looked sturdier, a safer bet than holding from behind. How ironic, Rafayel thought sagely and placed his hands tighter on Sylus’s waist. Finding that he was too far to secure himself properly, Rafayel slid his hips forward, his legs cradling the outer edges of Sylus’s thighs.
This was a new sensation for Rafayel— to be close to someone without his clothes off or a weapon directed at his head.
“Satisfied?” Rafayel asked with a bite of annoyance to his tone.
The engine roared to life once again with Sylus chuckling under his breath. Rafayel tried not to think about the range of their combined edges as he told the other to drive to the beach.
“Whitesands?” Sylus asked.
“No, the one further out the city!”
With a nod from Sylus, they throttled forward and were gone, breezing through the clear roads heading further and further away from the theater.
Rafayel made a mental note to text Thomas about his whereabouts later. He’ll explain his disappearance once he finally finds his inspiration to paint again. Thomas will appreciate that, won’t he? He will but the following lecture after escaping the party seemed unavoidable. Hopefully it won’t be too bad.
Plus, it was better to think about what Thomas would complain about than the fact that there was only one helmet and Sylus gave it for Rafayel to wear.
Sylus did say he can’t die but it was still odd. An unwelcome thought made its way to Rafayel’s mind and he ignored the nagging feeling of it. He refuses to even acknowledge its existence. Instead, he held on tighter as Sylus drove faster, wind whipping his previously slicked-back white hair out of place.
Later, when Rafayel urges Sylus to stop by a road-side convenience store, he checks his phone to see worried texts from his manager.
Thomas: How did you even escape
Thomas: I have your car keys
Thomas: ???
Rafayel: jus leave the car and cab home
Rafayel: ill come back for it later
Thomas: Where the hell are you?
Rafayel: jus found inspiration
Rafayel: dun worryyyy
Thomas: ? Okay ?
He pockets his phone and looks up to see Sylus picking out drinks, his stray white hair falling over his brow line. The light from the open fridge casts a blue hue on him, emphasizing the reds of his eyes as his gaze lands on Rafayel again.
Rafayel doesn’t look away this time. Sylus’s mouth quirked up in question, accompanied by a furrow of his expressive brows. All the energy he had expended in choosing a drink transferred to Rafayel and the artist felt it land on him like a blow to the chest.
It was not the first time Rafayel found Sylus attractive, but the first time he realized that he resented the world for dismissing such a beautiful creature.