[as if this is not a normal and natural human thing to want] yeah i just really want to connect with people for some reason. Like some weird loser freak
baile inolvidable. rafayel x non!mc reader part one
the day begins like every other.
he wakes, brushes his teeth, bathes.
then he considers a proper morning meal, setting for a single piece of toast, and afterward, he drifts into his studio, greeted by the crisp ocean air and the steady, unending rhythm of the waves.
he doesn’t glance at the phone that lies on the kitchen counter, because he already knows what awaits him. missed calls from thomas, urging him to provide updates on an approaching deadline. messages from his aunt talia left unanswered.
he tells himself it’s too much, yet nothing ever really happens at all.
and his thoughts refuse to settle. they wander, adrift in a haze he can’t quite dispel.
it’s been like that, ever since that conversation and now it’s only gotten worse since he received the news yesterday.
detrimentally worse. it’s unraveling him from the inside out.
especially now, as the cardstock clenched in his right hand threatens to crumple beneath his dangerously tight grip.
it was you who promised nothing would change.
it was you who took his hand that day—materializing a little pink flammula of your own to solidify your vow, eyes shining with conviction.
but he learned the promise of you staying in his life, was something not even the sea god could selfishly demand of you.
not when being around humans—being around people outside of your previous circle—forced you to venture farther from him.
your time and attention was being split between other priorities. a new job opportunity, new human friends, and an admirer who wasn’t him.
as the days, then the weeks passed, you told him you didn’t need to be picked up from work—not when your kind coworker had offered to drop you off, or when you told him that the late nights at this man’s house were spent, as you said, “finishing a presentation that the executives were to review in the morning.”
or when he caught you from across the street through a restaurant window, looking as lovely as ever, seemingly laughing as you raised your hand to brush his own away.
rafayel called you twice.
and he watched as you let it ring, each time striking him with cold rejection, until your reply came—a quick text.
“i’m busy raf, but i’ll text you as soon as i’m done!” your message had read.
and that memory of you showing up in his apartment hours after your date, twisting the key he’d given to you years ago, announcing your arrival? that was a year ago, marking the last time things felt normal.
when he first noticed the distance—when it subtly began, he thought it a nightmare.
even repeated to himself that if he pinched his arm hard enough, he’d wake beneath a canopy of stars, and your warmth would still be lingering at his side, curling into him as your breath rose and fell in rhythm with the ocean waves, and he’d make you smile, enough so to commit it to memory.
a memory that resembled one from your first life, when you were just two young sixteen year olds, laying atop the l sand, watching as the moon’s rays scattered across the surface, tails fluttering playfully around the other.
bittersweet and quite frankly devastating, the letter sitting curled up in his fist is real.
the nightmare is real, and it’s his reality now, whether he wants to will it out of existence or not.
shaking his head as an attempt to rid the thoughts that plague his mind, his eyes trace the carefully printed letters—the delicate seashell motifs, then the lavender ribbon framing at the center top.
you are cordially invited to the wedding of...
he doesn’t want to read the rest. he can’t.
instead, nausea coils deep in his stomach, sharp and suffocating. he’s caught between the urge to retch or collapse, his free hand raising to clutch the hollow space where his heart should be.
that’s if you hadn’t taken it with you.
he forcefully drags his gaze across the remaining lines to keep reading, eyes now scanning over the location, taking note of the dress code.
you settled on a beach ceremony, and guests were to be in cocktail attire.
of course.
you’d once spoken about it, hadn’t you? a wedding by the sea, because you loved the ocean more than anything—it was your first home, after all.
he barely registers the date at first, but when it finally sinks in, he realizes it’s set for the summer solstice, just a few weeks from now, the final stretch of june.
you always gushed about summertime being your favorite season. have always agreed with humans who say that time of year is the best to live by the sea, among other things. and in that same discussion, you had also mentioned it was only right for you to be married during a time like that.
he doesn’t look at the name of the man printed beneath yours; he doesn’t need to. yet he does anyway, and the envy that garners in his chest causes him to ache.
at the very bottom, tourmaline eyes burn into the ink where your name rests, as if staring long enough might rewrite it, or at the very least, erase it.
your name—the one he’s memorized in every lifetime, no matter the distance. even if you were across the continent, or just a house away. the one he’s whispered countless times, the one he believed would stay with him until his last breath.
now, the invitation feels like a taunt, bitterly reminding him that it’s not him you’ll be marrying. he gave up that privilege the second his eyes fell upon that frail human girl long ago.
it was only right for you to walk away, to finally form a barrier you should’ve built in your second, or your third, or your fourth life...
unfortunately for him, you decided to finally form it in this one. the one lifetime he swore to the sea, and to every entity tied to it, that he’d choose you.
but now he’s left alone to carry the crushing weight of regret, haunted by unkept promises and all that was left unsaid.
as the seagulls outside cry and the first crackle of thunder sounds, the card curls into flames at the edges, ash scattering between his fingers.
for a moment, he thinks he hears footsteps echo through his empty home, loud enough to drown out even the distant wave that crashes onto the shore, yet when he turns, there’s nothing there.
the cruel thing is, you had always been the closest person to him in every lifetime that came before this one.
you were abysswalker’s most trusted confidante.
you were the sea god’s most devoted priestess.
you were the god of tides’ most faithful follower.
because somehow in every lifetime he existed, you found him.
and when you didn’t, it was him who crossed heaven, sea, and earth to find you.
every single time.
maybe that was fate’s cruel design–- it was kind enough to never separate you, but never merciful enough to let you stay.
but he made that vow, that in this one it was going to be different.
he wanted it to believe it’d be different.
it wasn’t.
he recalls the moment everything between you first started to unravel. it replays in his mind from time to time.
your voice had wavered when you promised him you would remain at his side, serving the god of the sea just as you had in your first life, and in every one that followed.
he said nothing at first, holding his tongue as you cradled his cheek when the tears slipped, turning into pearls before they could even fall.
you tried to keep your lips steady, but they trembled anyway, just as your composure fractured with every passing second.
and still, he shook his head, leaning into your touch like a man starved of it.
“please.” he whispered, voice breaking despite himself. “i’ll do anything.”
you look at him with agonizing eyes then—something that felt far too much like love.
part of him knew whatever occurred after this would be worse than anything fate had ever done to him.
“i think..." you drew in a haunting breath, “it’s for the best, my dear sea god.”
sea god.
you called him your sea god, just as the elders had taught you all those centuries ago.
it solidified that after tonight, that’s all he was going to be to you now, always will be.
and he hated it. hated it almost as much as he hated you slipping out of his reach. even when you were standing right in front of him in this very moment.
when your hand drops back to your side, you press a delicate kiss on his cheek, voice barely above a whisper.
“despite everything, i’ve never regretted being by your side in every life.”
you take another breath.
“and i’ll still be here in any way you need. that will never change.”
no matter how many times the world was remade, or what the timeline held—whether he was wealthy or poor, whether the ocean still existed or had long since dried away...
tiny bubbles form from your very fingertips, eventually manifesting that little pink fish. one he recognized all too well. the symbol of a lemurian promise.
you meant it. you always had.
and maybe that was the cruelest part of it all.
no matter how many lives he was given to get it right, he was never allowed to give you what you wanted most.
so yes.
you were, and will always be his first almost.
and because of that, rafayel is certain his existence will forever be defined by it.
even now, after all of that, rafayel knows nothing has truly changed because you’re still here at his side. still choosing him.
just not in the way he wants you to.
you still answer when he calls, most of the time.
you still linger after his art exhibits, making sure he’s alright before closing up any deal thomas wasn’t able to, before heading out.
you still accompany him to banquets as a trusted assistant, allow him to drag you onto the dance floor simply for appearances. all the while, you conduct your own investigations. the kind that alerts him when a lemurian is in danger.
and you still sit by his side after he’s becomes numb to his own actions, wrapping your arms tightly around his shoulder, reassuring him that what he did was the right thing to do, keeping him as grounded to this reality as much as you can.
you do all this, but you never stay long enough for him to forget that you don’t belong here anymore.
it’s like some fragment of your soul is programmed to be whatever he needs—just as you have been in every life before.
only now does it come with a distance he can’t cross.
maybe it was wishful thinking to picture this time any differently, because a part of him dared to imagine a life where he could finally be everything you needed him to be.
but that was before you made the choice all on your own.
so yes...you were almost his.
he almost kissed you.
he almost told you he loved you, beneath a sky split open by passing meteors on the night of your birthday, when the world had peacefully gone quiet enough for him to finally say it.
but almost is such a fragile thing.
⏾⋆.˚
a/n: i feel like this fic is all over the place just like rafayel’s emotions. but we move!
its difficult having a favorite character who you have absolutely no attraction to but a lot of other people do. i love him. not like that. i dont even like him i hate him actually. hes just really important to me. Not like that. he lives in my brain. No not like that. hes just there and i think about him a lot. hes disgusting and i hate him. hes very fascinating to me. i understand him. hes not sexy at all though. a lot of people say that and i disagree but to each their own. hes my favorite and i want to kill him
Being trans is like being given a house that sucks. The pipes are leaky and the wallpaper is so ugly and the beds are lumpy and you feel uncomfortable every time you set foot in there.
Everyone else seems to really like their houses though, and you can’t see inside of them, so you just assume that you’re being weird.
And then you hear about the construction project that’s happening down the road. And you didn’t know that was an option. You can just…fix your house? It can be better? You don’t have to live with the horrible lighting and weird furniture?
But other people scoff at the construction. They complain about the noise. “Why can’t they just be happy? The plumbing is great and the furniture is so comfortable! Why would you change it? And why do we have to deal with all their issues anyways? They could just do it quietly, away from us!” And you thought everyone hated their houses, at least a little. And it’s so much work to renovate. It’s fine in your house. It sucks, but it’s fine.
Then one day you try putting up a new painting. Something small. Just for you. Just to try it. And it feels like you. It feels right. And you didn’t know anything felt that good, ever. So you start to do more. And more. And eventually you might even start construction. And it’s inconvenient, and loud, and people complain, but you didn’t know that it could feel good to go home.
And then, one day, your renovations are done. And you get to have a home like everyone else. And that joy you felt looking at that painting? It’s everywhere now. And it’s normal.
It’s hard to build the home for your soul all on your own. But it’s worth it. It’s so worth it
So the fun part about GenZ slang being almost 100% AAVE is that I have a dictionary from 2001, from before I was old enough to even know how to use a dictionary, right? And this ain't that abridged shit this is the three columns 8 point font, pages made of tissue paper bound into a book that is 4-5 inches thick shit. You follow?
And there are all these reports on how new slang is and how to understand it and getting it wrong. BUT 2001 GOT ME
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