Hello, and happy birthday month! 🥳🎉 (and day for when it is to come :) ) I'd like to request a ficlet if u have the time, for Rafayel with the prompts #6 from fluff and #6 from whump so it's the perfect balace hehe (but don't be shy on the whump!). For the collapse I was thinking about Raf really not taking care of himself (aka not sleeping and eating properly for some time, and getting sick? Or just generally feeling shit and refusing to acknowledge) so MC comes to the rescue to force him to relax. I want to see more overworked Raf in this fandom 🩷 (thank you!!)
You guys have been feeding me some good Raf prompts! Hope you enjoy <3
(tw for unintentional overdose on cold medecine)
(Requests are open through the end of August! if you want to send an ask, you can see how to do that HERE)
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Worry gnawed at me as I made my way toward Mo Art Studio, easily opening up the gate Rafayel never bothered to lock.
Thomas’s words from his phone call earlier repeated in my head:
“I haven’t seen him for two weeks. He blew off the meeting we were supposed to have about a new exposition two days ago and he’s refused to pick up his phone. I’d go myself but I literally don’t have time—besides, I’m sure he’d be more receptive to you.”
It wasn’t so odd for Rafayel to ignore Thomas, but it was odd that he hadn’t so much as sent me a text or a picture or even shared a silly video like he usually would. I hoped something wasn’t really wrong.
As I got to the front door, I didn’t even bother knocking, just went inside. “Rafayel?”
“In here.”
The sound of his voice put me at ease a little—that was until I actually saw him.
The studio was, to put it mildly, a manic disaster area. Half dried canvases sat willy-nilly across the room, loose papers with sketches swept across the floor. Paints and pigments were everywhere and sitting on the floor in the middle of them, bent over a canvas with a paintbrush in hand, was Rafayel.
He had paint covering his hands and forearms, some smudged on his face, more speckled on his bare feet. His eyes were bright and his complexion was wan as if he hadn’t slept for several days.
“Cutie, you’re just in time,” he said excitedly as he looked up at me. “I’ve been in a creative treasure trove! It’s been amazing! I haven’t felt this much passion for my projects for a long time.”
As I drew closer I could see stark red splotches on his cheeks—not paint, but potentially a fever, and dark purple bruising under his eyes.
“Rafayel, are you okay? When was the last time you slept?”
“I don’t need to sleep! My art fuels me.”
I reached out to press my hand to his head. “You have a fever!”
“I know,” he said with a laugh. “Don’t worry I took medicine for it. Made me feel reeeally good right now.”
I glanced over to the coffee table with trepidation, seeing a package of cold medicine, a couple pills rolling on the table. “Raf…how many did you take?”
“I don’t know, three or four,” he said casually, still glued to the painting in front of him, making purposeful strokes here and there.
I couldn’t be certain but I thought his hands were shaking.
“Rafayel, you need to take a break,” I said firmly, putting a hand on his shoulder “You’re sick and you look awful. Come on, please come have some water at least.”
“Cutie, I’m fine, I’m almost done, just—there!”
He climbed to his feet and held the canvas out, setting it on the easel. “What do you…think?”
He swayed, and turned even more pale as his face instantly fell, blinking rapidly. “I…I don’t…”
I hurried forward just in time for him to collapse. I caught him before he could fall to the floor.
“Rafayel!”
He lolled in my arms, feet not cooperating, and I hurriedly half-carried him over to the couch, laying him down.
He moaned, reaching up to cover his eyes. “Head…spinning…”
“Yeah, I imagine,” I said, adjusting him more comfortably, propping his feet up to make him feel less faint. “Stay there.”
I hurried to his medicine cabinet and grabbed a thermometer and wet a washcloth as well.
He thankfully hadn’t moved by the time I got back and I knelt beside the couch and put the cloth over his head. “Open your mouth.”
He groaned but dutifully complied, allowing me to slide the thermometer under his tongue. Once it beeped I was not happy to see the result.
“Well, Mister, you just earned yourself bed rest with that temperature.”
“But I’m fine, really!” he said, trying to sit up again. “I-I still need to finish my paintings—”
I pushed him back down. “No. You’re going to bed. Now.”
I looked around at the random open bags of chips and other snack foods lying around. “When was the last time you ate actual food?”
“Seaweed snacks are food,” Rafayel murmured.
I scowled at him and reached down to help him up. “Alright, come on, I’ll help you to your room.”
I let him lean on me as we made it upstairs. I led him to the bathroom first and helped him to clean all the paint off before dressing him in pajamas. Rafayel pouted the whole time, even though he could barely stay upright without swaying, continuously leaning against my shoulder even though he still protested that he was fine.
I finally tucked him into bed. “Be a good fishie and stay there while I get some stuff for you.”
He huffed and I hurried down to the kitchen, rummaging through everything to see what he had that might be halfway nutritious. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much, so I quickly put in a grocery order and hurried out to my car where I had some extra electrolyte drink powders that I kept for missions.
I mixed some for Rafayel and sat on his bedside to try and get him to drink.
He was starting to look more miserable by the second.
“My head hurts,” he moaned. “I feel sick…ugh.”
“That’s probably the fever, dehydration, lack of sleep,” I listed off the consequences of his actions. “Here, let me help you sit up and drink this.”
He groaned and leaned against my shoulder as I sat him up, helping him drink the water.
He only took a few sips though before he turned away, covering his mouth. “N-no, I’m gonna get sick.”
“It will help, just try to get a little more into your system.”
He pushed my hand away though. “No…my stomach really hurts, I can’t…”
Clammy sweat had appeared on his brow and I started to feel worried. Maybe I should take him to the hospital instead.
“Alright. Just take deep breaths.” I lowered him back down and cooled him off with the cloth again as he seemed to settle a little.
“Raf…you really need to take better care of yourself,” I said gently, troubled by just how bad off he was.
He looked up at me with remorse, blinking slowly. “I’m sorry. I just…don’t always notice these things.”
“I know,” I sighed, giving him a quick kiss on the forehead, reminded of how warm he was. “Just take it slow, okay? A little at a time.”
Rafayel let out a small whimper but sipped at the drink until I let him have a break, gently rubbing his aching tummy to soothe him as we let the liquid settle.
“You didn’t even read the package on the damn pills.” I muttered. “No wonder your stomach hurts.”
He whined a little. “Whatever was in them gave me a really great streak of inspiration though.”
“That’s not an excuse!” I snapped, suddenly furious. Rafayel flinched as I grabbed his chin and forced him to look at me. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? What if you’d passed out—alone? How long would you have been there before I came over to check on you?”
His lips trembled a little and he looked away.
“You’re right,” he finally said. “I don’t take good care of myself. I don’t remember when I last slept or ate anything that wasn’t coffee or chips. I—I just couldn’t stop. I wanted to take advantage of the inspiration when I had it. I haven’t felt like that in a long time and…”
I sighed, stroking his hair back. “It’s partly my fault for not checking in sooner too. I should have known something was wrong earlier.”
He nuzzled into my hand, closing his eyes. “I’ll try to be better about my self-awareness, and self-care.”
I smiled softly and leaned down to kiss him gently. I held up his hand, showing him how shaky it was. “See? You can’t even paint right now anyway.”
He sighed, seeming to sink lower into the bed. “Yeah, I get it. But…I’m just afraid that when I get out of this bed again, all my inspiration will be gone.”
“If it is, I’ll help you find new inspiration,” I told him kindly. “But before that, you’re going to rest, eat, and let me take care of you. I’m going to spend the next few days teaching you about self-care.”
“Hmm, I guess it doesn’t sound too bad,” Rafayel hummed. “I suppose I can endure it.”
I smiled back and picked up the drink bottle again. “Drink a little more for me?”
He sighed. “You are a drill sergeant about self-care though, aren’t you?”
“Only because I want you to be at your best as soon as possible.”
Mc: You know those things will kill you, right?
Meph, pouring another glass of whiskey: That’s the point.
Thirt, smoking a cigarette: We’re trying to speed up the process.
Raph*Nods while eating Solomon's Cooking*
LOWKEY BELIEVE, THE REASON RAPHAEL MAY EAT SOLOS COOKING!
