We met at the disco

[Jack Ripley]

He laughed now at the name: fairy lights. Jack had always called them Christmas lights, even when they weren't Christmas colors or for Christmas. He thought he liked fairy lights better, especially given... well. Wasn't it obvious? Looking over at Raphael while he pulled the lights out.

"I think," he said as he untangled a length of lights, "that maybe you should try talking to him yourself."

As good as Jack must have been with Rhys--he honestly couldn't imagine it having gone down badly, the way Brayden had come back looking peaceful and not harried--he didn't really think it was up to Brayden to ask. Besides, those two still needed to clear the air between them. Was it too soon, though?

"Hm."

Maybe. It could be too soon. Jack didn't know Rhys at all. Not as well as Raphael did. Also, if Brayden had to do the asking, there might still be bad mojo in the air between the two of them when they came face to face at the game table. At best, they would probably ignore each other. At worst, they might end up throwing wet pants again.

"He's eaten and had a nap by now," Jack said, "I bet he feels better than he did. And... maybe he regrets being mad at you." Jack lightly nudged Raphael. "You'll never know if you don't talk to him."

[Raphael Malai]

Jack made quite a lot of sense but then again, he was a professor! He had lots of knowledge to back up his advice! Raphael trusted him implicitly, of course. Anyone who made their lover smile and glow the way that Jack did to Brayden could never be rotten inside. He sighed and it was a little old man sigh. "All right. I guess it couldn't hurt to try talking to him again..."

His head lifted; he looked for a moment quite indignant. "But if he's a jerk to me, I'm going to—to do something really bad!" He didn't know what that was going to be, but rest assured—it was going to be bad. Maybe he'd headbutt Rhys. That would show him! (Or he might storm back and decry that Rhys McCabe was a jerk again, and fume up another storm. He didn't want to cry though. That was embarrassing enough!)

"Thanks Professor Jack!" Raphael flung arms around him in a quick hug, and then went outside. He caught sight of the food that Brayden had left out, since Ken hadn't yet eaten, and he fixed up a smallish plate for Rhys. It would at least give him an excuse to go over... And despite his protests, Raphael really did want to see Rhys and check on him. He was still horribly worried—Rhys had been alone over there for a long while!

"Where are you going, Raf?" Brayden walked him to the door, looking concerned.

"I'm going to see if... Rhys wants to join game night." Raphael lowered his voice. "I don't think it'd be nice to exclude him, even if he's a big jerk, Prince Bee."

Brayden smiled at him and it made him feel all warm inside. "Good luck," he whispered as Raphael walked out.

The trek across the courtyard felt like it took... oh, about six thousand years. He walked slow too, reluctance building with each step. Eventually though he had to get to the other door and he steeled himself before knocking on it.

[Rhys McCabe]

Rhys assumed that even though he'd been given a soft and clean bed to sleep in that he would simply lie there and fume or think in circles until he drove himself crazy. What actually happened was that his head barely touched the pillow and he was out. It wasn't actually that fast--he heard Brayden leave--a gentle click of the door. And then he heard pure silence. And he thought it would be too much for him.

But Rhys was exhausted. Especially mentally. And once the silence descended upon him in that bed and with a stomach filled with water and soup, everything finally just shut down for a desperately needed rest. His back still hurt but it hurt a little less for some reason. Enough to let him sleep. And he had to sleep on his stomach, which he had never liked but again, exhaustion completely overtook him.

By the time there was any sound in the apartment--a knock at the door--Rhys had been awake for approximately three minutes. The kind of awake that could easily go straight back to sleep if given a chance. The kind of awake where he wasn't actually thinking but simply resting, eyes half open, not wanting to move or do anything but lay there. In a way, really, he was content. He didn't know it, of course. But that's exactly what he was.

Rhys didn't answer the knock, though. It wasn't his home and he didn't want to move. But after a minute or maybe half a minute, he didn't know time right now--there was another knock. And Rhys remembered that although this wasn't his home, he was the only one inside. Did Brayden forget the key to his own place or something?

Forcing himself to sit up, he groaned. His back still hurt and it flared up when he moved. It felt like somebody had dragged him on his back across asphalt; it burned insistently and it didn't like being touched at all. Yawning, Rhys slid out of the bed reluctantly and dragged one of the smaller blankets off the bed to gingerly rest over his shoulders as he went to the door.

The apartment was cold and the goosebumps on his skin rose up in full force. Ah, the door was locked. Rhys went to reach for the lock and--

"Ahh!" He jerked his hand back as it zapped him. Frowning, he called out through the door: "I can't open the door!"

He forgot that very exact same thing happened to him earlier when he tried to make an escape.

[Raphael Malai]

Rhys wasn't answering... Raphael wondered if he was still asleep. He could come back later! Later as in never! Because the longer he waited, the more he thought that this was a terrible idea. Rhys was sure to still be angry! Maybe he held a grudge. He never did before, but only because he killed people who annoyed him—but not before engaging in a bit of light-hearted torture.

Would he do that to Raphael? All signs pointed to no since Raphael had been annoying him since they were children.

But still! He didn't come to the door even after a second round of knocking and Raphael actually did turn away. He was about four steps away from the door, feeling relieved and disappointed rolled into one, when Rhys shouted through the door that he couldn't open it. Before that, there was a yelp that halted Raphael. He walked back to the door and touched it; it seemed fine to him...

Oh! ...right... Rhys couldn't actually leave because of the ward that Marge put up. Earlier he sort of bounced off of it. Raphael had totally forgotten that, with all that had happened between them. "Hold on! I'll get the key from Prince Bee!" He ran back to the other apartment, knocked urgently on the door, blabbered about a key, got it from a laughing Brayden—he was in a good mood, wasn't he?!—and then ran back puffing to unlock the door. THEN he forgot that he'd set the plate down back in the other apartment, and he ran off again with the door open, so that Rhys could... watch him dash away with no explanation whatsoever.

[Rhys McCabe]

"...okay."

Rhys stood near the door because he wasn't sure what else to do about it. How long should he wait? It wasn't a long wait; Raphael came back huffing and puffing and Rhys blinked as the door opened and... Raphael ran off. Rhys tried to peer out to see what the hell he was doing but he was immediately zapped backward again. The contentment from his nap was wearing away and now he was starting to feel less confused and curious and more... annoyed. What the hell was happening?

He couldn't even shut the door because it seemed the entire area--doorway and door itself--had all been warded against him. Somebody had really been adamant about not letting him go anywhere. Rhys left the door open because he had no other choice.

With a sigh, he went into the kitchen, keeping an eye on the door. Raphael better notice it was still open because otherwise, somebody was going to just walk in and steal all of Brayden's not-worth-stealing items. He poured himself a glass of the lemon water, which was now lukewarm from sitting on the table. Not... as refreshing as he would have liked but it did remind him he had to use the bathroom. Better make it quick, he supposed.

He made a beeline for the bathroom, shutting the door behind him so he could relieve himself in privacy.

[Raphael Malai]

"Rhys?" Raphael was back with the plate of delicious Thai food. He walked in very easily because the ward was definitely meant for him, and closed the door behind him because—no, he didn't want anyone to waltz in and steal all of Brayden's precious items. The teacups were sacred to Raphael, especially once he learned that they were antiques left to him by his grandmother. Things like that were priceless!

"Rhys?" He asked again, peering around. Not in the kitchen! Not in the bedroom! The bathroom door was locked though. Raphael snorted through his nose. Not this again! Why was he hiding in there? Just to be childish? To prove a point of some kind? Raphael didn't see why he was acting like such a jer—oh. The toilet flushing told him that Rhys was relieving himself...

Running back out to the common area, he tried not to look flustered. Whoops! Rhys was in there not to hide, but to pee. Raphael busied himself looking for a fork in one of the drawers and then sat down on the couch with the plate balanced across his knees. Now that he was here, he didn't know what he should say. Ask Rhys bluntly to join game night? Then leave with all haste?

Try to make conversation? Smalltalk?

The thing was, now Raphael didn't know what would set Rhys off. Nothing he said seemed to be right and Rhys was so hard to talk to even on a normal day, without emotions...

[Rhys McCabe]

Washing his hands, he looked at himself in the mirror. He still looked like shit but at least he felt less like it. After his hands were clean, he splashed his face with a little water to help wake up and to freshen up. It didn't matter, really, what he looked like. It was just Raphael and he'd seen him in every state ever, since he was his assigned companion. Picking up the blanket from where he'd rested it on the counter, he pulled it back over his shoulders--careful... and then he opened the bathroom door.

Did Raphael ever come back..? He thought he heard him saying his name but... Oh, there he was. In the living room, sitting on the couch, with food. Rhys saw that the front door had been properly closed this time. Rhys didn't sit; he didn't quite know what to do with himself now. He just sort of stood there, feeling like his six year old self after waking from a nap--shirtless with a blanket and everything.

"Thought you chickened out."

[Raphael Malai]

Rhys came out and Raphael stiffened like a rabbit in the middle of the road with a car barreling down on it. He wasn't frozen in fear... but he was far from relaxed. Rhys looked sleepy, his hair was damp around his face and it seemed that the corruption hadn't gone away. It hadn't progressed too far either, though, which was good news. It was just that Raphael had hoped that maybe Rhys would feel and look better after a nap...

"What?" He looked down at the plate in his lap, foolishly associating chickening out with the lemongrass chicken on it. But Rhys didn't mean the food, did he? He was probably referring to the way Raphael ran away, like one of those mischievous kids who rang doorbells and hared off before they could be caught. "Oh! No! I forgot the—this plate of food back there..."

Slowly he picked the plate up and held it towards Rhys. "Prince Bee ordered some food for us. I thought maybe... you'd like some?"

[Rhys McCabe]

Of course Brayden sent him over here with food. That guy was like the most motherly man Rhys had ever met in his life. It wasn't... a bad trait to have. But he certainly fretted over people like a mother might. Part of Rhys wanted that, though. His mother. Her hand in his hair, her fond names for him, her lyrical poetry. He remembered she loved poetry and birdsong. She had a whole atrium to herself. Rhys thought now that she felt like those birds; trapped for a lifetime of entertaining somebody when she could be free. All she wanted was freedom.

Rhys sort of understood it. He understood her a lot more now that she wasn't with him anymore. And he wished he could tell her that. But there was no way he would ever be able to. Because if he went home with that understanding, he would have to have wings. And he couldn't go back home with wings. Not to the castle, not to his mother.

He thought he must have dreamed of home, of his mother, of his childhood when he slept. But when he woke up, the knock had gently brushed the memories of his dreams away. Now he didn't remember anything, not details, not even broad strokes.

"Yeah, okay." His tone was somewhat guarded but he moved into the room, to sit on the couch, where he used his blanket to cover the tea stain he'd made--in case it was still damp--and sat down. He took the food. It smelled good. But he was still tired and he wasn't sure if he was really hungry or if he was just taking the food because it was offered like a peace offering.

He took an experimental bite. It was good. But he wasn't really hungry. He set it down on the coffee table in front of them. Then before he could wake up enough to change his mind, he slowly laid down, head in Raphael's lap. He was too exhausted to hold grudges. His nap and Brayden's soup had done wonders for his hair trigger temper. Now he was just... tired.

[Raphael Malai]

Oh it was most definitely a peace offering of the highest order. Rhys was no glutton but the food was good and Brayden paid for it—and free food that tasted good was like mana from heaven. Maybe... Raphael had been to too many school events where free food was offered. He was a bit of a glutton himself in that respect, and he was always curiously poking his nose into every event. Their small community college had an active student union; Raphael was going to join eventually, to help plan fun things like parties for the holidays and even career nights, so that students could network and mingle with their peers.

All of that was dashed, though, now that he was confined to this apartment. Raphael was rather trapped too, not by wards but by his own fear of the Fallen King. He knew that if he was ever found out, death would not be far behind. Here he was safe with people like Jack and Margie and even the new hunter friend, Ken—people with real power surrounded him.

And Rhys, too... he did his best to protect Raphael where others would not have.

It was nice to see him not being contrary this time and Raphael couldn't help but smile as he took a bite of food. Then he set it down; the smile faded. Oh. He didn't like it... Raphael shifted uncomfortably, about to say something silly again like apologize for bringing the wrong type of food—then Rhys collapsed with his head in Raphael's lap. And this time Raphael did freeze like a rabbit out in the road.

Um.

Well.

That was new. Rhys looked so tired still... He didn't know what made him do what he just did, but he was glad that they weren't fighting again. Maybe that nap did do something for his temper! Raphael slowly ran his hand over Rhys' forehead to shift his hair back, since it was damp. Maybe he'd washed his face earlier, when he woke up. He remembered that Rhys seemed to like having his hair played with so his hand remained, stroking through his curls affectionately.

"Are you feeling better?" His other hand snaked out gingerly to take a spring roll from the plate. If Rhys wasn't going to have it...

[Rhys McCabe]

"Just tired..."

Tired of a lot of things, like fighting about stupid shit and tired in general. Physically tired and mentally tired. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this tired and lacking of energy. Even when he was bored out of his mind, he still had energy--he wasn't bored enough to fall asleep. It was boredom that came from a lack of interest and stimulation.

It was strange to eat a food and think that it tasted good. It was strange to wake up from a nap and feel content. It was strange to feel lonely when Raphael ran off. (When Rhys thought he was being a chicken shit.)

There was no moment where he could point to in order to say There! That's the moment! But he was aware that his feelings were made public before the rest of him was able to 1. comprehend said feelings and 2. accept said feelings. If he couldn't even do those two things, confessing them or admitting them to somebody, anybody, but especially Raphael was out of his realm of Things He Could Do.

But this... this was okay. He was a haughty, spoiled prince with too much unwarranted confidence before his own wings struck him down. Now he was just a humbled child looking for comfort. And he did like his hair being toyed with. Even some of his consorts knew and did their best to use it to their knowledge. But it wasn't quite the same as just... this.

He kept parting his lips as if to speak and thinking better of it. Sometimes, he was sure his mouth was what got him into so much trouble. Apparently, he lacked any diplomacy, since he didn't mince words and said it like it was--or how he saw it--and he had rather harsh opinions on basically everything.

"...you're not a servant anymore."

[Raphael Malai]

"I see. I'm sorry you're still tired."

What else could he say? That wouldn't upset Rhys? It was funny—for so long he wished that Rhys could feel... something, anything, and when he now did, it was all negative. It was like the channels opened but they all lead into irritation. Raphael was not the kind of person who knew how to talk to people, either. Arguably he was like Rhys in that he spoke his mind far too often than was good for him. There was nothing filtering his thoughts, nothing there that said wait a minute, hold on and think about this!

He wasn't gifted with a silver tongue, either, or he might have had more success getting his point across.

Raphael had merely been excited and over-eager. He felt so many wonderful emotions and he wanted to share that with somebody. He wanted to share it with Rhys, but rather than embracing these new changes, Rhys pulled back. They weren't on the same page about feelings from the beginning, although Raphael didn't believe for a moment that Rhys hated all of it the way he claimed. For all the confusion that feeling things brought, there were definite perks too, like... Like kisses. Kisses felt a whole lot nicer when feelings were involved. Like hot showers, and being able to slide between crisp sheets, under warm blankets. So many things that other people took for granted, they could experience for the first time—and truly appreciate them all over again.

As he sat there stroking Rhys' hair and eating his way through the spring roll, his mind raced to find things to say. Nothing. Rhys looked like he wanted to say something too, but. Nothing. Not until he finally came out with it, and Raphael frowned down at him for a long moment. That sounded kind of weird. His mind flashed back to the last thing Rhys said, that was so hurtful that it made him—good-natured Raphael who would have obliged if someone told him to scrub out a bathroom with a toothbrush—lose it.

"I know," he glowered. "You've already dismissed me earlier." His words and tone weren't cold or sarcastic or angry; he was just still hurt by that. Raphael thought that all things considered, he had been a good servant. He did his best to fulfill his duties, whatever they were on any given day. And truly, he hadn't gone and pledged his services to any other prince. There were plenty to choose from, and all of them were nice and kind and took him under their wing, but... the only prince he wanted to serve was Rhys.

[Rhys McCabe]

"...that's not what I meant."

Didn't Brayden say something about servants? That it bothered Raphael? So why was he looking at him like that? Was Rhys not agreeing that he wasn't a servant? He wasn't trying to harken back to the moment when he talked about dismissing him (did he actually dismiss him or did he say he wanted to--he couldn't remember--it was all spoken in the heat of the moment).

Sitting up with great reluctance, because now he was likely to have his hair pulled rather than stroked, he frowned at Raphael, too. What did he want from him? He was so frustrating to deal with!

All he wanted to do was just go home but he was realizing that it wouldn't solve anything, really. All this... homesickness he was feeling would go away but only because he would be closing the door to everything again. Raphael seemed afraid of it; Rhys still wanted it. A content nap and some food that actually tasted like something and a few hair strokes didn't change that. It wasn't enough to make nothing sound like a bad thing.

But still, the things he wanted to go home to... wouldn't matter once he got there. Not because he'd have them but because he would be too nothing again to appreciate them. So it didn't matter. Either way he went, didn't really matter. And that felt almost like the self he knew. That nothing mattered. His gaze was hollow as he looked at the table and the books that had been neatly righted after their fight.

"I'm going back to sleep," he said finally. He probably should have said something else, a thank you for the peace offering or an apology for the fight--but they didn't really cross his mind. Rhys was raised a prince and a prince never thanked anybody or apologized for anything. He got up but he looked over at Raphael.

"You should tell that Brayden guy that Keith wants him. He tried to recruit me to trap him... If I wasn't warded, he probably would know where he is by now."

[Raphael Malai]

Then what did he mean? There was no ensuing explanation—he just said Raphael wasn't a servant, quite out of nowhere. Most people would have... he didn't know... went on to say more things to pad out the statement and give it context! Instead, Rhys slammed the door shut again and sat up, moving away from him while he still grappled with the actual meaning.

Why couldn't he just be normal?! Or at least not so... him!

Raphael sat on the couch staring at the plate of uneaten food with his hands in his lap, for once still. He didn't buzz around like a busy fly, unable to land on one place for more than a minute. He didn't try to find something to do because while his body was still, his mind wasn't. Rhys said something about Brayden and warning him against Keith and Raphael tucked that information away—he would protect Brayden to the best of his abilities. But he didn't go anywhere; he nodded ever so slightly to acknowledge that he had heard what Rhys said.

So he wasn't a servant any longer.

He wasn't
A servant
Anymore

It sounded like a dismissal only because it touched upon a very sensitive nerve. Raphael no longer wanted to be seen as a servant—as someone beneath Rhys. He wanted to be seen as an equal and he wanted, most importantly, to be treated as one. He wanted to be treated with respect, really. But... if he thought about it, Rhys didn't actually disrespect him without provocation (the fight notwithstanding). He never beat Raphael—and plenty of companions of noblemen were beaten for the slightest perceived infractions. Rhys didn't care enough to do so, true, but that didn't mean he wasn't plenty cruel towards others. His hunts...

So he didn't think of Raphael as a servant... anymore? Well then he should have said what he thought of Raphael as! Friend! More than a friend! How was a body to know anything when he never said anything! Rhys was terrible at this emoting thing! Gosh, if he could have only been more like... Jack or Niall or even Ken! Even Ken!

Then again, if he was like them, he wouldn't be himself. That was kind of pointless, wasn't it?

Raphael slowly got up. Rhys said he was going back to sleep, which was an actual dismissal. Well. If Raphael was no longer a servant, then screw his dismissal. He could go back to sleep; it didn't mean Raphael couldn't do whatever he wanted. Didn't mean he couldn't walk into the bedroom and climb into bed and curl up, snuggle up beside him. Hell, it didn't mean anything if Raphael wasn't a servant anymore, right? He was a free man now, goddamnit.

[Rhys McCabe]

Raphael nodded. Okay. That was all Rhys needed to know, then. He would relay the information and... it would do whatever it did. He probably should have told Brayden himself when he was there but it didn't really come up. And now it was just sort of a... thing to say in parting because Rhys had no idea what else to say. It just seemed like the more he said, the more he buried Raphael into a hole. It wasn't intentional; it still happened.

So that was that.

No reason to stay. There wasn't really anywhere else for Rhys to go. He couldn't leave the apartment. And he was tired and maybe a little sick. Bed was where he ought to be anyhow.

But... he found he was not walking to the bedroom alone and he stopped at the doorway with a furrowed brow. Why the hell was Raphael following him? He told him his plans--to sleep--and gave him a good enough excuse to leave--precious Brayden could be in some kind of trouble. Probably not immediate; if Keith needed Rhys to keep Brayden in one place then he didn't have the means to do anything so far.

Still. Why wasn't Raphael scurrying off to go tell the world? Rhys turned toward him and looked him over.

"What are you doing?"