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Raphael nodded, half wanting to argue, but he was already half gone. It was nice, in this moment. It was pretend, a pretty lie about a life that didn’t belong to him, but he took comfort in it for what it was, and he let Diego’s gentle hands lull him to sleep.
* * *
Raphael successfully avoided seeingDmitri until the following week when he met Luca for lunch. Pushing through the staff door at Whipped, he wheeled into the kitchen and came to a skidding halt when he saw Dmitri leaning over the baking table with his lip between his teeth. He had a spinning cake stand in front of him and a sea of cupcakes to the left which looked nothing like what Wilder normally sold.
“I know you’re there,” Dmitri said, not looking at him. “I feel you watching.Judging.”
Raphael couldn’t help his laugh as he pushed his chair closer. “What are you doing?”
“Wilder has been begging me to get better at icing, but I’m just…” He waved his hand helplessly at the cupcakes. “I’m hopeless.”
Raphael wanted to offer some sort of affirmation or promise he’d get better, but he had always been disastrous in the kitchen. He lifted his hand, but his fingers didn’t obey right away, and he flexed them a few times as he felt them tingle. A surge of anxiety hit, but he ignored it. “What if you can’t do it?”
“Then I can’t do it,” Dmitri said. He swiped the back of his hand across his forehead, leaving a smear of blue icing. “He won’t fire me.”
Raphael hadn’t considered that an option. “You’re good at a lot of things—it doesn’t need to be this. I…” He had more to say, he knew it, but a fog hit him. Sitting back, he took a breath, then grimaced at the scent of burnt garlic. It took him too long to realize what was happening, and by the time he had, his concentration was slipping. “Dmitri.”
There must have been something in his voice, because Dmitri dropped his pastry bag and rushed over. “What’s happening?”
“Luca. I need…” He took a breath. “I’m going to have a seizure. I need him.”
Raphael was out before Dmitri got back.
* * *
He came to a while later,tucked securely upstairs in Wilder’s apartment. He was wearing unfamiliar sweats, and he smelled like floral soap which meant Luca had cleaned him up when it was over. His usual wave of embarrassment hit, but there was no one around there to see it, and he hoped that Dmitri hadn’t gone running.
He wasn’t ashamed of himself—per se. Not really. He just hated the dependency his occasional seizures forced upon him. He hated having no say, no control over who got to bear witness when his body and brain gave in. Luca had been one of the few people he trusted since meeting him, and he felt a little better knowing he was at Luca’s place.
“Babe?”
Raphael moved his eyes, but the rest of his body felt heavy, and he had a lump in his throat like he wanted to cry. “How long?”
“About a minute and a half.” Luca came into view and dropped to the floor beside the cushion where his head was resting. “You slept for about half an hour.”
His body ached, and he knew he was going to be tired for at least a few days. It had been a while since he’d seized that hard for that long, and he should probably worry—he just didn’t have the energy. “Where’s Dmitri?”
“He went to pick up lunch from his aunts. I told him to get you the tortilla soup the way Rose always makes it for you.”
Raphael closed his eyes, dozing in and out until he heard the front door open. It had to have been at least half hour, because he was more cognizant this time, and he managed to push himself up so he was half reclining as Dmitri walked into the room.
Their gazes locked, and Raphael held back every raging emotion that bubbled to the surface, barely controlled with his defenses so weak. It didn’t last long, though, and Dmitri disappeared into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with soup bowls balanced on a tea tray.
“Rose said she made sure this wasn’t cross contaminated,” Dmitri said as he set the tray down. “Is there anything else?”
“Tea,” Raphael said quietly.
Luca pushed to his feet. “I have herbal in the kitchen. Give me a minute, okay?” He leaned in and kissed Raphael on his temple, lingering long enough that Raphael wanted to cry again before he pulled back.
He took a moment to compose himself, then he looked over at Dmitri. “I’m sorry.”
Dmitri hurried over and crouched down. “Please don’t be sorry. Can I…” His hand hovered over Raphael, and panic set in, because Raphael knew if he touched him, it would be over.
“Don’t!” He regretted snapping and hated the startled look in Dmitri’s eyes as he reared back. “I…I’m sorry. Just. Please don’t. Please.”
Dmitri curled into himself, but he didn’t leave, and somehow that made it better and worse all at the same time. He should have been running. He should be offended, or angry, or anything other than a little cowed but determined as he sat on the ground and pulled the table close so Raphael could reach his food.
Dmitri was steady, and he was perfect, and Raphael was entirely screwed.
