Work Text:
It’s not until they’re already walking up the driveway of Simon’s home when he’s finally hit with the full reality of what he’s about to do, and the force of it nearly has him doubled over. He stresses the ‘nearly’ part as he stops dead in his tracks at the top of the front steps, eyes glued to the ugly welcome mat they only keep because it was a gift from his grandma years ago. He’d seen it everyday for years since, every time he went through that front door, even the last time he left his childhood home five months ago. The last time he’d been home.
The last time he saw his family.
The same family that was inside that house at that very moment, making their first family dinner in months, probably near to bursting with questions that Simon wouldn’t be ready to answer. Simon might never be ready to answer. There’s a sharp pain in his chest and shit, he’s not ready.
“Simon?” says Raphael, breaking into his thoughts. He turns slowly in Simon’s peripheral vision, like he’s ready for the fledgling to turn heel and run at the slightest movement, and Simon really wants to do exactly that. His feet have other ideas, as they choose to plant themselves into the ground instead. Simon isn’t going back, but he’s also not going forward. He’s stuck in a limbo state as his mouth goes dry, and before Raphael can say anything else, he says, “I can’t do this.”
Raphael sighs. “Simon-”
His body finally decides to get with the program the moment Raphael opens his mouth, and Simon quickly says, “No, Raphael, I can’t, ” before cutting himself off and running a shaky hand through his hair. He stumbles back down the steps, stopping when he reaches the bottom step, wanting desperately to run but hesitating. His breathing comes out shallow and awkward and uneven - and those are all good words for the sickening feeling rising in his stomach, actually.
When Simon strode into Raphael’s room a week ago and told him that he was finally ready to tell his family everything, voice strong and chin held high, he hadn’t imagined it turning out like this. He’s thinking himself into a panic attack, ready to bolt at the slightest movement, and can’t hear anything beyond the the blood rushing through his ears. He opens his mouth again and tries to communicate this, but all that comes out is a pleading, “Raphael.”
Simon would really like to know where the man from last week went.
Raphael takes pity on him. His eyes turn from scrutinizing to soft as he reaches a hand out, and all Simon can do is grab onto it desperately, reduced to nothing more than a drowning man being hauled back on deck. He knows he’s being melodramatic, but he’s about to come out to the two most important people in his life as a vampire , of all things. Hell, he hasn’t even come out to them as pansexual yet. Once Simon reaches the top of the steps again, Raphael grips his forearms to steady him, and he can’t help thinking that he never even imagined his life would take this sort of turn - that he’d come out to his family as another species before his sexuality.
The thought has him laughing a little hysterically, and if Raphael wasn’t holding him, he’d probably fall over with the force of it. Raphael, for his part, is watching him with a look that’s a weird mixture of concerned and exasperated. It’s endearing.
Simon says so before he can think any better of it, his face suddenly turning very warm as Raphael’s goes from slightly irritated to done. “You know, I was about to ask if you were alright, but the lack of a filter tells me you’ll be just fine.”
“You should know by now that’s really not the best gauge for my emotional state,” says Simon, the grin fading from his face as he lets out a sound that’s more like a groan than a laugh. “G-”
Simon remembers too late and goes into a coughing fit as the name sticks in his throat. He grabs onto Raphael’s arms as he recovers, the other man’s hands rubbing up and down his own in calming motions. Simon can’t help but feel ridiculously grateful for Raphael existing right now. If he’s being honest, though, he’s always grateful for Raphael. Period. Who would’ve thought he’d come to feel that way six months ago?
Ever since Simon had refused to help the Shadowhunters free Camille and stood his ground - eventually paying off when they were able to find the Book of White without her help - he’d felt a shift in his relationships with the other vampires. There was respect, now; not because of his position, but because he’d proven himself to be loyal to the Clan. He’d chosen his own kind over the Nephilim, and they rewarded him for it with their trust and friendship.
Then there was Raphael. Raphael, with his hard brown eyes and sharp words, changed right there in front of Simon. Like he was giving up that cold front in exchange for something warmer, more honest, more himself. Because he trusts Simon, now. Simon loves it.
They hang out together almost everyday now. They were together a lot before, but that was all for Clan business or training, not friendship. Now, they spend their shared time watching mundane films to keep Raphael in touch with modern pop culture, talking about their childhoods over drinks, or just quietly enjoying each other’s company in the comfort of their own rooms. It’s nice, and Simon savors the time they have together, each brush of skin sending warm fire to his cheeks, each word that falls from Raphael’s lips caught and catalogued in his mind, as if his hands are cupped and held out under the first rain of the world’s hottest summer. He knows he’s being dramatic, again, but Simon knows it’s true. It’s how he feels about Raphael. Especially at this moment.
Especially when they’d sat together on Raphael’s couch the other night, a comfortable silence falling over them - save for the occasional turning of a page - as Raphael read some Spanish tome and Simon thought quietly to himself. Then he’d turned to Raphael to say something he couldn’t remember, and had been frozen by what he saw. Raphael’s face, smooth and serene, eyes soft as they scanned the page in front of him, lips parted slightly. He absentmindedly mouthed a few words every now and then, tracing the words with his fingers, and Simon’s heart seized as he realized. Raphael takes his breath away by doing nothing at all and now Simon knows why.
It terrifies him. How can he tell Raphael what he feels when this thing between them is still so new? Does he want to? Would Raphael even want to know? Should he? What are all the ways it could go wrong? What are all the ways it could go right?
Simon knows he’s about to send himself into another panic attack with all his thinking, so he just focuses on Raphael’s face and the feeling of his hands on his arms and breathes.
Simon finally recovers, making a pained noise and rubbing a hand over his face. “Raphael, what am I even doing?”
“Second-guessing your decision to finally face your family after five months of hiding while standing on their doorstep,” he deadpans, giving him a look. Simon just sighs.
“You know what I mean. Why am I doing this?”
There’s a pause. In lieu of a direct answer, Raphael asks, “Remember Rosh Hashana?”
Simon remembers.
He remembers wandering out of the DuMort three months ago. He remembers walking for about half an hour before finding a synagogue, the sounds of the shofar leaking out onto the streets and into Simon’s ears. It’d been a Reform synagogue, and Simon could remember thinking it was some sort of sign and he should get used to it, since it might be a little more friendly to the needs of his current life than the Conservative Judaism of his old one. It only took about twenty minutes before he’d been able to pick up Raphael’s scent in the air, and when he walked up behind him, Simon hadn’t hesitated to tell him all about how he’d grown up going to the service with his family every year. It was the first year he wasn’t with them for the holiday since his father lost the battle with cancer when he was eight. Simon said as much.
Silence was all that followed his admission.
Then Raphael had broken it by quietly recalling his first Christmas without his mother and brothers, back when he was just a fledgeling who couldn’t even look at a cross without his sight blurring. Raphael told him how painful it had been to hear them sing psalms while he stood, quiet, in the cold night air. How it wasn’t anywhere near as painful as trying to join them and being ending up with burns on his feet for his efforts. How joyous he’d been when, a decade later, he was able to effortlessly step on holy ground again with his mother by his side. How he knew Simon would be able to do the same.
By the last blow of the shofar, they were already home.
“Yeah,” says Simon, quietly. It takes him a while to get back to the present, the ghost of Raphael’s fingers around his wrist as he led him home refusing to let go. “I remember.”
“Good.” Raphael gives him a small smile - a beautiful sight that’s no longer rare to Simon, but still succeeds in almost making him forget why he was freaking out in the first place - and says, “Because that’s why you’re doing this. So you can celebrate with them again, just like you’ve always done, even if some slight changes have to be made for your new... condition.” His voice is light at the end, an attempt at helping Simon calm down a little. His eyes are almost overwhelming in their honesty and, for a moment, Simon feels like he can believe it - that everything will be alright.
Simon wants that. He needs it, desperately, but Raphael’s eyes are too blindingly bright and Simon’s never been an optimist. “What if they don’t want to?” he finds himself saying, his fingers starting to shake again. “After they find out what I am- What I can do- What if they-”
“Don’t do that,” warns Raphael, tone hard as a Seraph blade. “Don’t do that to yourself, Simon. No ‘what-if’s-”
“They’re legitimate concerns-”
“They’re nothing but excuses.” He shakes Simon a little, and then their faces are seriously, ridiculously close. Simon swallows because he likes being close to Raphael, but not when he looks so angry all of a sudden. “Don’t let them get in your way. You’ll be haunted by what could have been for the rest of your life. And you’re immortal, so get ready for several centuries of regret.”
Raphael’s face is so open, full of frustration and sadness, and suddenly Simon feels so stupid. Raphael talks about his mother all the time, with stories from before and after his Turning. He’s mentioned he had brothers.
He never talks about them.
Simon wants to ask, but Raphael answers without words. Simon doesn’t even have to use any himself - he knows enough, a vague story playing in his head of Raphael, younger and sadder and so alone. Simon wishes he could go back in time and give him a hug, tell him everything will be alright; that he’ll be an amazing leader someday and with a clan that will do anything for him; that he’ll be surrounded by so much love he won’t know what to do with it.
But that’s in the past, and Raphael is older, and he knows all of that now. Probably. Simon sure hopes he does. It’s all ‘what-if’s, ‘could-have-been’s, the same things Raphael just told him to avoid. All Simon has is the now, and right now, he has two choices ahead of him. Simon doesn’t feel like spending Hanukkah alone this year.
So he takes a deep breath, looks directly at the challenge in Raphael’s eyes, and says, “What are we waiting for, then?”
Before Raphael can react, the front door bursts open and Rebecca is standing there, a look of pure joy on her face. “Simon!”
“Rebbecca,” he gasps, and Simon is nothing more than a little kid again as he breaks away from Raphael and throws himself into his big sister’s arms.
Simon’s family has always been affectionate. His dad always believed there was no such thing as too many hugs or ‘I-love-you’s, and they continued that policy after he died. Going from a family of people who make a point of hugging at least twice a day to a hotel full of vampires who became very offended if you got within their well-established centuries-old personal space hadn’t been the easiest transition for him. The most physical affection he’d gotten in the past few months were Clary’s quick hugs or Raphael’s hand on his shoulder in comfort when things got too hard for him, so, yeah, Simon intends to enjoy the hell out of the first proper embrace he’s had in forever.
“How long were you just standing out here?” she says, laughing into his shoulder, sniffling a little for reasons Simon knows aren’t the cold December air. “Mom was freaking out - I almost thought you weren’t coming till I saw you in the window.”
Simon laughs along with her, the fact that she probably won’t react well to blood pouring down his face the only thing stopping him from crying. “And miss mom’s cooking? Not a chance.”
It ends way too soon when Rebecca finally pulls back, face turning serious as she says, “But where have you been?”
Simon grimaces. He’s really not looking forward to answering that question, or any others that are going to follow tonight, but then Rebecca blinks at him. “Where are your glasses?” She steps back and widens her eyes at his outfit, tugging at his blazer like it’ll give her all the answers to the world. “And where did you get these clothes?”
“Uh. I got contacts?” Simon looks back at Raphael helplessly, only to see him watching with amusement and a fondness in his eyes that makes him feel all warm but still doesn’t excuse the complete lack of help he’s giving right now. “And the clothes were a gift.” He turns back to Rebecca, who is now looking his shoulder at Raphael.
“You didn’t answer the first question,” she says. Her eyes never leave Raphael, though, and she squints like she’s analyzing him for possible threats. “And you are...?”
Simon is confused for a minute, until he remembers- Oh. The whole time he’d been planning this dinner with his family, he’d forgotten to mention he was bringing Raphael. At least his mom always cooks enough for the whole neighborhood, but then he remembers they won’t be able to eat any of it, which just dampens his mood a little. His mom really is a good cook.
Raphael, for his part, doesn’t seem to mind any of it as he says, “I’m the gift-giver, as well as the answer to that first question.” He walks over and sticks out his hand with a kind smile that Simon can’t remember seeing anywhere else before. “Raphael Santiago,” he says, all charming and polite. “It’s an honor finally meeting a member of Simon’s family.”
They shake hands firmly, and Rebecca just stares at their hands before glancing at Simon, wide-eyed. Simon covers his mouth with his hand to muffle his laughter at how formal Raphael is being right now and Rebecca’s shock. “Oh, um,” she blusters, before composing herself. “I’m Rebecca. It’s nice to meet you, too.”
The handshake ends and Raphael just smirks at Simon as Rebecca blinks herself back enough to let them in. When the door closes behind them, his sister runs back into the kitchen, but Simon hesitates again.
Raphael notices because of course he does. Placing a hand on the back of Simon’s neck and rubbing his thumb in soothing circles, he reminds him, “No ‘what-if’s,” voice soft but leaving no room for argument.
“No ‘what-if’s,” Simon parrots back. “Just living in the now. Got it.”
Raphael gives him another smile, a proud and almost fond one that makes Simon’s breath catch. Now that he’s calm enough just to focus on that, it gives him a familiar feeling in his stomach, like waves on a beach at high tide. It’s not a bad feeling. Simon kind of wouldn’t mind if it never stopped. He smiles back, shy, trying to seem calm. Keep your crush in check, Lewis.
Somehow, Simon gets his feet to work, and they walk to the kitchen with Raphael’s hand still on the back of his neck. Then Simon sees his mom by the stove having a happy little conversation with Rebecca like they always do in the mornings, and he breaks.
“Mom?” His voice is small, so small, Raphael’s hand on back of his neck the only thing grounding him here. Simon worries his hands are shaking.
His mom turns, freezing mid-sentence, and her face breaks out into a teary-eyed grin. “Simon,” she laughs, like she never imagined this happening in a hundred years. It’s only been five months, but it sure feels that long to him.
It’s with that thought he stumbles forward and hugs his mom like a little kid in the dark. “Mom,” he says again, once he’s safely tucked away in her warm arms.
He buries his face into the crook of her neck. She smells like pancakes at 10 A.M. on lazy Saturday mornings, cheap coffee and fresh ink, tiny bottles of expensive perfume stretched thin for so long that he only picks up on it because of his vampire senses, and Simon laughs while blinking away the wetness in his eyes because he can't deal with it. She smells like home and Simon is so sorry he's been away for so long.
"Mom."
She just holds him a little tighter.
Dinner is… awkward.
After hugging Simon for a good five minutes, his mom had frantically asked him the same questions Rebecca had asked and then some, before she finally noticed Raphael standing at the edge of the kitchen tiles. Raphael had introduced himself in that weirdly formal way again, and his mom just flickered her eyes back and forth between them until she settled on Raphael, briefly glancing at his mother’s cross he always wears around his neck. She hasn’t taken her eyes off him since then, while Rebecca keeps looking back and forth between her brother and his friend through squinted eyes, like she’s trying to figure them both out. Combined with the awkward silence - since they all have seemed to decide that they aren’t confronting the elephant in the room until after dinner - the whole thing is just incredibly uncomfortable for everyone involved.
The fact that every bite Simon takes feels more like warm, solid clumps of ash than actual food isn’t helping much, either. Raphael had tried teaching him how to eat without retching, but it really wasn’t the best lesson they had. Simon had loved his mom’s cooking before, but he’d taken it for granted, and now there was resentment climbing up his throat along with the bile. He grimaced and dropped his fork with a clang.
His mom jumps at the noise, finally tearing her eyes away from Raphael to stare at her son in worry. “Simon,” Rebecca says, the same look in his mom’s eyes laced into her voice, and it’s all so deafening.
He can’t look at her. He can’t look at anyone.
Simon’s stomach churns as he holds the tablecloth tightly in his right hand, closes his left around nothing under the table, and hangs his head with his eyes shut tight. A mix of nausea and shame tightens its hold around him, and he can’t think, can’t breathe. He doesn’t have to breathe but he can’t and it alarms him, and the room spins and his heart tumbles and he falls falls falls-
Something lands on his wrist beneath the table. Barely there, like a feather, like a turn of the wind.
“Simon,” Raphael says, and his fingers tighten around his wrist. Like a lifeline.
Simon swallows, but doesn't open his mouth, afraid of what could come out (whether it's words or vomit, Simon doesn’t know), until Raphael says his name again and he’s suddenly gasping for air.
He opens his eyes to see Raphael staring at him with nothing but concern in his features - he has worry lines on his forehead, eyes boring into him, and lips parting slightly, like he wants to ask him something. Are you okay? What do you need?
Simon kind of just wants him to say his name again. The fingers around his wrist send sparks through his bone marrow, but Raphael’s voice grounds him. He’s filled with an inexplicable need for it, and in the midst of those thoughts, he doesn’t even notice the weight in his stomach fade away in a gentle breeze.
Then he sees his mom and Rebecca staring at not just him or Raphael, but both of them with such wide-eyed bewilderment that Simon is immediately reminded of every single discomforting moment of his entire life, and none of them compare to how he feels at this very second.
“We should talk,” he finds himself saying, in a quiet voice that sounds very far-way despite it coming directly from his own mouth. “Right now.” Before I lose my nerve. Before I run and never, ever come back.
Simon’s mother nods her head. Rebecca doesn’t seem to know what to do with hers, so she seemingly decides to just go back to looking back and forth between them.
Raphael’s fingers loosen and slowly creep forward until they’re resting on top of his hand. Probing. Asking for permission. What do you need? says Raphael’s gentleness. What can I do?
Simon takes Raphael’s hand, laces their fingers together, and holds on helplessly.
Raphael turns to Rebecca and Simon’s mother with an easy smile in his face. “Why don’t we move this to the living room?” he suggests, and squeezes Simon’s hand as tightly as can.
“So,” says his mom. Simon and Raphael are on the couch, while she and Rebecca sit across from them on the armchairs. She opens her mouth to say something else, but can’t seem to come up with what it should be, so she just closes it after a few moments in favor of watching her son expectedly. Rebecca’s eyes continue moving between them rapidly, and Simon is honestly worried they’re going to fly out of her head at the speed they’re going.
Then there’s Raphael, who’s sitting right there next to him, close enough that their thighs are touching; that Simon could bask in the warmth he was sure Raphael had back when he was a mundane. And he’s just… watching. Waiting. Not like his family, who are waiting with bated breaths for an explanation they aren’t at all prepared for - and neither is Simon, if he’s being honest - but in preparation.
His left hand twitches, like he’s considering whether or not he should hold Simon’s hand again, and Simon realizes that’s exactly what Raphael’s doing. Raphael is waiting to see what he can do to make this easier for Simon, trying to help in anyway he can, just like he’s been doing over and over again ever since Simon told him that he wanted to do this. Raphael didn’t have to do anything, but he did. He’s still doing. Just because he cares enough.
In the end, that piece of information is where Simon finds the strength to sit up straight, look family in the eyes and say, “I’m sorry.”
His mom’s mouth falls open slightly. Rebecca blinks in surprise. Raphael just furrows his eyebrows, finally deciding to reach forward so his fingers can curl around Simon’s wrist. It’s a familiar comfort that reminds Simon of a beacon in the dark- but, no. That’s too dramatic. Raphael is gentler, softer. Like a nightlight. A reminder that it’s alright, that the dark can’t swallow him whole, that he’s not alone. No matter what happens tonight , he thinks to himself, Raphael won’t leave you alone.
“I’m sorry,” Simon says again, focusing on the space just above his family’s eyes. His voice wavers only slightly. “I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you guys for so long, that I haven’t talked to you in five months, that you thought I was missing ‘til Luke called you, and I just- I’m so sorry.”
He takes a moment to breathe, vaguely aware that he’s extremely close to trembling, like whatever’s left of his soul is threatening to break out of his skin. He just stops and breathes. “It’s okay, Simon,” cuts in his mother’s voice, and Simon has to close his eyes until the world stops blurring like it’s caught in a watery lens.
Raphael squeezes his wrist.
Simon lets out a shaky exhale before opening his eyes. “No, it’s not,” he says, and his voice doesn’t waver at all. “I shouldn’t have left like that. I have excuses, and reasons, and they’re good reasons, but that… That doesn’t mean it was right. I hurt you, both of you, and you’re my family. You’re the most important people in my life. I hurt you and that’s not okay.” He swallows. “But I wanna make it right.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Raphael nods encouragingly, and Simon tries to keep going as smoothly as he can. They practiced this in Simon’s room, with Raphael giving out suggestions from Simon’s bed as he paced frantically in front of him. They practiced this a million times until Simon was as ready as he can for this moment.
The only problem? He’ll never be ready for this. He just needs to get it over with.
“It all started a five months ago,” he says, and that’s good. Start from the beginning , Raphael’s voice reminds him in his head, and Simon finds himself nodding to no one in particular. “It was Clary’s birthday, and there was... A lot of stuff happened, and a lot of stuff happened to me. A very big thing happened to me, and I needed time. To figure things out. ‘Cause I changed, a lot, in a big way, and… I know five months is a lot of time, but trust me, I needed it. It's not…” Simon licks his lips, everything too dry all of a sudden. “It’s not easy to handle.”
He gathers all his courage and turns to his mom, who’s looking surprisingly calm, given the circumstances - though Simon isn’t too surprised. She’s always been able to keep her cool, stoic as a mountain in a storm. It’s one of the many things he admires about her, ever since he was a little kid.
Simon takes a deep breath and starts with, “Mom… I’m still your son. And Rebecca-” he turns to his sister quickly, who’s watching with watery eyes, “-I’m still your brother. Guys, I’m still me, I’m still Simon. Just a little different.”
It’s an understatement if Simon’s ever heard one, and he takes a moment to laugh, though it sounds more like an aborted sob than anything. His voice shakes. Raphael squeezes his wrist again, rubbing his thumb against the inside of Simon’s wrist, where his pulse would be. Should be. Was .
Just a little different, rings his own voice in his head, and Simon shakes.
Raphael opens his mouth, as if to say something comforting, but decides he really has nothing that will help right now. Simon turns to him and the look of helplessness on his face as he desperately tries to come up with a way to help Simon is… encouraging. Strengthening. Reassuring. Raphael’s presence alone reminds him that he’ll be here, no matter what.
“But there’s a lot more of us - people like me.” He faces his mom and sister again, who are watching with rapt attention. His voice doesn’t shake. “And we’re not bad. I mean, some of us are, but that’s just- That’s just like how there are good people and bad people. Like, we’re just people, a little different than… most.
“And, okay, maybe it’s a lot different, but it still doesn’t make us bad, no matter what you might think, and I’ve been avoiding you this whole time ‘cause it’s kind of unbelievable and a little scary and I’ve been wanting to tell you but I had to wait for the right time, y’know? But there’s never gonna be a ‘right time’ so I just- I need to tell you now.”
There’s a moment where no one reacts as Simon tries to collect his courage. Then his mom nods with a small smile, and Rebecca does the same. Simon remembers the one time in second grade when they had to go backstage during the school play because he was too afraid to go on, and his family had just held his hands and told him they believed in him. That he could do this. That they’d clap for him whether or not he stuttered a little bit.
He ended up totally butchering his lines and Julia Hanes from English class didn’t speak to him for the rest of the semester for ruining her starring moment, but when he ran into his mom and sister’s arms, saw them both smiling and congratulating him for being brave enough to try…
Simon closes his eyes for a second. He moves his hand so he and Raphael’s palms touch. Once they’ve laced their fingers together, Simon opens his eyes, braces himself and says, “Mom, Rebecca, I’m-”
“Oh, Simon,” cuts in his mom, her eyes brimming with tears and a huge smile on her face as she gets up and rushed forward to pull him into a hug. “You don’t have to say anything else, we love you no matter who you love, sweetie!”
“What,” he and Raphael say, in perfect unison. Though Simon’s voice is muffled by his mom’s shoulder as he tries to return the hug with one hand, his other still holding Raphael’s tightly.
Rebecca just laughs a little, grinning and looking all for the world like she’s been expecting this. “Really, Si, you didn’t think we knew? I mean, I always had a feeling- granted, I’m gay, so-”
“Wait, you’re gay?” Simon somehow finds the strength to say as his mom pulls back, his mind reeling from everything that’s happened in the last five seconds. “How did I not-”
His mom just smiles at him again, ruffling his hair before sitting back down. “She came out a month ago. That’s how I knew, the moment you came into the kitchen- You were just as nervous as she was, Simon.”
“And this doesn’t change anything,” Rebecca is quick to add, face going soft. “This isn’t anywhere near as big of a shock you thought it was gonna be, don’t worry, I felt the exact same way.”
“But five months!” His mom’s face goes a little stormy, and Simon does his best to sink into the couch cushions, like they’ll protect him from whatever rage she has hidden under her skin. “I understand being nervous, or needing some time on your own, but that’s almost half a year! You didn’t think to even call us? Let us know you were alright? To check in at least once?” She looks so sad, and it breaks Simon’s heart, to see how much pain it all caused.
“I- I’m sorry,” he tries. “I’m so sorry, Mom, Rebecca, I really am. I never wanted to hurt either of you. But that’s exactly it, that’s why I stayed away, it wasn’t because of all this- but while we’re on the topic, I’m actually pansexual-”
“Pansexual?” his mother asks, furrowing her brows.
Rebecca quickly says, “It means he likes all genders, Mom.”
“Yeah, thank you for that,” says Simon, trying to get the conversation back on track, but immediately giving up the moment his mother starts talking again.
“Oh! Well, then that’s good, sweetie, I’m so happy for you. Really, Simon,” she says, and she looks him straight in the eyes as she says it, so brutally sincere and loving, “We love you no matter you what. I love you no matter what. I just want you to be happy, Simon. It’s all I’ve ever wanted for you. And if you’ve found it, well- I’m happy.” She tears up again. “I love you, Simon.”
Something breaks a little in him, and his own eyes get wet, so he closes them quickly. “I love you, too, Mom.”
Then he hears Rebecca say, “And I’m so glad you found a partner who loves you this much,” and his eyes are open again very quick.
“I. What? No,” he says, and he can feel Raphael subtly move away from him, wide-eyed in his peripheral vision and probably regretting every decision he’s ever made.
“I mean, it would’ve been nicer if you found someone who shared our beliefs,” his mom rushes in, glancing briefly at Raphael’s cross again, still smiling all the while. “But that’s not so important, as long as he makes you happy.”
“Look,” says Raphael, slowly, an awkward smile on his face as he tries to detach his fingers from Simon’s grip. “Simon and I, we’re not-” He cuts himself off with a laugh, and okay, that’s a little hurtful, though Simon quickly gets over it when he turns to Raphael and sees just how visibly out of depth he is. The idea that Raphael is actually capable of nervous laughter, something that Simon would never really imagine could describe him. It makes Simon feel very bad for what he does next.
“We prefer boyfriends,” he says, looking at his family and with a grin on his face. He can physically feel the glare Raphael is practically stabbing into the side of his head right now. “I mean, partner sounds so, y’know…”
“You know,” repeats Raphael, deadpan. Simon turns to him, then, and he looks murderous . There’s still the fake smile, but it’s sharp, and if eyes really are the window to the soul, then his is certainly not very holy right now. Simon just stares him down with what is hopefully a face that says please don’t kill me or otherwise cause me bodily harm in my sleep tomorrow but I’d really appreciate if you could just go with this I am literally begging you.
After what feels like hours, Raphael slowly, finally turns back to Simon’s mom and sister. “Of course,” he says, smiling, voice sweet as honey. “Partner just sounds so… serious. We’re trying to take this slow.”
“Of course,” says Simon’s mom, nodding her encouragement, before smiling wide. “Oh, I’m just so happy you care about my son so much!”
“What’s not to love about him?” says Raphael, smile widening until he’s talking through his teeth. “He’s… very special.”
Raphael squeezes his hand so hard that Simon nearly bites his tongue off to suppress a whimper. Raphael lets go immediately afterward, satisfied, while Simon cradles his hand in his lap. His ‘boyfriend’ pats his knee in a half-assed apology.
“Yep, special, that’s definitely me,” says Simon, laughing nervously, and yeah, he deserved that.
Rebecca leans forward, grinning like a cat about to pounce. “So. Tell us everything.”
Simon laughs again. “Everything, huh?” He and Raphael look at each other, Simon smiling nervously while Raphael suddenly looks incredibly too happy with how things are going. “Where do we start?”
“What about the night we met?” proposes Raphael, a glint in his eye. “You always love telling that story, don’t you, babe?”
Rebecca squeals a little before covering it up with a cough. Simon wants to die.
“Do I?” asks Simon, begging with his eyes.
Raphael’s grin turns predatory. “Oh, you do.”
Simon smiles and turns back to his mom and Rebecca, who are both practically on the edge of their seats, eyes gleaming with anticipation. He just grits his teeth and says, “Yeah, I guess I do.”
Raphael’s smugness radiates off of him as Simon regrets.
Raphael stopped laughing two blocks ago, when they finally found a dumpster to throw away the leftovers his mom gave them, but that doesn’t mean he’s shut up about it.
“And then, after I was so enraptured by your angelic tones-”
“I did not say that-”
“You implied it-”
“Look, I’m a good person-”
“So you walked me all the way to Central Park, with your guitar slung over your shoulder, at midnight, as people do-”
“Please, stop.”
“-and then, because we’re both Hispanic, you serenaded me on a park bench-”
“I will pay you to stop.”
“-with… Now, what song was that again?”
They stop at a red light, and Simon just buries his face in his hands, groaning. “You’re never letting me forget this, are you?”
Raphael squints his eyes and looks ahead, as if in deep thought, before turning back to Simon with another grin. “Never, baby-” Simon is stopped from literally becoming one with the sidewalk when the light turns green- “but I just can’t quite remember the name of that song. Care to help me out?”
Simon mutters, “Gotitas de Amor,” and literally has to drag Raphael across the road before he gets hit by a car because he can’t stop laughing.
Just for a few blocks, Simon basks in blessed silence. Then Raphael says, “You’ll have to tell them someday, Simon.” He says it quietly, gentle, devoid of any of his former humor. Simon stops to close his eyes and take in a harsh breath.
Simon… he knows that. He can’t keep it a secret from his family forever, if he ever wants to see them again, and that’s exactly what he tells Raphael. “It’s just,” he continues, looking anywhere but at Raphael by his side, “tonight, the way they were looking at me- That wasn’t what I was gonna tell them, but they thought I was, and they accepted me, and I just… I didn’t want to lose that.” He runs a hand over his face and pushes his hair back, before glancing at Raphael shyly. “I’m gonna tell them one day. Soon. Just… just not today.”
There’s a moment where they look at each other until Raphael nods, and the weight that had fallen around Simon’s shoulders lifts a little as they start walking again. He knows he has to face this later - that he’ll have to go back to his childhood home, sit down in front of his mother and Rebecca again, and tell them everything - but it’s less scary to think about now. Not as overwhelming. We love you no matter you what, his mother’s voice says softly, and Simon smiles to himself.
“Hey, Raphael?” he says, after a few moments. Raphael hums in response.
“I know that was really uncomfortable for you, and I’m sorry about that, but just… Thank you. For helping me through it.” He reaches out and wraps his fingers around Raphael’s wrist. “Seriously. Thanks.”
There’s a pause as Raphael shifts his hand a little so that he’s holding Simon’s, and it sends something warm up his arm and throughout his body. “Well,” says Raphael, walking nonchalantly like he isn’t just holding Simon’s hand and giving him heart palpitations, “you still owe me, fledgeling.” He’s smiling the whole time he says it, though. It’s a small, familiar smile, and Simon tries not to trip over the feeling it causes.
They walk like that all the way home, with Raphael rubbing a thumb over the back of Simon’s hand.