The Return Visit
Nana arrived at Linkon General just as the afternoon visiting hours began, a bag of fresh fruit in hand. She'd spent the morning on her mission—routine Wanderer patrol, nothing too dangerous—and had come straight here after filing her report.
"Because I promised", she told herself. "Not because I've been thinking about him all day. Not because the mission felt longer than usual because I kept checking my phone to see if he'd texted. Not because—"
Her phone buzzed.
**Rafayel:** Are you coming today?
**Rafayel:** You promised
**Rafayel:** I'm withering away here
**Rafayel:** Like a flower without water
**Rafayel:** Or a fish without ocean
**Rafayel:** Actually that second one is more accurate
**Rafayel:** I'm dying
**Nana:** I'm literally walking into the hospital right now
**Rafayel:** Really??
**Rafayel:** You came!!
**Rafayel:** I'm in the garden. Thomas forced me to get fresh air. Room 307 is too depressing apparently.
**Rafayel:** Come find me
**Rafayel:** I'm the 'handsome one' with the twisted ankle
She smiled despite herself and headed toward the gardens.
Thomas was sitting on a bench outside the garden entrance, coffee in hand, looking like a man who'd reached the end of his patience.
"He's been asking about you every ten minutes since noon," Thomas said without preamble. "Please go deal with him before I resign."
"That bad?" Nana asked.
"He tried to discharge himself twice this morning. Said he couldn't possibly recover without seeing his bodyguard. The nurses are threatening to put a note in his file about being 'difficult.'" Thomas took a long sip of coffee. "So yes. That bad."
"I'll take over from here," Nana said. "Go get actual rest. You look exhausted."
"Bless you," Thomas said, already standing. "He's by the koi pond. Try not to let him do anything that'll re-injure his ankle. Or injure anything else. Or cause a scene. Actually, just try to keep him alive and out of trouble for the next few hours."
"No promises," Nana said, but she was already walking into the garden.
She found him exactly where Thomas said—sitting on a bench near the koi pond, his injured ankle elevated on the bench beside him, eyes closed, face turned toward the afternoon sun.
*He's asleep*, Nana realized.
She approached quietly, not wanting to wake him, and settled on the bench across from his. Close enough to keep watch, far enough to give him space.
And then she just... looked.
Rafayel looked different when he slept. Softer. Younger. The dramatic flair that usually animated his features was gone, replaced by something peaceful and vulnerable. His purple-pink hair fell across his forehead, and his breathing was deep and even.
*He's beautiful*, she thought, and the realization didn't startle her as much as it should have. *Of course he's beautiful. That's not new information. But like this—unguarded, unperforming—he's...*
*He's just Rafayel.*
*And I—*
One of his eyes cracked open.
"Caught you," he said, his voice sleep-rough and entirely too satisfied.
Nana jerked back, her face immediately heating. "I wasn't—you were asleep!"
"I was resting my eyes," Rafayel corrected, now opening both eyes fully and grinning like the cat who got the cream. "There's a difference."
"That's the same thing!"
"No, resting my eyes means I'm still somewhat aware of my surroundings. Including beautiful bodyguards who sit down and stare at me with those love-love eyes." He sat up properly, wincing slightly as he adjusted his ankle.
"I do not have 'love-love eyes,'" Nana protested, but she could feel her ears burning. "I was just... making sure you were okay. That's my job."
"Your job ended at noon today," Rafayel pointed out. "This is overtime. Voluntary overtime. Which means you're here because you *want* to be here."
"I promised I'd visit."
"You did," Rafayel agreed, something soft entering his expression. "And you kept that promise. Thank you."
The sincerity in his voice caught her off-guard. "Of course I did. I always keep my promises."
*Do you?* Something flickered across Rafayel's face—old pain, quickly hidden. *I hope so. I really hope so.*
"I brought fruit," Nana said, changing the subject and pulling out her bag. "I figured you might want something healthier than pastries."
"You brought me food again," Rafayel observed. "That's twice now. Are you trying to take care of me, Miss Bodyguard?"
"Someone has to," Nana muttered, pulling out an apple and a small knife. "Since you clearly can't be trusted to take care of yourself. Who slips on wet paintbrushes?"
"Artists," Rafayel said defensively. "Artists slip on paintbrushes. It's an occupational hazard."
"It's carelessness."
"It's dedication to the craft," Rafayel corrected. "I was so absorbed in my work that I forgot about basic things like 'looking where I'm walking' and 'maintaining a safe studio environment.'"
"That's still carelessness."
"Agree to disagree," Rafayel said, but he was smiling. Watching her cut the apple into neat slices with the kind of focus she probably applied to fighting Wanderers. "You don't have to do that, you know. I can cut my own fruit."
"Can you?" Nana raised an eyebrow. "Yesterday you claimed the trauma of your fall affected your coordination. Are you suddenly recovered?"
"I..." Rafayel paused, clearly caught between wanting to maintain his dramatic invalid status and wanting to not look completely helpless. "My coordination comes and goes."
"Uh-huh." But she was holding out a slice of apple to him anyway. "Here. Eat."
Rafayel took it, their fingers brushing briefly. "You know, being hand-fed by a beautiful woman twice in two days is really going to inflate my ego."
"Your ego doesn't need any help," Nana said, but she was blushing again. "Now eat your apple and stop trying to make me compliment you."
"I don't have to try. You already stared at me with love-love eyes while I was 'sleeping.'"
"I was not—" She stopped, seeing his grin. "You're never going to let that go, are you?"
"Never," Rafayel confirmed. "I'm going to bring it up at every possible opportunity. 'Remember that time you stared at me while I pretended to sleep?' 'Oh yes, the love-love eyes incident.'"
Nana threw an apple slice at him. He caught it and ate it, still grinning.
*This is nice*, Rafayel thought, watching her try to maintain her dignity while clearly fighting a smile. *This easy back-and-forth. This comfortable teasing. This feeling like we've been doing this forever.*
*Because in a way, we have.*
After they'd finished the fruit (Nana eating almost as much as Rafayel despite her protests that she'd brought it for him), Rafayel stood and stretched.
"Walk with me?" he asked, offering his hand.
"Should you be walking?" Nana eyed his bandaged ankle. "The doctor said rest."
"The doctor said gentle movement was fine," Rafayel corrected. "And walking around a garden definitely counts as gentle. Besides, Thomas already forced me out here for 'fresh air.' Might as well make the most of it."
"Thomas forced you out here because you were driving the nurses insane," Nana said, but she took his hand anyway, letting him use her for balance as he stood.
They walked slowly through the hospital garden—Rafayel leaning on her more than was probably strictly necessary, Nana pretending not to notice. The garden was beautiful in the late afternoon light, full of flowering plants and winding paths and the gentle sound of water features.
"This is nice," Rafayel said after a while. "Walking with you. Peaceful. Fun."
Nana giggled. "Rafayel, we're just walking."
"So?" He squeezed her hand gently. "It's still fun. Even with a twisted ankle. *Especially* with you."
"You're ridiculous."
"You like that about me."
"I tolerate it," Nana corrected, but she was smiling.
They walked in comfortable silence for a while, neither mentioning that Rafayel's ankle was probably fine enough that he didn't need quite this much support, and neither mentioning that Nana didn't seem to mind providing it.
Eventually they found a bench with a perfect view of the setting sun—because of course they did, because sunset was *their* time whether they acknowledged it or not—and settled there to rest.
Nana closed her eyes, tilting her face toward the fading light. "Sunset again," she murmured. "I keep watching sunsets with you."
"Is that a bad thing?" Rafayel asked quietly.
"No." She opened her eyes, looking at him. "It feels... sacred, somehow. Like this is our time. Does that sound strange?"
*No*, Rafayel thought, his heart aching. *Not strange at all. Because it's always been our time. Since the first sunset we watched together on that beach a hundred years ago. Since every sunset I waited alone. Since now, when we're watching them together again.*
"Not strange," he said aloud. "Just... right."
They sat in companionable quiet, the garden peaceful around them. Rafayel was hyperaware of her beside him—close enough that their shoulders touched, close enough that he could see the way the sunset caught in her hair, close enough that the marks on their bodies pulsed in perfect rhythm.
He was studying her face—memorizing it, the way he'd memorized it a hundred times before—when she turned and caught him staring.
"What?" she asked.
"Nothing." Rafayel quickly looked away, pretending to examine the flowers beside them. "Just... admiring the garden."
"You were staring at me."
"I was looking at the flowers behind you."
"Rafayel."
"They're very nice flowers. Very... floral."
Nana crossed her arms. "You're doing the thing you accused me of earlier. The staring thing."
"That's different. You were looking at me with love-love eyes. I was doing artistic observation."
"Artistic observation?"
"I'm an artist," Rafayel said defensively. "Sometimes I observe things artistically. You have good bone structure. Very paintable."
"Paintable," Nana repeated flatly.
"Very paintable. The way the light hits your face—it's interesting. From a purely professional perspective."
"Uh-huh."
They stared at each other for a moment. Then Rafayel sighed.
"Fine. I was staring at you. And it wasn't for artistic reasons."
"Then why?"
"Because you're beautiful," he said simply. "And I like looking at you. And it's your fault for being so beautiful that I can't help staring."
Nana's face went red. She smacked his arm—playfully, but with feeling. "You can't just say things like that!"
"Why not? It's true."
"Because—because—" She seemed to lose track of her argument, settling for smacking his arm again. "Because!"
"Very articulate," Rafayel teased. "Is this what happens when you get flustered? You lose all verbal skills?"
"I'm not flustered!"
"Your face is the color of those roses."
"That's just—it's the sunset! The light is pink!"
"The light is orange," Rafayel corrected. "You're blushing."
Nana buried her face in her hands. "Why are you like this?"
"Like what?"
"Impossible. Dramatic. Flirty. Frustrating."
"You forgot 'charming,'" Rafayel added helpfully.
"I did not forget. I deliberately left it out."
"But I am charming."
"You're the opposite of charming."
"And yet you keep visiting me," Rafayel pointed out. "And bringing me food. And holding my hand. And blushing when I compliment you."
"I—" Nana stopped, realizing he was right. "I hate that you have a point."
"I usually do," Rafayel said, entirely too satisfied.
They bickered for a few more minutes—the easy, comfortable kind of arguing that was more about enjoying each other's company than any real disagreement. It felt natural. Right. Like they'd been doing this forever.
*Because we have*, Rafayel thought. *We've always been like this. Even when you were eleven and I was fifteen. Even then, we bickered and teased and made each other laugh.*
*Some things transcend lifetimes.*
Their playful argument was interrupted by a small, desperate sound from the nearby pond.
*Splish. Splash. Thrash.*
Nana's head turned immediately, her Hunter instincts kicking in. "What was that?"
They approached the pond's edge, and Rafayel felt his heart drop.
A small fish—bright red, like flame—had gotten its tail caught between rocks at the pond's edge. It was thrashing desperately, unable to free itself, slowly exhausting as it struggled.
*No*, Rafayel thought. *No, not this. Not now.*
But Nana was already moving.
"The poor thing," she said, kneeling beside the pond without hesitation. "Its tail is stuck. It'll die if no one helps."
"Nana, wait—" Rafayel started, but she was already reaching into the water.
He watched—frozen, transported—as she carefully worked the fish free. Gentle hands. Patient movements. The same way she'd dug him out from under a fallen tree a hundred years ago. The same determination. The same kindness.
She hasn't changed, he realized. In any lifetime, she's always been like this. Always the one who saves things. Always the one who can't walk away from something suffering.
Even when saving them destroys her.
The fish came free with a final gentle tug, and Nana released it back into deeper water. It swam away quickly, its tail intact, alive because she'd intervened.
Nana turned to him, smiling. "There. All better."
But Rafayel couldn't smile back. Something in his chest had cracked open, old grief mixing with new fear, and suddenly he couldn't breathe properly.
"Do you know," he said quietly, "how dangerous it is? Rescuing strays?"
Nana's playful expression faded, replaced by confusion. "What? Rafayel, it's just a fish—"
"For humans, maybe it's nothing," Rafayel interrupted. "Just a good deed. A moment of kindness. But for the fish you rescue?" His voice took on weight. "It means everything."
"I don't understand—"
"Since you have such a naive perspective," Rafayel continued, his voice distant now, "I should tell you a story. About a friend of mine. So you understand how dangerous it is when you rescue strays."
Nana sat beside him, sensing the shift in his mood. The playfulness was gone, replaced by something heavier. Sadder.
"Rafayel?" she said softly
Rafayel stared at the pond, his eyes distant, seeing not the hospital garden but a beach a hundred years past.
"This friend of mine," he began, "lived in the deep sea. It was beautiful down there, but he got bored. Young and stupid, you know? So one day he went to the surface. Just to see what it was like."
Nana listened, sensing this was important. That she needed to hear this.
"It was fun at first," Rafayel continued. "The surface world was so different from his home. So bright and warm and *alive*. He'd never seen anything like it."
"Then the storm hit."
His voice dropped, and Nana saw his hand clench slightly.
"His tail got caught. Trapped between a fallen tree—coconut tree, actually—and the sand. No way out. No way to reach water. Just... stuck. Waiting to die."
"Just like the fish you just saved" he add.
"But he didn't die," Nana said softly.
"No." Rafayel's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Because a girl found him. A little human girl who'd just lost her parents to the same storm. She was searching for them on the beach, and instead she found him."
"She saved him," Nana whispered.
"She did." And now Rafayel's voice was raw. "Dug him out with her bare hands. Worked until they bled. Saved him when she had no reason to. When she should have been grieving. When she should have run from the monster on the beach."
He paused, struggling with emotion.
"But if she rescued him, isn't that good?" Nana asked. "Isn't that a happy ending?"
Rafayel laughed, the sound bitter and broken. "You'd think so, wouldn't you? But here's what you don't understand about rescuing strays, Nana. Here's the dangerous part."
He finally turned to look at her, and there were tears gathering in his eyes—tears she knew would become pearls if they fell.
"After that day," he said, "the deep sea became his prison. He couldn't stop thinking about her. Couldn't stop wanting to see her again. So he kept going back to that beach. Every day. At sunset. Waiting for her."
"And she came back?" Nana's heart was racing now, something in this story resonating in a way she didn't understand.
"For a while, yes. They'd meet at sunset. She'd bring him things from her world. He'd give her pearls from his. They'd talk for hours. It was..." Rafayel's voice broke slightly. "It was perfect."
"Until one day she stopped coming."
The words fell heavy between them.
"He waited," Rafayel continued. "Every sunset. Every single day. Waiting for a girl who never appeared. Waiting until he couldn't count the sunsets anymore. Until waiting became all he knew."
"What happened to her?" Nana whispered.
"She died." The words were flat, final. "In her village. Disease. She was young and the medicine didn't exist yet and she just... died. That's why she stopped coming. Not because she forgot him. Not because she stopped caring. But because she couldn't come anymore."
Tears were sliding down Rafayel's face now, becoming small pink pearls that caught the fading light. Nana watched them fall with growing horror and recognition.
"He kept waiting," Rafayel said. "Even after he learned the truth. Even knowing she was gone. Because what else could he do? She'd saved him. She'd shown him kindness when he was dying. And he—"
"He loved her?" Nana finished, her voice barely audible.
"Yes." Rafayel smiled through his tears. "He loved her. So much that it destroyed him. So much that the deep sea stopped being home and became a tomb. So much that every sunset without her felt like dying again."
They sat in silence for a long moment, the weight of the story settling around them.
"So now do you understand?" Rafayel asked quietly. "How dangerous it is to rescue strays? You save something, and it becomes yours. It loves you. It waits for you. It builds its entire existence around you."
"And if you disappear..." Nana's voice was thick with unshed tears.
"If you disappear," Rafayel confirmed, "you destroy them. Not with cruelty. Not intentionally. But the result is the same."
He reached out, catching her hand in his. His grip was tight—almost desperate.
"So promise me," he said, and his voice was urgent now, pleading. "Promise me you won't disappear like the girl from my friend's story. Promise me that whatever happens on your missions, whatever danger you face, you'll answer when I call. You'll come back."
"Rafayel—"
"Promise me," he insisted. "Promise me you won't leave me like she left him. Promise me I won't spend another hundred—" He caught himself. "—another lifetime waiting for someone who's never coming back."
Nana's breath caught. There was something in his eyes—something ancient and grieving and terrified—that made her heart clench.
*Why does this feel familiar?* she thought. *Why does this story feel like mine?*
She didn't understand it. Didn't understand why her chest ached, why tears were gathering in her own eyes, why the mark on her neck burned like fire.
But she understood that Rafayel needed this. Needed her promise. Needed to know she wouldn't vanish the way someone important to him had vanished before.
Slowly, deliberately, she held out her pinky finger.
"I promise," she said clearly. "Whatever happens. Whatever dangers I face. I'll answer your calls. I'll come back to you."
Rafayel's pinky wrapped around hers, and the marks on their bodies flared bright enough that they both gasped.
"You promise?" he whispered.
"I promise," Nana repeated. "I won't disappear. I won't leave you waiting. I'll always come back."
"Say it again."
"I promise, Rafayel. I'll always come back to you."
Something in his expression broke and healed simultaneously. He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her in a hug that felt like relief and grief and hope all tangled together.
"Thank you,"
Nana hugged him back, feeling him tremble slightly, feeling the wet spots where his tears—his pearl tears—were soaking into her shoulder.
I don't understand, she thought. I don't understand this story or why it matters so much or why I feel like crying too.
But I mean the promise.
I'll come back to him.
No matter what.
I'll always come back.
The sun finished setting, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. The marks on their bodies pulsed in perfect rhythm—a bond neither fully understood but both felt in their bones.
And somewhere in the universe, fate watched and approved.Good, fate seemed to say.
This time, keep that promise.
This time, don't make him wait.
This time, come back.
.
.
.
.
.
🐚🐚🐚
To be continued __