The Meeting
Nana checked her reflection in her phone screen for the third time in five minutes.
"Stop it", she told herself. "It's not a date. You established this. A not-date. A completely platonic visit to a couples cafe with a friend who happens to be devastatingly attractive and makes your heart do weird things."
"Totally normal."
"Nothing to be nervous about."
She was wearing a soft cream dress—nothing fancy, just something nice that she'd borrowed from her roommate after spending forty-five minutes staring at her own closet in despair. Her hair was down, which she never did for missions, and she'd put on just a touch of makeup.
"For myself", she'd told her reflection. "Not for him. Definitely not for him."
"Even though I wonder what he'll think when he sees me."
"Even though I've been thinking about this all week."
"Even though—"
"Nana?"
She turned, and her breath caught.
Rafayel stood a few feet away, and he looked... different.
He was always beautiful—she'd established that fact within approximately three seconds of meeting him—but today he'd clearly put effort in. His hair was styled carefully, the purple-pink catching the afternoon light. He wore a soft lavender button-up under a cream cardigan, black pants that fit perfectly, and—
*Is that a silver chain?* Nana's brain short-circuited slightly. *When did he get a silver chain? Has he always had that? Why is it so attractive?*
But what really made her heart stutter was what he was holding.
Flowers. A small bouquet of pink and white roses, wrapped in brown paper. And two cups of bubble tea, balanced carefully in his other hand.
"You came," he said, and his smile was soft. Genuine. Like seeing her made his whole day better.
"Of course I came," Nana said, trying to sound normal and not like her heart was currently attempting to escape her chest. "I invited you, remember?"
"You did." Rafayel walked closer, and Nana caught the scent of his cologne—something ocean-fresh and slightly sweet. "These are for you. The flowers. And the bubble tea—strawberry, right? You mentioned it in your text."
He'd remembered. Of course he'd remembered. Rafayel remembered everything she said, filed it away like each detail was precious.
Nana took the flowers and bubble tea, her fingers brushing his, and tried very hard to remember how to form coherent sentences.
"Thank you," she managed. "You didn't have to—these are beautiful."
"Not as beautiful as you," Rafayel said simply, and Nana's face immediately went hot.
"You can't just—you can't say things like that!"
"Why not? It's true." His eyes swept over her, appreciation clear in his expression. "You look stunning. Is that a new dress?"
"It's my roommate's," Nana admitted. "I didn't have anything appropriate for a couples cafe."
"It suits you." Rafayel offered his arm, gentleman-like and only slightly teasing. "Shall we? I made a reservation."
"You made a reservation?"
"Of course. This place is popular. Can't risk not getting a table for our not-date."
"Right," Nana said, taking his arm and trying to ignore how natural it felt. "Our definitely-not-a-date."
"The most platonic couples cafe visit in history," Rafayel agreed, but his eyes were sparkling with mischief.
They walked into the cafe together, and Nana's hand was definitely not trembling slightly where it rested on his arm.
*Definitely not.*
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🐚🐚🐚
The cafe was exactly as advertised—aggressively romantic.
Soft lighting cast everything in a warm glow. Each table was set for two, with small candles and fresh flowers. The walls were covered in fairy lights and vintage frames holding love quotes. Gentle music played in the background—instrumental versions of love songs.
The hostess took one look at them and smiled knowingly.
"Reservation for two?" she asked.
"Under Rafayel," he confirmed.
"Right this way. We have a lovely corner table for you."
The corner table was possibly even more romantic than the rest of the cafe. Tucked away, intimate, with a perfect view of the street outside but still feeling private. The kind of table where couples leaned close and shared secrets and fell more in love with every passing moment.
Nana and Rafayel sat across from each other and blinked.
"This is very..." Nana started.
"Romantic?" Rafayel supplied.
"I was going to say 'couple-y,' but yes."
"Did you expect anything else from a place literally called 'The Lovers' Cafe'?"
"I thought they were exaggerating!" Nana laughed, the tension breaking. "But no, they really committed to the theme."
"Fully committed," Rafayel agreed, looking around at the heart-shaped decorations. "I think that wall hanging literally says 'Love is All You Need' in fourteen different languages."
"That's dedication to a brand."
"Or insanity."
"Possibly both."
They laughed together, and just like that, the awkwardness melted. It was them again—Nana and Rafayel, comfortable and easy, able to tease and joke even in the most romantic setting imaginable.
The waiter came by with menus, explaining that all the dishes were designed for sharing—because of course they were—and recommended several "romantic meal experiences."
"What's a romantic meal experience?" Nana whispered after the waiter left.
"I think it means they bring you one plate and you're supposed to feed each other," Rafayel whispered back.
"That's..."
"Extremely couple-y?"
"I was going to say 'kind of adorable,' but yes, also that."
They ordered—hot chocolate for Nana, coffee for Rafayel, and several dishes that sounded delicious and were definitely meant for sharing. While they waited, they sipped their bubble teas and talked about nothing and everything.
Rafayel told her about his new painting series. Nana told him about a Wanderer mission that had gone hilariously wrong. They argued about whether sweet or savory breakfast was superior (Rafayel was wrong, obviously, sweet was clearly better). They made fun of some of the more over-the-top decorations while secretly finding them charming.
It was perfect.
The food arrived, and it was indeed designed for sharing. Small plates, artfully arranged, clearly meant to be eaten family-style.
"This is going to be a disaster," Nana predicted, eyeing the setup.
"Why?"
"Because you're going to try to steal all the good pieces."
"I would never!" Rafayel protested. "I'm a gentleman."
"You literally stole my chicken last week."
"That was different. That was revenge for you accusing me of trying to steal it."
"So you admit to being a food thief."
"I admit to being strategically opportunistic about shared meals."
Nana rolled her eyes but was smiling. The food was delicious, and they fell into an easy rhythm—trying each dish, offering each other bites, arguing over which was best.
"Try this one," Rafayel said, holding out his fork.
Nana took the bite, and her eyes widened. "Oh my god, that's amazing."
"Right? The sauce is incredible."
"Give me another bite."
"Get your own!"
"You offered!"
"That was a courtesy bite! One bite! Not unlimited access!"
"Rafayel, I swear—"
"What? What are you going to do? You're on the other side of the table."
Nana narrowed her eyes and reached across with her own fork, spearing a piece from his plate before he could stop her.
"Nana!"
"Revenge," she said smugly, popping it in her mouth.
"You're terrible."
"You love it."
"I—" Rafayel stopped, something soft entering his expression. "Yeah. I do."
The admission hung in the air for a moment, heavier than their playful bickering usually was. Nana felt her cheeks warm, but before she could respond, Rafayel was already moving on, offering her a taste of something else, the moment sliding back into comfortable territory.
They continued eating, talking, laughing. Nana stole more food from his plate. He retaliated by eating the last piece of her favorite dish. They bickered like they'd been doing this forever.
*This is nice*, Nana thought, watching him laugh at something she'd said. *This is really, really nice.*
*I could get used to this.*
*I want to get used to this.*
The realization should have scared her—she'd known him less than a month, this shouldn't feel so significant—but it didn't. It just felt right.
She was reaching for her hot chocolate when she noticed the whispers.
At first, Nana thought she was imagining it. But no—there were definitely two girls at a nearby table, staring at Rafayel and whispering behind their hands.
"Is that—?"
"Oh my god, it is!"
"Rafayel! The artist! The one whose exhibition was at—"
"Should we go say hi?"
"We should definitely go say hi."
Nana glanced at Rafayel, who hadn't seemed to notice yet. He was focused on his coffee, on their conversation, on *her*.
But the girls were standing up now, approaching their table with nervous excitement.
"Excuse me," one of them said, her voice breathless. "Are you Rafayel? The artist?"
Rafayel looked up, and his expression shifted—professional, polite, but slightly reserved. "I am. Hello."
"Oh my god!" The second girl practically squealed. "We're huge fans! We went to your exhibition last year and it was *incredible*. The way you capture water and light—it's like nothing we've ever seen!"
"Thank you," Rafayel said, smiling that professional smile. "That's very kind."
"Could we—would you mind taking a picture with us?" the first girl asked. "And maybe an autograph? I have your exhibition catalog in my bag!"
Nana watched as Rafayel glanced at her—a quick, apologetic look—before turning back to the fans.
"Of course," he said graciously. "I'd be happy to."
The girls practically vibrated with excitement. While one of them pulled out the catalog, the other was already positioning herself next to Rafayel for a selfie.
Nana sat back in her chair, suddenly feeling like an outsider in her own not-date.
*It's fine*, she told herself. *He's famous. This is part of his life. You knew that.*
But watching the girl lean close to him for the photo, watching her touch his arm with familiar ease, watching the way they both gazed at him with open adoration—
Something twisted in Nana's chest.
*What is this?*
It felt like... jealousy? But that was ridiculous. They weren't dating. They were friends. He was allowed to take pictures with fans. She had no right to feel—
The second girl had produced the catalog now, and Rafayel was signing it with a flourish, making conversation about which pieces were her favorites. He was charming, naturally so, the way he always was. Smiling that beautiful smile. Giving them his full attention.
The way he'd been giving *her* his full attention just moments ago.
*Stop it*, Nana told herself firmly. *You're being ridiculous.*
But the feeling wouldn't go away. That strange, uncomfortable ache in her chest. That sense of something precious being shared with others when she wanted—
*When she wanted what?*
*When she wanted him to be only hers?*
The realization hit hard. She took a large sip of her hot chocolate, trying to swallow down the feeling, trying to appear normal and unaffected.
*It's fine. You're fine. This is fine.*
More girls had noticed now. A small crowd was forming, phones coming out, more requests for photos and autographs. Rafayel handled it all with grace, but Nana could see the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his smile was starting to look strained.
She focused on her hot chocolate. On the flowers he'd brought her, now sitting on the table. On anything except the way other women were touching him, looking at him, wanting his attention.
*You have no right to feel thisway*, she told herself. *No right at all.*
But feelings, she was learning, didn't care about rights.
Finally—after what felt like an eternity but was probably only ten minutes—the crowd dispersed. The girls thanked him profusely, took their photos and autographs, and returned to their tables (though Nana could see them still glancing over, still whispering, still looking at him with those adoring eyes).
Rafayel returned to his seat and immediately looked at Nana.
Really looked at her.
And his expression fell.
"Nana?" he said softly. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Nana said automatically, forcing a smile. "That was... that was nice. Your fans really love you."
"Nana—"
"It must be amazing," she continued, her voice bright and false. "Being that famous. Having people recognize you everywhere. Getting that kind of attention."
"Nana, look at me."
She did, reluctantly, and whatever Rafayel saw in her eyes made him flinch.
"You're not fine," he said quietly.
"I am," Nana insisted. "Really. It's just—I didn't realize you were that famous. I mean, I knew you were successful, but I didn't think about what that meant. About people recognizing you. About—" She stopped, hating how her voice wavered slightly.
"About other women wanting my attention?" Rafayel finished gently.
Nana looked down at her hot chocolate. "It's stupid. We're not—we're not dating. You can take pictures with whoever you want. I have no right to feel—" She stopped again, not wanting to admit what she was feeling.
"Jealous?" Rafayel supplied.
Nana's face burned. "I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to." Rafayel reached across the table, catching her hand. "Nana, look at me. Please."
She did, and his expression was so soft, so understanding, so apologetic that it made her chest ache even more.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I should have expected that might happen. Should have warned you. Should have—"
"It's not your fault," Nana interrupted. "They're your fans. You were being nice. You didn't do anything wrong."
"Maybe not," Rafayel agreed. "But I still hurt you. I can see it. And I'm sorry."
"You didn't—" Nana started, but stopped. Because he had hurt her. Not intentionally, but the ache was real nonetheless. "I don't like feeling like this," she admitted quietly. "Feeling like I'm competing for your attention. Feeling like I'm just another person in a crowd of people who want a piece of you."
"You're not," Rafayel said immediately, his grip on her hand tightening. "Nana, you're not just another person. You're—" He paused, struggling with how much to say. "You're the person. The only person who matters."
"Rafayel—"
"I mean it," he insisted. "Those girls? They see the artist. The paintings. The public persona. They don't know me. Not really. But you?" His thumb brushed over her knuckles. "You know me. The dramatic disaster who can't row a boat. Who fakes his own death for attention. Who gets hospitalized over a twisted ankle and milks it for all it's worth. You know the real me, and you—" His voice softened. "And you keep showing up anyway."
"Of course I do," Nana said. "Because I like the real you. The disaster and the drama and everything."
"And I like you," Rafayel said. "Not as a fan. Not as someone who wants something from me. Just... you. Nana. The Hunter who can't swim but plays in the ocean anyway. Who feeds me fruit when I'm being dramatic. Who keeps promises even when she doesn't have to."
They sat there for a moment, hands linked across the table, surrounded by the romantic atmosphere of the cafe and the weight of words that were dancing around something neither quite wanted to name yet.
"For what it's worth," Rafayel added quietly, "I've never brought anyone here before. To a place like this. Never wanted to."
"Why now?" Nana asked.
*Because you're the only one I've ever wanted to court properly*, Rafayel thought. *Because in three hundred years, no one else has ever mattered. Because you're my soulmate and I've been waiting for you across lifetimes.*
"Because with you," he said aloud, "it doesn't feel like performing. It just feels like... being. Like I can be myself and that's enough."
Nana's eyes were suspiciously bright. "That's the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me."
"Is it working?" Rafayel asked, a ghost of his usual playfulness returning. "Am I successfully making you forget that I just got ambushed by fangirls on our not-date?"
"Maybe," Nana admitted. "A little bit."
"Only a little bit?"
"Okay, more than a little bit." She squeezed his hand. "But Rafayel? Next time someone asks for a picture, could you maybe... I don't know. Mention that you're on a date? Or busy? Or—"
"You want me to tell people I'm with you," Rafayel said, and he sounded delighted.
"I—that's not—I didn't mean—"
"You want to be claimed," Rafayel continued, his grin growing. "You want me to publicly acknowledge that you're mine and I'm yours."
"I did not say that!"
"You absolutely did. You just used different words."
"Rafayel—"
"Don't worry," he said, pulling her hand up and kissing her knuckles lightly—a gesture that made her brain short-circuit momentarily. "Next time, I'll make sure everyone knows I'm here with the most beautiful, brave, incredible woman in the world, and she's completely off-limits to everyone except me."
"That's—you can't just—" Nana spluttered, her face burning.
"Watch me," Rafayel said cheerfully.
They bickered for the rest of the meal, but the tension had eased. The ache in Nana's chest had transformed into something warmer, softer. The jealousy was still there—she suspected it always would be, when it came to him—but it was manageable now. Understandable.
Because he'd chosen to be here with her. Had brought her flowers. Had held her hand and told her she mattered. Had kissed her knuckles like she was something precious.
*He chose me*, she thought, watching him laugh at something she'd said. *Out of all those people, all those fans, all those women who would probably love to be sitting here—*
*He chose me.*
And that made all the difference.
Rafayel walked her home after the meal, the flowers she'd been given earlier cradled carefully in her arms. The sun was setting—of course it was, because sunset was their time—painting everything in shades of amber and gold.
"Thank you," Nana said as they walked. "For today. For the flowers. For being understanding about the whole... jealousy thing."
"Thank you for being jealous," Rafayel said.
"That's a weird thing to thank someone for."
"Is it?" He smiled at her. "I kind of liked knowing you didn't want to share me. That you wanted me to be yours."
"I never said—"
"Your face said it," Rafayel interrupted. "Very clearly. It was adorable."
"I wasn't adorable. I was being possessive and weird."
"Adorably possessive and weird," Rafayel corrected. "Besides, if it makes you feel better, I'm also possessive about you."
"You are?"
"Very," Rafayel confirmed. "If some guy tried to flirt with you, I'd probably do something dramatic and embarrassing to make sure he knew you were taken."
"We're not dating," Nana pointed out, but her heart was racing.
"Aren't we?" Rafayel asked softly.
They stopped walking, standing in the middle of the sidewalk as people flowed around them. The question hung between them, heavy and important.
"I don't know," Nana admitted. "What are we doing, Rafayel?"
"I think," Rafayel said carefully, "we're falling in love. Or maybe already there and just not admitting it yet."
Nana's breath caught. "That's—"
"Too soon?" Rafayel guessed. "Too fast? Too honest?"
"All of those," Nana said. "And also... maybe exactly right."
Rafayel's smile was brilliant. Relieved. Happy in a way that made him look younger, lighter.
"So," he said, "would you like to go on another not-date next week? Or maybe—" He paused, gathering courage. "Maybe an actual date this time? No more pretending it's platonic?"
"An actual date," Nana repeated.
"If you want," Rafayel added quickly. "No pressure. We can keep doing the not-date thing if you're more comfortable—"
"Yes," Nana interrupted.
"Yes?"
"Yes, I want to go on an actual date with you next week." She smiled up at him, feeling brave and terrified and excited all at once. "And maybe stop pretending we're just friends when we're obviously not."
"Obviously not," Rafayel agreed, and then he was pulling her into a hug right there on the sidewalk, the flowers crushed slightly between them, and Nana decided she didn't care who saw or what anyone thought.
She wrapped her free arm around him and held on tight, breathing in his ocean-salt scent, feeling his heartbeat against her chest.
This is real, she thought. This is happening.
We're doing this.And I'm not scared anymore.
Not with him.Never with him.
They pulled apart eventually, both smiling like idiots, and continued walking hand-in-hand toward her apartment.
And if Rafayel's heart was singing with joy and relief and three hundred years of waiting finally, finally paying off—
Well, Nana didn't need to know that.
Not yet.
For now, this was enough.
More than enough.
Everything.
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🐚🐚🐚
To be continued __