Work Text:
Simon pads carefully into Raphael’s office clutching the box reverently at his chest. He opens his lips just as the clan leader raises his eyes from his papers.
“No.”
“But…”
“I told you, I don’t sing. Ask Stan or Lily. I’m sure they’ll be happy to participate.”
Never one to give up easily, Simon bounds forward and crawls onto the couch that faces Raphael’s desk. He balances the box on top of his crossed legs and rolls his eyes.
“They won’t play with me anymore. Something about me being a professional singer and never giving them a chance to win.” Simon rejoices in the tiny quirk of Raphael’s lips. “Is that a vampire thing, being so competitive?”
A paper is flipped over and the older vampire leans back with a roll of his eyes. “We fight for our lives on a regular basis. Yes, it is a vampire thing.”
“Huh, I never thought of it that way.” He pauses. Some papers crinkle. “What if I’m not competitive, though? I mean, I never have been. Live and let live. That’s what I say. Actually, I rarely say that, but I think it occasionally. Like now.”
Raphael lifts his head from his paperwork with a look of complete exasperation and taps his pen against the wood. Simon is used to this look. It happens to a lot of people when he’s talking in their general direction.
“Is there a point to this conversation, fledgling? I have work to do.”
Simon, encouraged by the engagement and brief, like half a second long, eye contact, climbs up onto his knees and puts the board game aside with renewed enthusiasm.
“I want to have a karaoke night.” The pen stills. Simon talks. “It’ll be easy! We can do it in that big room we use for clan meetings. I have all the speakers and microphones we’d need. There’d be tons of songs to choose from so even the old vamps, like you, can find something they like.”
Raphael narrows his eyes, head cocked. Simon chuckles the threat away. Maybe the Death Stare™ would have worked a few months ago. Since then, he’s decided that Raphael is more of a fluffy and yet somewhat grumpy kitten than a 28 Day’s Later sort of killer. In fact, he may have somehow, and definitely not intentionally at all, developed a massive crush on said kitten. So, Simon’s been testing the limits to his patience, little teases here and there, and all that’s ever happened is him being banished from the office.
Consequently, he came back the next night to ask if vampires ever used spray tan and Raphael did nothing to stop him.
Spoiler alert-they do.
“Mature…is what I meant to say.” Because this stare-off has to end sometime and Simon has things to do. “Anyway, they’ll be a prize for the best performance to appeal to our competitive nature.”
Raphael scoffs and pretends to read a document containing way too many roman numerals.
“How would this be any different than playing your game? You have the best singing voice in this hotel. You’ll just win, again.”
Simon’s mouth drops because that sounds suspiciously like an actual compliment minus the usual snark. A handsome, kind, funny guy like Raphael actually liking something about Simon? Cue his heart’s uncontrollable swooning. The silence apparently concerns Raphael, who raises his eyes just in time to get in another hearty roll.
“Close your mouth, idiota. I’m capable of giving a compliment when it’s deserved.”
He strives to find a normal-person response and hiccups instead.
“Right, um, note taken and compliment accepted!” His voice raises in pitch and echoes along the walls in the most awkward way possible. Raphael smiles, which makes it sort of worth it. “Anyway, karaoke is the complete opposite of the game. It’s not about talent, it’s about having fun. A performance doesn’t have to be on key or hit any high notes. It just has to be entertaining to the crowd.”
Raphael gives his best ‘do what you want Simon, if it gets you out of my office’ sigh.
“As long as you clean up after yourself and have the room meeting-ready by nightfall, you can have your ridiculous karaoke.”
“Yes!” Simon lifts his arms in a happy dance that nearly face-plants him into the glass coffee table in an effort to get to the edge of Raphael’s desk. The clan leader just raises his eyebrows in question. “So, you’ll come, right?”
Simon waits, his breath would have been baited if it existed. Raphael moves a pinky, a good sign in Simon’s opinion, and sits back in his chair.
“I should be finished with everything by sunrise. I suppose I could stop by for a drink.”
Again, swoon. Simon grins foolishly and collects the game from the sofa, casting eager glances back to ensure no takebacks.
“Awesome! I mean, you won’t regret it, I swear.”
He stumbles to his feet and circles back towards the door, already calculating where he will mount the TV and attach all of his speaker wires. He’s almost escaped when Raphael’s voice stops him one last time.
“Simon?” He turns, eyebrows raised. “Don’t be disappointed if no one else is interested. Vampires aren’t exactly a fun-loving crowd.”
Simon, all of his confidence surging to his shoulder blades, returns the gentle smile.
“Yea, until I got here. You know I bring the party, Raph.”
He rolls his own eyes, because obviously and nearly drowns in Raphael’s actual laugh before he prances out the door.
He has so much to do before the sun comes up and what does one wear to serenade a grumpy kitten anyway?
……..
As soon as Simon takes his leave, Raphael texts Lily and Stan.
Raphael:
Baby’s throwing a party. Tell anyone who comes that I’ll owe them a favor.
A weighted silence settles upon the office then and Raphael has time to regret his decision to support this…karaoke. He knows what will happen. Few of the vampires will show minus Lily and Stan, who have already been swayed by their leader to pacify the fledgling whenever possible.
Contrary to popular belief, Raphael isn’t a heartless bastard. He does actually want the fledgling to be happy at Dumort, mostly because he might otherwise leave and that thought unsettles his stomach in a strange and unpleasant way.
Now, karaoke of all things. The very thought makes the clan leader groan.
Raphael’s phone vibrates. He picks up the device and immediately rolls his eyes at the text message.
Magnus:
Shamus has graciously invited me to sing karaoke at your hotel. Is this a black tie occasion or will fuchsia suffice?
Raphael:
You’ll have to ask him. It’s not my party.
Magnus:
Oh, jellybean, no need to cry. I’m certain your invitation was just lost in the mail.
Raphael:
It’ll be a disaster. He’ll be glued to me for days if no one shows up.
Magnus:
Oh, is that why you approved it then? Congratulations! Sunshine is an adorable little macaroon. Even Alec thinks he compliments your aesthetic rather well.
Raphael:
Alec didn’t say that.
Magnus:
No, but he did just nod in agreement. Shall I send a video for proof?
Raphael:
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just can’t say no to him.
Magnus:
Oh, my son, that’s called love. It’s the most right thing we ever get to experience.
Raphael:
Well it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t see me that way.
Magnus:
Trust me, moonbeam, no boy spends this much time around another boy unless he’s pining. He planned this night for you. Now, the balls are in your court…so to speak.
The clan leader studies the spot on the sofa usually occupied by Simon. His heart aches for it to be filled, for the fledgling’s ramblings to break the quiet, for the light that can only be produced by his megawatt smile.
Maybe he could do something, give the boy some hint as to his affections.
Raphael:
Okay, what do I do?
Magnus:
...
……..
It’s around 3 am when Simon begins to wonder if any of this was a good idea.
He’s sitting in the far corner of the big room, a pile of tangled wires in his lap, and it occurs to him that there is no possible way that this night will go as he hopes.
What was he thinking? Raphael doesn’t like Simon, at least not in the way Simon likes Raphael. Even if he has the guts to come clean, Raphael will only reject him and probably call him an idiot or some other insult that he doesn’t recognize because it’s in Spanish.
“I’m such an idiota.” He mumbles to himself while finally freeing the red wire from its twisted prison. That just leaves about six more wires to thread apart. He glances around the room at the walls, now lined with black and white streamers, music notes cut from construction paper, and really any other decorations he could find in the hotel’s attic.
Apparently at one time vampires did actually enjoy having a good time. Simon pictures something along the lines of Weekend at Bernie’s except that everyone is drinking bloody marys and discussing the color black.
His pocket vibrates and he reaches through a layer of cord to rescue his phone from the depths of denim.
Clary:
I’m sorry Simon. I can’t make it tonight.
He frowns, but it’s not as if he expected any different. Shadowhunters rarely have time to smile much less sing.
Simon:
It’s okay. This was a dumb idea and I should just cancel, right? Circle yes please and put me out of my misery.
Clary:
I think it’s a great idea for you to tell Raphael how you feel! He’s going to love it.
Simon:
If he even shows up.
Clary:
Of course he’ll be there, Simon. He can’t say no to you.
Simon:
Stay tuned, we’ll find out tonight on the latest episode of Simon Makes an Ass Out of Himself in the Name of Unrequited Love…Again.
A set of stomping heals drags his eyes from the glowing screen. Lily stands as if she’s waiting for the camera to focus on her hot-girl smirk and Stan crouches down, staring at the hopeless rubber band ball in his lap with kind eyes.
“Need some help? I’m, like, a master untangler.”
Simon shrugs and hands one piece of frayed wire over. “Hey, first one to the center of the Tootsie Pop gets to force the other to sing any 80’s ballad.”
The guy actually laughs.
Simon swears that Raphael must pay these two to hang out with him. Then he outright grins at the thought of his crush actually giving a shit about him having friends and feeling welcome.
That overprotective bastard.
……..
The room is packed.
Raphael has to squeeze between Lindsay and Greg, who are scanning some little booklet and arguing over Journey songs, just to get through the doorway. Inside, the vampires are gathered in small groups, laughing, drinking, some even bouncing with excitement. Even Walter, the oldest member of the clan in human years, is sipping a blood cocktail and educating Stan on the anarchist undertones in Frank Sinatra’s ‘Fly Me to the Moon.’
On stage, Lily is giving her most convincing performance of Katy Perry’s ‘Firework’ and pretending to shoot explosives out of her chest. The groups nearest to the makeshift stage cheer, laugh, goad her on.
He wonders how many favors he will owe after this night.
The scene makes him freeze. When he and Magnus spoke, he’d assumed the audience would be minimal, fewer than at a standard clan meeting. He’s spoken in front of crowds that size, convinced himself he’d be fine to try this as well.
Magnus and his brilliant ideas.
Speak of the warlock, Raphael finds him across the room holding up a green martini and laughing at something Simon has said. Their eyes meet over dozens of faces and he shakes his head, nostrils flared. Magnus clearly excuses himself from Simon, who eagerly goes back to entertaining Anastasia and her loyal posse of blonde and spray tanned.
That stirs another emotion in Raphael’s gut, but he ignores it for now.
Magnus parts the crowd with his mere presence, that fuchsia suit more blinding than the sun itself, and then smiles reassuringly at Raphael like a father when his son falls off his bike for the tenth time.
“So, buttercup, are you ready for your grand romantic gesture?”
Raphael sighs, looks away from Simon and his fangirls, and then glances at the exit.
“Forget it. This is too much and clearly he’s not interested anyway.”
“Oh, son. I just gave the very same pep talk to Steven and I could save precious drinking time if you two would just agree to be in the same room with your feelings for once.” He stands beside Raphael and cuffs his upper arm soothingly. “Now, you are and it’s time to face the music…so to speak.”
Another glance in Simon’s direction shows the boy nervously rubbing at the back of his neck and staring at him with eyes that look almost fearful. He holds the gaze for moment, even tilts his lips up just enough, until the fledgling eases into an exhale.
Simon is nervous. He can’t leave if Simon is anything but okay. It’s a problem he’s had since the beginning.
“He doesn’t know everything about me, Magnus. Once he does, he’ll cut and run.”
Magnus speaks in a low and calming tone, forcing a newly conjured finger of scotch into his open palm.
“Trust me, Raphael.” The song ends. Vampires applaud and cheer. The microphone screeches. “This one is different than the others. He gets it, gets you. Give him a chance to prove himself.”
The clearing of a throat draws their attention to the stage, where the subject of their conversation stands awkwardly in front of the microphone stand. He rubs a hand through his hair and his eyes drift around the suddenly quiet room.
“Let’s hear it for Lily, putting Katy’s fireworks to shame.” The crowd groans. Simon chuckles, his awkward smiling lighting up the room. “Yea, Yea, I know. Shut up Simon. Anyway, let’s see who’s up next, shall we?”
He scrolls down his list and stops, his mouth hanging open. Then he directs one murderous glare at the smirking vampire in the tight black t-shirt and skinny jeans.
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes.” Stan grins, his arms cross in a silent dare as he lounges dramatically in a lone folding chair. “You said, and I quote, any 80’s ballad.”
Anastasia’s clique giggles flirtatiously, as all the girls, and certain guys, usually do around Stan. Raphael begins to wonder if he should have assigned literally anyone else to Simon detail. If, maybe, he’s too late.
Lily settles against the adjoining wall, her eyes shining. “Nobody puts Baby in a corner.”
The crowd claps, cheers on the boy with the microphone, their friend. Simon exudes humility. It’s so adorable on him that Raphael winces from the longing it brings. Magnus chuckles, shakes his head, because, clearly, Raphael’s long past the point of controlling his facial expressions.
“Please, baby!” “Sing for us.” “You can do it!” “We love it when you sing.”
It’s then Raphael realizes that no one has shown up for his favors. They came for his baby. He exchanges a defeated smile with Magnus, understanding reached. Simon studies the paper, his face relaxing into a softness so beautiful that it would take Raphael’s breath away. Then he laughs heartily, resigned.
“Okay Stanley, but it’s a duet. Are you volunteering to be my Swayze?”
Stan scoffs, pushes himself out of the chair. “Well, I do look good in a leather jacket.”
Raphael feels Magnus’ hand on his back, gently nudging. He doesn’t need it. There is no way he’s going to allow Stan to claim his boy. Stepping forward, he hands Magnus his empty glass and raises his voice above the rest.
“Sit down, Stan. We all know who wears the leather jackets around here.” Simon perks, lips stretching into a smile brighter than the sun. Lily steps up, taking said jacket from Raphael’s shoulders as he moves through the crowd at a comfortable pace. He stops at the edge of the stage, taking in the beautiful, trembling boy. “May I have this song, Baby?”
Simon glances at his shoes, his eyes gleaming, and comes back with a casual shrug. “Only if you promise not to drop me.”
He takes Simon’s hand, follows him up onto the platform. They wait in the wings while Elliott sets up the music. They’re so close, the energy between them igniting Raphael’s every living nerve ending. Looking into those nervous, hopeful brown eyes, he remembers. He’d move mountains, fight wars, overthrow homicidal dictators all for this boy.
This is romantic attraction, something he hasn’t felt since in decades.
Simon silences his musings with a whispered confession.
“I didn’t plan this, I swear. I had a much worse idea. I’m talking Backstreet Boys bad.”
Raphael chuckles, brushes Simon’s vibrating fingers to calm. “Try Ritchie Valens.”
“Donna?” Simon smiles with his whole body, leans closer to share those butterflies. “I love that song.”
“Of course you do.” Raphael catches the fledgling’s happiness, lets it flow through his veins, and straightens Simon’s lopsided tie with his best impression of confidence. “You get me.”
“Magnus?” Simon provides. Raphael rolls his eyes in response, his touch lingering at Simon’s carotid. “He should start a matchmaking service. Have one of those ads on late-night TV with the cheesy acting and the jingles that haunt your dreams.”
Raphael snorts, drags his fingers up to cup the back of Simon’s neck. “With that suit, who needs a jingle?”
Simon smiles, leans into the touch. “I suggested it. I figured it would make you laugh. I, uh, I like your laugh. A lot. Other things too.”
The slow strum of the piano starts the song. Simon’s eyes widen. Raphael leans in, whispers only for him.
“Don’t worry, Baby, I’ll never drop you.”
He doesn’t.
Their performance puts Swayze and Grey to shame.
They win, because even vampires enjoy a good romance now and again, and Raphael has to admit that Simon looks stunning in that crown.
…….
Raphael likes Simon.
No, Raphael loves Simon.
Simon can’t even believe it somedays. That in the last nine months he’s died, been reborn as a vampire, taken up residence at the Hotel California (okay Dumort, but basically), and fallen in love with Raphael Santiago.
That on their three-month anniversary he’s perched on Raphael’s lap, the clan leader’s arms secure around his waist like a safety belt, as they watch Stan perform “Do You Love Me” from their designated throne. The douchey sunglasses and fedora really complete the drunken performance, honestly. Simon swings his legs in rhythm while the rest of the clan twirls each other around in a spastic interpretation of dance. Even Walter joins in with his cute little old guy jig.
It turns out vampires are not the most graceful when it comes to choreography. Go figure.
Raphael’s body vibrates with quiet laughter, his eyes buried in Simon’s shoulder, as Stan makes an obscene face into the microphone, practically making out with the thing. Simon jots a mental note to bath his equipment in hand sanitizer later.
Then he leans down and nuzzles Raphael’s ear, teases with words.
“Oof, Stan just did the splits. That’s gotta hurt, even for a vampire. Hey, do those grow back or…”
Raphael raises wide eyes to meet Simon’s jesting smile. Then he smirks in that super cute way that makes him look his mundane age and reaches searching fingers beneath Simon’s untucked dress shirt until the fledgling is giggling and writhing.
The song ends with Stan a panting, sweaty mess on the floor and the collective cheers choosing the newest champion.
Simon climbs down off his boyfriend long enough for Raphael to place the crown upon Stan’s drunken head with an exhausted sigh and a weak wave of his hand.
“Our new karaoke champion.”
Simon stands beside his fellow king, shoulders back, and puts on his emcee hat.
“Get your performances together because we meet again in three months and do not, I repeat, do not let Stan win again.”
“Hey!” Says Stan, still from the floor.
The clan is already plotting, scheming with each other, when Raphael takes Simon’s hand and leads him out of the conference room and straight to their suite. Jackets are tossed over chairs and then they’re curled up in bed, Simon’s head upon Raphael’s chest.
“Hey Rapha…”
Expanding lips displace the hair on his forehead in the shape of a smile.
“No.”
Simon grins at their usual game. “But I’m not tired…”
There comes a sigh and then a thumb tickles the fringe on his nape.
“Dios Baby, close your eyes.”
Simon does and then Raphael’s velvet voice flows with the lyrics of ‘Donna,’ replacing the appropriate words to fit his eternally 18-year-old vampire boy.
Simon drifts off to sleep amidst Raphael’s soothing serenade.