Chapter Text
A mess of purple hair flashes across the stage in a local Linkon City jazz club. The patrons filling the room waits with bated breath as the lights finally dim. Rafayel takes a seat atop a bar stool with an electric guitar casually slung by his side, a single spotlight illuminating his lean figure. He looks up to scan the audience, the piercing in his lip flashing in the light. Silver rings decorating his fingers gleam as he grabs the mic in front of him.
He glances to his bandmates, cueing them, and they dive into the first song of the show, each instrument layering and intertwining with each other. Rafayel’s clear voice projects throughout the room. His watercolor eyes search the faces of each individual, their faces like pale masks reflecting the glow of the stage. As if by a spell, the emotions in his voice capture the audience in a trance, compelling them to sing along with him. Rafayel's ears prick attentively in search of the soul’s timbre, a single soul he has been searching for since he came to Linkon City.
After a long moment, Rafayel, stops listening altogether, disappointed.
He finishes the show without skipping a note. Tonight’s show is just another gig in his band’s busy schedule.
Rafayel’s band, Twin Flames, is a rising star in the world of music. They could even sell out concert stadiums if Rafayel chose to. But they’ve always played small venues, leaving his manager Thomas perpetually baffled.
“I really should ask, why don’t you sell one big venue instead of working us like slaves to do ten small shows every week? You’re killing me-and everyone else,” Thomas nags Rafayel all the way back to his dressing room backstage.
Looking as if a hurricane blew through the room, Rafayel’s dressing room is littered with clothes, snack wrappers, and other belongings. Thomas brushes off a few candy wrappers off the seat of the chair next to Rafayel and slumps into it with a deep sigh. Rafayel doesn’t look at him or answer his question. Instead he asks, “Thomas, if you knew who your soulmate was–asking for a friend, of course–would you seek them out or let fate lead them to you?”
Rafayel’s question seems to pacify Thomas’ inquiries, if only from shock. “Well, karma’s a bitch, so I guess I’d try to make the first move. Are you planning something?”
Rafayel’s enigmatic expression is indecipherable. With a worried sigh, Thomas leans over and pats him on the shoulder. “You know, I’m here for you if you need anything, Raf.”
…
You're sitting at your desk finishing up some investigation reports in the late afternoon when you hear Tara’s familiar footsteps approaching. You look up from your monitor to greet her, and she flashes you an eager smile.
Tara pushes her phone across the table to you, pleading, “Babes, remember that band I told you about last week? Turns out they’re playing a show tonight… and guess who got us tickets!”
There’s a poster promoting Linkon City’s hottest new alt-indie band, Twin Flames, displayed on her phone screen. Their show starts in just a few hours, and the venue is literally down the street. Tara has always liked sharing new music she’s been listening to with you, and this band has certainly been no exception. The Twin Flames have been her fixation for weeks, and you’ve been trying to learn the lyrics to sing along with her.
So of course, you say yes to your bestie.
Tara squeals gleefully. “When you’re done with your paperwork, come with me to the bathroom, I’ll help you do your makeup…”
…
The sun slinking towards the horizon paints the sky beautiful hues of pink and purple. You pull your thin jacket over your shoulders as Tara chatters excitedly about tonight’s show. “I heard the lead singer is super mysterious. No one knows where he’s from, but he has the most beautiful voice you’ve ever heard, and he's outrageously good-looking. Sounds like he could be an angel from heaven!”
You give an amused laugh. “Heaven? He’s probably just some regular guy, you silly!” You stick your tongue out at Tara teasingly and hook arms with her as you enter the dimly lit venue. It’s a small concert hall. Giving it a quick scan, it probably has a maximum capacity of only a hundred people.
You and Tara are late after she took too long doing your makeup–“Shut up, you can’t rush a masterpiece”–so most of the patrons are already seated. Hustling in, you realize the only space remaining is standing room only, at the furthest, darkest corner. You shuffle into place next to Tara and breathe a small sigh of relief just as the lights dim.
The drummer, bassist, and keyboardist drift out on stage to the excitement of the audience. The only spot left empty is for the lead singer. You exchange glances with Tara, who looks like she’s about to burst from excitement. You squeeze her hand, giving her a wide smile.
Finally he emerges, charisma emanating from his relaxed demeanor, like the sun slowly emerging from behind rain clouds. Wearing a crisp white button-up with the top few buttons undone and the sleeves casually rolled up to the elbow, he casually picks up the electric guitar waiting for him by the mic. His purple hair falls messily across his brow as he speaks into the mic, “Good evening, my fishies. Let’s have a good time tonight.”
The strum of the bass blends beautifully with Rafayel's voice as the Twin Flames opens the night with a dreamy melody, its placid tone reminiscent of calm waters.
Jellyfish happy swimming
Come, swim over my heart
Lingering deep down the sea
Please, don’t pull me up
Jellyfish happy dreaming
Even the water is hot
Lingering, it's so carefree
Please, don’t wake me up
Answer me
Show me the way
Tell me where I can find you
On the moon?
Deep under the sea?
Is true love meant to be found?
You start swaying in time to the music, your emotions caught adrift by the emotions clearly audible in his voice. One by one, everyone around you begins singing along in chorus, and soon Tara chimes in herself. She bumps your shoulder encouragingly, and you wrack your brain trying to remember the lyrics.
You join in quietly at first, mumbling the lyrics you only barely know, but a swell in the music helps you relinquish your uncertainty. Your voice mingles and disappears into the audience’s combined voice echoing the lyrics back to the figures on stage.
A single voice among all the others reaches Rafayel's ears from on stage. He swivels his head around in immediate enrapture, attuning himself to the incoming soundwaves. Like flowing threads in the air, he sees every voice singing to him now. Could it possibly-? Rafayel concentrates on the one thread, the one voice, all others falling away until his focuses on one point, on a single thread connecting him to one person. She's standing at the back of the room. Her face is partly hidden in shadow, but Rafayel has never been more certain of anything else.
The curve of her nose, the flutter of her eyelashes, the flash of her eyes… They’re all still the same as when he met you that fateful night so long ago. His chest swells in exuberance, emotions threatening to bubble over. She finally found me.
…
Afterwards, you walk Tara to her bus station. She chatters about the show the whole way. As you arrive at the station, she turns to you. “Anyways, wasn’t it weird how the lead singer was basically looking in our direction the whole show?” She puts a finger to her chin as if in deep thought. “Come to think of it, it looked like he was really looking only at you. Are you sure you haven’t met him before?”
You scratch your head, perplexed. “No, I really have no idea. I think I’d remember if I met someone with purple hair.”
You wave Tara goodbye as she boards the bus. “Text me when you're home safe!” She throws you a finger heart before waving back through the window.
Unwilling to go home just yet, you head towards the pier for a late-night walk. Waves lap against the legs of the pier, the wood creaking softly. Its meditative rhythm is interrupted when you hear footsteps approaching you from behind. You turn around as the footsteps stop short just a few meters away.
A familiar purple-haired figure stands under a nearby streetlamp. This close, he really is as handsome as Tara said he'd be. His long eyelashes brush the tops of his flushed cheeks. Sweat glistens on his exposed chest, his white shirt clinging to his lean but muscular frame.
You swallow thickly. He seems out of breath, so you speak first, “Umm, can I help you…?”
With a start, Rafayel blushes even deeper after hearing your voice, blood rushing to his face and ears. He's sure of it, more so now than before. You’re finally standing in front of him again, with the sea as his witness. He quickly grasps for something to say, and he notices your Hunter's badge.
“Hey, you're a hunter, right? I'm uh– I'm looking for a bodyguard. Famous singers need protection, of course. You look like you’re good at fighting, so you'd be perfect for the job. The paycheck will be generous,” he adds after seeing your expression flash with uncertainty.
You shift uncomfortably, not used to being put on the spot. But the promise of a little extra cash is undeniably tempting. Some time away from work on a girls' trip with Tara would be nice. The allure of extra cash, and your curiosity, overrides your caution.
Rafayel clears his throat and offers, “You don't need to decide right now. How about I get you a backstage pass for tomorrow night's show and you can decide afterwards?”
You give in with a small smile. Besides, you can take care of yourself.
Rafayel can’t hide his delight at your assent. “I'd better give you my number so I can send you the ticket. Is that okay?”
You nod and exchange phones with him, adding your number in his contacts. When he hands your phone back, you peer at the contact he created for himself. There's a fish emoji next to his name. Rafayel🐡
“Alright, Rafayel, I guess I'll be seeing you tomorrow night.”
…
The night’s incidents seem to bleed into your dreaming consciousness. As soon as your eyes flutter shut, you find yourself sitting on a beach watching the sun sink below the horizon, and you can hear–just barely–the sound of someone singing. You can’t quite make out the lyrics, but the melody is pleasant, like the end credits of an old movie. In the dream you begin searching for the source of music, first walking, then running after it, a fool’s errand forever just outside of your reach.