Assorted Imagines

Nothing Could Make a Day Like This Better...

You have been staying with the DuCeaupont family in France for months now as a live-in nanny. They were a very large and rich family near Paris-- you took care of the little kids while the parents and their eldest son, Raphael, worked during the day. You had grown to be part of the family, and you and Raphael, who was a couple of years older than you, had grown to be good friends. One rainy day in December, Raphael had learned that the big promotion he had been planning on getting at his internship had been given to someone else, which greatly altered his career path. You had been folding laundry when he had stormed in, quickly, quietly, and angrily filled you in on what had happened, then disappeared up to his room. You were busy with the kids for the next hour or so. 

"We'll be back late tonight, I think," Madame DuCeaupont said, taking baby Michel from my arms as she left. She, Monsieur DuCeaupont and the three kids were going to Madame's mother's house for the evening and would probably stay the night there if the rain continued. 

"Alright," I said, hugging the other two kids goodbye. 

"And um... Raphael is not coming, if you didn't notice. If you could just..." she said, distress leaking into her voice. 

"I will," I said, understanding. She was worried... Raphael was usually unstoppable. He was always joking, always grinning, always working hard to make a life for himself. It took a hard blow to bring him down. She was asking me to make sure he would be alright. 

They left, jogging to the car in the downpour and I turned to face the large, almost empty house. It was almost dark outside-- a greyish-blue twilight was coming down as the sun set and the sky continued to be clogged with clouds. I climbed the stairs to Raphael's room on the top floor. He had gone to university in Nantes, France, but when he graduated and got a job opportunity in Paris, had moved back in with his family until he earned enough with the new job to get his own apartment. He was wildly independent, always trying to pay his parents back for the rent and food, despite it being very normal for teenagers to stay with their parents until they have a steady job in France. I admired him for it... in fact, I was quite enamoured with Raphael. I loved him in a way I couldn't label. I confided in him like a best friend, I laughed with him like a brother, but he also gave me butterflies daily with his little flirts and jokes. It didn't help that he was the most charming man in France; he could flash his bright white smile and the world would fall at his feet. He had glinting, mischievous brown eyes, and wavy brown hair that fell in his eyes when he laughed. I had grown so attached to him that any time he left for the weekend I would miss him dearly. He said he missed me when he left, too. 

I knocked quietly on the door. 

"Raphael...?" 

I didn't hear anything, not even a rustle.  

"Raphael, are you in there?" I asked, leaning closer to the door. I couldn't hear a thing. I turned the knob quietly, and pushed the door in a bit, thinking maybe he had fallen asleep. His room was empty, though. His briefcase had been thrown on his bed.

I closed the door and made my way back down the stairwell. 

"Rapahel?" I called. "Raphael, I need to make us some dinner, I'm starving. What do you want?" I shouted throughout the house. Food usually lured him out no matter where he was. 

Silence. 

Time to bring out the big guns. 

"We could always order from Luciano's, if you want..." I offered, dangling his favorite Italian restaurant in his face. Still no reply. 

I began to be concerned as I went through the living room, into the kitchen, searching for him. Then, finally, the soft glow of a white button-down shirt caught my eye through the window of the back door. I went to it and saw Raphael sitting on the step of the back porch in the rain, still in his work clothes, his head in his hands.