Anthony had not meant to ignore Gabriel’s missive, at least not at first.
Many people have rightfully called Anthony Blunt cold, or distant, or unfriendly, but rarely impolite. He is a follower of social niceties, and though technology may have changed, social niceties dictate that one should reply to messages. Social niceties dictate that one should should not ignore one’s appointments. But in these last few weeks, Anthony had done just that.
Guy’s discovery about the future, and his subsequent breakdown, had occupied Anthony’s every waking thought for over a week. Even when Guy had returned from his bender, Anthony had been busy keeping an eye on him. He had seen Gabriel’s messages, yes, but they had fled his mind the moment he read them; he found himself unable to fix on the thought of the lovely, distracting Irish boy when swept up in this realization that his life’s work had been a failure, and his fear that his best friend would put himself in some terrible danger.
But even after the immediate dreadfulness had passed, Anthony had not reached out. Perhaps he did not need to, he told himself. Perhaps it was time to let this silly affair burn out. Perhaps he had not actually committed a faux pas, but had merely done the rational thing. Perhaps it was just as well.
Anthony had nearly convinced himself of that when he sees the text. His heart tightens—stupidly—with guilt, and with the realization that he does want to see Gabriel again. And so he goes, telling himself that the least he can do is wish the boy a sincere congratulations.
Gabriel is transformed as Mercutio, the measured young man gone and replaced with the wild sidekick of Shakespeare’s play. Anthony finds himself surprisingly drawn in, and his applause at the end is more than perfunctory. Afterwards, sipping a drink in the atrium and wondering if he should just slip out again, he sees Gabriel across the room. With a small, polite smile, he raises his hand in greeting.
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Many people have rightfully called Anthony Blunt cold, or distant, or unfriendly, but rarely impolite. He is a follower of social niceties, and though technology may have changed, social niceties dictate that one should reply to messages. Social niceties dictate that one should should not ignore one’s appointments. But in these last few weeks, Anthony had done just that.
Guy’s discovery about the future, and his subsequent breakdown, had occupied Anthony’s every waking thought for over a week. Even when Guy had returned from his bender, Anthony had been busy keeping an eye on him. He had seen Gabriel’s messages, yes, but they had fled his mind the moment he read them; he found himself unable to fix on the thought of the lovely, distracting Irish boy when swept up in this realization that his life’s work had been a failure, and his fear that his best friend would put himself in some terrible danger.
But even after the immediate dreadfulness had passed, Anthony had not reached out. Perhaps he did not need to, he told himself. Perhaps it was time to let this silly affair burn out. Perhaps he had not actually committed a faux pas, but had merely done the rational thing. Perhaps it was just as well.
Anthony had nearly convinced himself of that when he sees the text. His heart tightens—stupidly—with guilt, and with the realization that he does want to see Gabriel again. And so he goes, telling himself that the least he can do is wish the boy a sincere congratulations.
Gabriel is transformed as Mercutio, the measured young man gone and replaced with the wild sidekick of Shakespeare’s play. Anthony finds himself surprisingly drawn in, and his applause at the end is more than perfunctory. Afterwards, sipping a drink in the atrium and wondering if he should just slip out again, he sees Gabriel across the room. With a small, polite smile, he raises his hand in greeting.