asoncalledgabriel | Love is heavy and light, bright and dark [Dec 8th]

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Love is heavy and light, bright and dark [Dec 8th]

It's been weeks. Gabriel gave up trying to even text Anthony about a week ago and instead threw himself into final rehearsals for Romeo and Juliet. He's tried not to complain to Neil too much about the sudden absence, mostly because he feels stupid for being so worked up about it in the first place. Especially when Neil mentions that Guy's been in a rough patch.

Of course, Anthony must have been trying to take care of his friend. But-- couldn't he stand to answer a text or a call?

He tries to put it out of his mind come opening night. A few hours before the curtain went up, he'd sent Anthony an offhand text.

R&J tonight, curtain up at 7pm.

After that, he leaves his phone on silent and in his bag as they go through final rehearsals and costume adjustments.

For the most part, characters like Mercutio stay in the same costume with minor changes through the show so the audience doesn't lost track of who is who. Gabriel makes his entrance looking like a fashionable young noble of the period, a little more undone than Romeo's other compatriots - a little more fast and loose, as the character is meant to be. He delivers the Queen Mab speech with a dreamer's mania, and his death is impassioned and hopeless all at once.

After his last scene on stage, Gabriel hangs out of sight in the wings, sneaking looks at the audience when he can. The theater is dark, he can't see very far into it, and he doesn't know why he's bothering to look, anyway. Neil told him he wouldn't be able to make opening night and that he plans to come tomorrow or during the closing weekend. He disappears into the dressing room to take off the stage make up caked on his face. He'll still have to go out bow for the curtain call, but he doesn't need contouring or darkened eyebrows for that.

Gabriel reappears for the curtain call and the full cast bow on stage, all bright smiles and exaggerated gestures. He can hear the announcement inviting the audience to mingle with cast members out in the atrium, where light refreshments are being served by one of the student groups.

All he wants to do is change out of his costume and disappear, but Romeo hooks him around the shoulders and hauls him out to the atrium to socialize.

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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.

When he catches sight of Anthony across the room, Gabriel feels half a dozen things at once and it takes him a moment to sort through them. He's angry, first, because he's always had a temper. Anthony is just standing there, smiling and polite as ever, as if his silence had not been cruel. There's also relief, because if Anthony's here it must mean that Guy is alright. And beneath it all is a flustered realization of how desperately he'd hoped that Anthony might actually show up. Whether he'd like to admit it or not, there's a small part of him that feels desperately foolish, like he's read more into their association than he should have. Maybe he is nothing but a distraction.

He takes a moment to let the anger settle. Gabriel picks up a cup of something and disappears into the crowd, trying not to be obvious in the way he makes his way across the room. Before too long, though, he appears next to Anthony, nearly shoulder to shoulder.

"How is Guy?" he asks, because for a moment it's easier to ask that. Because if he asks about Guy, he's less likely to say something that, perhaps, would sound irrational. Like where the fuck have you been or something more mild but more cutting: I didn't expect to see you.

Edited 2018-12-06 03:26 (UTC)

Gabriel is achingly beautiful. It’s a thought Anthony has every time he lays his eyes on the boy, and now it weakens his resolve not to linger.

Have you really become so susceptible to a pretty face, Anthony Blunt?

The question isn’t the greeting he expects, and he is caught off-guard for a moment. “Guy?”

With a little dread, Anthony wonders what Gabriel has heard, exactly.

Gabriel shakes his head. "I'm friends with Neil. He said Guy had learned something from home and was on a bender. I figured, after a while, that that's where you'd disappeared to."

He keeps his eyes ahead, looking at the crowd. He's afraid that if he looks at Anthony too long he'll crack, he'll lose whatever resolve he has to try to be aloof. He sips his drink and finally allows himself to look at Anthony.

Christ, he looks good.

"So, is he alright?"

“Ah, I see.” He knows that Gabriel and Neil Perry are friends, of course. But he had not realized that Guy had told Neil, a boy he did not know particularly well, what had happened. Anthony supposes that if the two had run into each other, something of the story might have come out. “Yes.” A pause. “More or less,” he amends, trying to be a little more honest about the trials of the last few weeks. Anthony has been caught up in his own sort of hell, overwhelmed with worry for Guy, and also keenly aware that the Guy’s miserable future, as depicted in Auden’s file and corroborated by Billy Russo, spells his own defeat as well. Even if he never had to flee England himself, he was not able to keep his friends safe. That reality has gnawed on him, a slow, private, excruciating sort of torture.

Anthony can’t tell Gabriel all of that. He doesn’t know how to be quite that honest.

“You were very good,” he says, taking half a step closer. But even close together, a gulf seems to remain between them.

"Thank you. It's rather nice to be mad for a little while and yell at idiot boys for falling in love or fighting over nothing."

He tries not to let Anthony's praise sink too deep. He wants to wrap up in those words, simple as they were, like a blanket. He's never had anyone praise his acting before coming to Darrow, and he's never wanted anyone's praise so much as he realizes he wants Anthony's. Gabriel tries not to let his breath catch when Anthony moves closer, trying to bridge the space between them.

Gabriel looks at him, allowing a little more concern to show through.

"And you? You're alright after... all that?"

He doesn't know the extent of it. Neil didn't give him details beyond Guy's having a rough time, but he knows how close Anthony is to his friend. If Guy was having a rough time, he had to imagine Anthony was as well. He looks alright, but Gabriel doesn't think that means much.

He wants to cling to his anger, but he can feel it slipping away the longer he lets himself look at Anthony.

As a rule, people don’t ask if Anthony is all right. As a rule, Anthony doesn’t want them to. He cultivates his air of cold detachment carefully, creating the facade of a man who is never anything but. But Gabriel’s question gets under his skin; it makes him question the effort he has put into creating his emotional armor. He almost answers, no. He nearly admits, barely. He considers what it would mean to say aloud, I failed those I love most, and I do not know what to do.

In the end he says none of these things, but he can feel his resolve to leave with little fuss weakening.

“I’m all right.” A beat. “Would you like me to buy you a drink somewhere? Or do you and your fellow thespians already have plans?”

Christ, he was doomed from the moment they spotted one another.

"Liar," he says, meeting Anthony's gaze steadily. But he doesn't press or say anything else. It isn't even that Anthony's facade is flawed, but that Gabriel knows better, or he thinks he does. He also knows that Anthony Blunt might never admit to going to pieces over anything, be it Guy's mental state or anything else.

The question catches him off guard, enough that it takes him a moment to really respond. He should tell Anthony off. He should tell him that he's, he has plans, and then point out the most attractive cast member in his line of sight.

Instead, God help him, he says, "No, I don't have plans. Let me get changed and I'll meet you back here."

Wherever they go, he can't leave here looking like a young, Renaissance noble of wealth and taste.

Only when Gabriel agrees does Anthony realize just how afraid he had been that the young man would say no. Goodness knows, he had every right to. And it might have been better if he had—for both of them.

But Gabriel says yes, and Anthony relaxes just slightly. “I’ll be outside,” he says when Gabriel tells him that he is going to go change. He steps out into the chilly night air to smoke a cigarette as he waits.

Anthony’s mind drifts to the morning months earlier, when Julian had haunted him all hours of the day and night. With Gabriel beside him, he had jolted awake into one of the nightmares that had become commonplace. And when he had dismissed Gabriel’s concerns, the boy had looked at him so gently and said, don’t do that. Somehow, the kind way he had called him a liar just now makes his heart clench in much the same way.

The entire time that he changes back into his street clothes, Gabriel thinks he's been foolish. Too quick to accept the invitation, too desperate to be close again that he'll tolerate being ghosted for weeks. He looks at himself in the mirror to make sure there aren't any lingering streaks of make up.

You're beautiful, a voice that sounds terribly like Anthony's whispers in his head. He shakes it off and pulls out his cigarettes as he heads out of the backstage area. He waves off a few people when he hears calls to join them at a bar. Not tonight.

It isn't hard to find Anthony outside; there are a handful of people smoking and almost none of them are standing together.

"I didn't think you'd come," he confesses when he's close enough. He saves himself from looking at Anthony's face by taking a moment to light his cigarette.

While Gabriel is lighting his cigarette, Anthony allows his gaze to linger on him. The young man is a little tousled after his performance, sweat from the stage lights still clinging to him, clothes slightly rumpled. A little makeup remains smudged awkwardly around one eye.

And yet, Anthony wonders if he couldn’t look at Gabriel forever, just like this.

But in a moment he is looking into the distance again. He smiles dryly. “You had told me so much about it. I thought I might as well see the end result."

"Is that it?" he challenges softly after breathing out a sigh of smoke.

He thinks of the night they spent together after the dinner he'd gotten dressed up for. He remembers watching in real time as Anthony tried to hide something real and passionate behind his regular cool and collected calm.

Gabriel looks down for a moment, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. Maybe he should be grateful for this, whatever it is.

"I'm glad you did," he says at last. There's something else sitting just on the tip of his tongue, but it feels like too much exposure to say it out loud. He'd missed Anthony.

“How could I resist when you so eloquently articulate the necessity of Mercurtio’s role in the plot?” Anthony shoots back without missing a beat, a curve of a smile on his lips. He is purposefully avoiding the point Gabriel is trying to make, but that is something Anthony excels at.

Gabriel’s next comment makes Anthony’s chest tight. He doesn’t trust himself to speak for a moment. Instead, he finishes his cigarette.

“How about that drink, then?"

Gabriel feels the flash of his temper again: the irrational urge t do something or say something sharp that might wipe that smile from Anthony's face. Instead, he takes a long drag and gives a faint nod of his head.

"Yeah," he says to the drink. He bloody well needs one at this rate. "Wherever you like."

If Anthony plans on buying, Gabriel can at least let him choose the bar.

Anthony has every intention of buying the drinks. He likes being the one who buys, likes taking Gabriel places the boy wouldn’t be able to afford on his own. He doesn’t like to admit as much—it sound so classist, so paternalistic—but it’s true, all the same.

He flicks away his cigarette and puts his hands in his pockets as he leads the way towards an elegant little bar not very far away from Barton’s campus.

Gabriel feels mildly under-dressed when they walk in, but he decides not to care. He isn't the only college student there, he can see that at least. He knows that he's stewing and he tries to clear it out of his head, knowing well it's not one of the finer points of his personality. It's the first time he's seen Anthony in weeks, and he doesn't want to spend the night ready to spout off.

He orders his drink and looks at Anthony like he's trying to read something.

Anthony can feel the tension rippling off Gabriel—and he can guess at its source—but he ignores it. He orders a drink and offers Gabriel a flickered of a smile.

“Do you feel satisfied with how things went tonight?” he asks. Anthony is really very good at ignoring tension when he sets his mind to it.

"Don't be an ass," he says quietly as he looks down at the bar. Anthony's acting like the tension isn't there, and Gabriel can't stand it. His mother did the same fucking thing, as if everything could be smoothed over if it was just buried deep enough.

When their drinks arrive, he looks up, meeting Anthony's gaze.

"You could've said something. I would've understood."

For all that he's frustrated, his voice comes out calm and even. He wonders if he sounds foolish, or childish. Either would be too much to bear, but if he remains silent he knows it will fester in him like so many other things. Better to have it out.

Anthony lifts a brow. He had seem Gabriel’s anger and frustration ripple beneath the surface before, and he has a sense of the emotion that the boy hides behind his easygoing nature. But still he lets so much wash over him without comment, and Anthony had let himself be convinced, despite the tension, that he would do the same for the last few weeks.

He does feel guilty about disappearing; that is, in large part, why he came tonight. But some part of him rebels against the idea that he owes this boy an explanation for his movements. Why? Because they have shared a bed half a dozen times?

“I should not have forgotten our appointment,” he says, because it is easier to apologize for failing to do something he had explicitly promised—that is only polite—than it is to acknowledge that Gabriel deserved some communication about what was happening, some tiny part of his life or his heart, after the time they had spent together.

Something washes over him then, and he can't put a name on what it is, but it feels like a sort of numbness all the way out to his fingertips. Gabriel nods a bit to acknowledge the-- he doesn't know. It isn't even an apology, not really.

Maybe he's being ridiculous. But he doesn't think he imagined the-- the what? The feeling between them. He can't have imagined what he saw and felt during their late-night conversations, when he'd seen Anthony more bare and vulnerable than ever. Don't do that, he'd said when Anthony tried to brush him off. Maybe this entire thing has been more one-sided than he thought, and he hates the creeping threat of humiliation.

He takes a fortifying drink from his glass.

"It's alright," he says, affecting his best impression Anthony's cool and distant tone. "Sorry to have made a thing of it."

Edited 2018-12-13 03:17 (UTC)

Anthony feels something in his chest twist. It shouldn’t bother him, the way Gabriel says it’s all right with an affectation of disinterest. But Anthony doesn’t like to see him hide his hurt, and hates to see him become something distant and detached, so different from the Gabriel he usually sees. Just sitting beside the boy makes him long for the unexpected ease of those late nights, where they lie in bed together, somehow more themselves than they ever are anywhere else.

God, how vey foolish he has let himself become.

His expression remains placid, but he shakes his head and waves away the apology. “No, you are quite right. I should have said something.” Anthony lets himself believe that he is still talking about their aborted plan to get drinks together, and not the way he had suddenly abandoned this something that had begun to grow between them.

"Stop," he breathes, and he hates that it sounds like a plea. "Christ, just stop. Should have - that's the barest attempt at a bloody apology I've heard."

Christ, as soon as it's out of his mouth he wants it back. He could just be agreeable. He could just say it's alright and try to make that true, couldn't he? He could sit here and drink and be pleasant and talk about the play as if he hadn't thought Anthony might have disappeared, or written him off.

"It's clear enough where I stand if I don't warrant a word from you in weeks, or a real apology when you do decide to resurface. And it's fine - I ought not have thought more."

A sort of icy anger slips down Anthony’s spine at Gabriel’s returning volley. He narrows his eyes slightly and sips his drink. Anthony Blunt does not like to be made to feel like he owes something to other people: certainly not time, or attention, or what one might call emotional availability. He will concede that he has been impolite, but that is not a reflection of what they think of one another, for goodness sake.

That anger, unfair as it may be, helps him keep his walls in place, as much as he longs for closeness. “And where is it that you think things stand?” he asks with the same unerring mildness.

He's stepped in it now. Gabriel takes a breath, and another, and he tries to hold onto-- something. Gabriel swears he can feel the chill rolling off Anthony. This isn't what he wants. He doesn't want to start a fight here - he wants to be somewhere quiet and alone, and far, far closer than they are right now. He wants his fingers curled around Anthony's tie and hear anything but that mild tone of voice.

His heart is pounding and he can't tell if it's fear or anxiety or something else now. It's been ages since he felt on the verge of an attack like this.

"Either I'm a distraction that you'd like to pick up and put down at will," he pauses and takes a drink because Christ, he needs something to get through this. "Or you think more of me than that and we're being miserable at each other in defense of our pride."

Gabriel is willing to admit that's what he's doing at least. It's taken him this long to realize that's where his bite is coming from. And if that isn't it for Anthony, if it's the former... He isn't sure what he'll do. But it will be humiliating to have been so wrong regardless.

If Gabriel had insisted that he feels something special between them, if he had lingered on his hurt, or accused Anthony of some slight, things might have gone very differently. Anthony would have built his walls higher, he would have offered a cool goodbye, and paid for their drinks, and left this silly dalliance behind. He would have washed his hands of the whole thing and compartmentalized off his disappointment, as he has done before.

But that isn’t what happens. As Gabriel answers, voice impressively steady. Anthony turns to stare at the wall behind the bar and sips his drink. Possibly one of the most maddening and beautiful things about Gabriel is his ability to spot artifice and his willingness to call it out. Anthony respects him for that, damn it, and that makes it significantly more difficult to hold onto his disdain.

The silence lingers so long that one might fairly assume that Anthony does not intend to say anything at all. Then, quietly, almost gently, he answers, “I do not wish to pick you up and put you down like a plaything.”

Do not. Anthony doesn’t want things to end between them; he does not want to speak of this in the past tense.

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