asoncalledgabriel | It's quiet up town

Entry tags:

neil perry

It's quiet up town

Gabriel lets them into his apartment, immediately flicking on the lights. "Ah, just settle in, yeah? What kind of food do you like?" He nudges the door shut again after Neil's inside and takes his phone out, already opening the app someone showed him. It's still strange to think that he can use his phone for just about everything, but it's also rather convenient.

With help from Steve, he's managed to get the place somewhat decorated. At least so that it looks like someone lives here now. There's a throw blanket and some pillows on the couch; he has real curtains. It's small, but it's something.

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Neil looks around, quiet, curious. Detached, though. He feels like he's moving into the dorms again, even if this isn't his. He keeps to the open spaces--the living room, the kitchen--and keeps Gabriel in his sights as he takes it all in.

"Pizza?" he said, more speculative than decided. He didn't really want food, but he knew he needed to eat, and it was good of Gabriel to have offered to get him something.

"Alright." It doesn't take him long to order through the app and once he has he puts his phone away. Gabriel passes Neil, squeezing his shoulder as he does, and goes into the kitchen to put the kettle on. "Do you drink tea? Or-- or coffee?"

He's got both now, though he hasn't really broken into the coffee that much. Some mornings he wants it.

"Just water's probably best."

He wanted a coke or something. He wanted nothing. He wanted Todd or Charlie or any of the other boys to be here, but they weren't, and Neil had done that.

He sits down on the couch and slowly takes off the coat that Gabriel gave him. The second hand clothes smell sort of strange. He'll live--or, he'll do whatever it is he's doing here.

Gabriel fills a glass and brings it out into the living room. He sits down with Neil, figuring he has a short while before the kettle's ready anyway.

"Your apartment'll probably be a bit like this one," he says, because he's at a loss for anything else to say and he isn't sure which would be more helpful: talking about the realities or talking about literally anything else. "It was sort of boring when I got here."

Neil nods. At least his hands aren't shaking anymore, for now. He takes the glass from Gabriel, just holding it, trying to process everything.

"So how--how long have you been here?"

"Not very long, a month or so now," he answers. "I really was-- I just walked out my own front door, and here I am."

It's terrifying if he thinks about it for too long. Gabriel gets up when the kettle starts to whistle and quickly prepares his cup of tea before coming back not wanting to just leave Neil hanging.

"You said something about your mom?" Neil prompts, but then sort of fidgets and shakes his head. "Sorry, you don't have to tell me about it. Lord knows I'm not in a place to talk about what's going on. Was going on."

He sips his water and just luxuriates in the quiet for a moment, while his mind is, very briefly, at peace.

"We were arguing," he says. "She'd just-- we were fighting about a few things but she'd said something that--" Gabriel looks down at his hand and shakes his head some. "It hit me very hard. I just had to get away."

Neil nods a little bit, sipping his water. He shifts and turns, looking at Gabriel a bit more directly. The whole situation is a little surreal, really. A lot surreal. Neil soaks it in, and lets himself look around Gabriel's apartment a little bit.

Finally, he breathes a sort of curious noise, half a laugh and half a basic sigh. "Is it weird to wonder when you came from? Like--the accent, okay, different places. We're all coming from different places. But, I mean..."

Neil gestures at the television, and doesn't even want to think about the strange black brick of a thing in his packet that he can't really identify the use of yet. "We're not in Kansas anymore."

Gabriel couldn't help but smile a little at the question, because he can imagine why Neil's asking. He pushes his fingers through his hair. "I was in Northern Ireland, in 1978," he answers, lifting his eyebrows at Neil to confirm that bit about Kansas. At least he gets that reference. "Bit of a shock to hear what year it is here, but I'm... handling it. What about you?"

"Vermont, winter of 59," Neil says, and leans his head back on the couch. He smiles a little bit, just sort of speculatively. "I don't even know what year it is here, but. But what's the seventies like?"

"Vermont - is that-- That's America, isn't it?" He watches Neil, and seeing him smile, even a small bit, feels-- Well. It's nice. Gabriel laughs and looks down at his hands.

"I suppose it's alright. Probably not a far cry different from the fifties as far as where I come from is concerned. But the seventies had Abba," he sighs wistfully.

"America, yeah," Neil says, smile widening just a little bit. Gabriel is watching him, and he's smiling a little bit as well, even when he looked away. "Look, it's like--here's New York, and then here's Vermont. All that northeast shit."

He feels very silly all of a sudden. He covers it by drinking some more of his water.

Gabriel imagines it, nodding a little. "America's so big," he murmurs, sitting back as he does. "My-- my uhm. My uncle. He'd gone to California, he became a social worker there. And I know that is three thousand miles from New York. I hated thinking he was half a world away. But he'd been in Africa before that, which I suppose didn't feel any closer."

"It is," Neil agrees, nodding. "I've never really been out of New England--the northeast. But I have friends who've gone to Florida, and California, all that stuff."

And now, Neil was never going to see those places. The knowledge sank in him for a moment. But he smiled.

"Did you get to visit him in California?"

Gabriel shakes his head. "No, not at all. I don't think we could have afforded for me to go. But he came back a few times, once the family was on with the idea that he wasn't going to be a priest anymore. Well... I suppose that part wasn't as hard as knowing he was going away to America on top of it all."

He thinks of what his mother told him and he looks down at his hands. That seems a strange thing to want to tell someone he barely knows from Adam, so he keeps it to himself.

"I always thought he understood me better than anyone else."

"That's how I was with one of my teachers this year," Neil says softly. He knows it's not the same, that the relationship between family is something totally different than between strangers. But his friends were his brothers, and Mr. Keating had been a better father figure than his own father.

"He just--he really got us. All of us, especially me and my--my roommate, Todd."

"I wish I'd ever had a teacher like that," he says with a faint smile. He doesn't want to think too much about most of his teachers, especially one. "I felt so different from all my family. It was only Brendan, and he was never around."

First Africa, then America. Gabriel sort of understands why, but he also doesn't. How could he not want to be around? How could he not want to see him?

"What did he teach?"

Neil nods, understandingly, or at least sympathetically. He turns his glass around and around between his fingers, a slow turning, a fidget. Thinking about this stuff makes him sad, but it's probably good to talk about.

"English," he says, and smiles. "I never really liked English all that much, but he--he made it really interesting. Encouraged us all to try and think for ourselves. Came and brought my friends to see me on opening night."

"He sounds good. No one really came to see me-- I think my father couldn't quite handle the idea that his son had to wear a dress, even if it's only for part of the play. But it's an all boys school." There were other boys that had played parts that only involved dresses. At least Viola dresses like a man for a big part of the play.

Gabriel blushes a bit and shrugs. "I liked English, liked history and even maths. I just couldn't stand the instructors or most of my classmates."

Neil nods a little bit, because Mr. Keating was good. He doesn't talk about his own father, about the terror of seeing him at the back of the auditorium that night, about the heart break and anger and frustration of being told everything he wanted was nonsense.

"I'm pretty good at classes," he says, and shrugs. He's more than pretty good, but Welton has high standards. "I just...it's all such shit, you know? People telling you when and how to learn, how much, telling you it will be important but not how, or why. Like, when am I going to have to conjugate in Latin? Come on."

Gabriel laughs, startled. "You had to take Latin? You weren't even a Catholic school." He shakes his head, grinning shyly. "I was-- I was good, but I wouldn't-- I got distracted by some other things, for a while. And Ma was always asking how this boy was doing, or that one, saying I could be better."

He shakes his head. He'd lost a friendship that way.

"That's the way of it though, isn't it? Learn this because you must, never mind why. I knew I wanted to go to university, that was motivation enough to try to take my A-levels again."

Neil rolls his eyes. "I know, right? Bullshit." He smiles again, soft, effusive.

"I was lucky," he says. "My parents were strict, constantly pushing, especially my father. I mean, my mom was just very, listen to your father, he knows what's best. So school was almost...almost an escape, as long as my father didn't stop in to see me. But my teachers didn't really care about any of us, except for Keating. So I had some friends, and they were--they were good. We didn't really compete, we just wanted to get out of Hell-ton and be done with it."

"It was only ever my mother who pushed. I think my father wanted so badly for me to be like him." Gabriel shakes his head. Maybe it's unfair to say that of his father, because there had been times that he tried, and he should appreciate those. Sill, most of a childhood spent feeling out of place couldn't be saved by a few memories of acceptance.

"My mother wanted to brag about one of her sons. She was tickled when she thought I might yet become a priest." Gabriel shrugs. "As it was, I managed to get into university and I just wanted to leave."

"I think my dad was like that a bit too," Neil says, speculative. "Getting to say, my son, the Welton student. And then one day, my son, the Harvard student, and then, my son, the doctor. It was all...all about bringing the family up."

Something hitches in Neil's chest. He aches. He tries to keep smiling, but it hurts a little. "But I didn't want to be a doctor, and I just--it's exhausting, you know? Being told that everything you like, everything you care about, it doesn't matter? That it's not part of the big picture."

"Yeah, I know," he says softly. It's exhausting to be considered an abomination, too. But he can't bring himself to say that. Not to Neil, not to anyone. Gabriel lets his hand slide across Neil's back and squeezed his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, mate. I wish-- I wish I could say something better than that."

The touch is understanding, sympathetic. Neil leans into it a little bit. It makes it easier to breathe for a second.

There was a knock on the door. Neil jumps. He laughs a little. "I think the pizza's here."

Gabriel smiles and he longs to touch more, to offer that comfort. But he's always been told that's not what men do. Even if Neil hasn't pushed him away. He squeezes Neil's shoulder before he gets up to answer the door. He's already paid for it so he thanks the person delivering it and takes the box before nudging the door shut again.

"You care if we just eat out of the box?" He supposes he could get plates but... what's the point?

"No, box is fine," Neil says softly. His shoulders are hot from the last lingering touch, the sort of touch he's only gotten a couple times, in secret, quiet moments like this. His cheeks felt a little warm too, but he pushes it aside.

"Is there a lot of pizza in Ireland?"

"Not where I'm from. I'd only had it a handful of times before I came here." He settles down next to Neil again, sitting close, close enough that their legs touched as he leans over to set the box down and flip it open.

"We'd have pizza nights," Neil says with a little smile. "They'd organize it once a month for a specific grade level. So, really, we'd only get it once a year."

He opens the box and pulls out one of the slices, careful of the hot cheese and sauce. Before he takes a bite, he smiles at Gabriel. "Thank you. For...for helping me. And for this."

"Least I can do," he says as he takes his own slice. He considers a moment. "Or, maybe all I can do. I'd change it if I could, but we're both stuck here. So if feeding you and giving some comfort's all I've got, then I'll do that."

Gabriel smiles a bit shyly and looks down at his foot so he doesn't make a mess when he goes to take a bite.

"No, no," Neil says, soft, gentle. He leans over a touch and nudges Gabriel's shoulder with his because his hands are full, and he wants to let Gabriel know that he appreciates all this.

"I mean it. You've done a lot."

Gabriel bumps Neil back, grateful for the easy touch. Too often he's been told that men, boys, don't do this sort of thing after a certain age. That they're meant to be stoic, staid.

"I know it may not feel like it... but I think it's going to be alright. Eventually."

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It's quiet up town

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