Gabriel Bautista (xochipilli) wrote in paxletalelogs, @ 2017-05-01 09:24:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | freyr, xochipilli |
i will echo every word you say about tomorrow
Who: Gabe & Rafe.
What: Gabe's exploring the tenth floor when Rafe finds him; some confessions are had.
Where: The tenth floor.
When: Thursday, April 20.
Gabe was standing on a stone near one of the walls, fingers brushing over the red and blue accents of the stone as he attempted to discern what it was made of. It certainly wasn't like any paint he'd ever come across; he pulled back, rubbing forefinger and thumb together. Somehow, the substance came away wet as if fresh. He gave silent thanks to some unseen deity that the red was not some human liquid, which would tie neatly into the severed heads Lucas had shown him before. He shivered again, then wiped a hand on a nearby leaf as he stepped away from the wall, moving further back to see if he could make some sense of the image -- if there was one to be had -- at a distance.
"It's a bird," a quiet voice said, a rough-edged whisper at his back. "I think." Gabe started, turning around to see who'd joined him.
Rafael stood behind him, khaki shorts and a long-sleeved white shirt hanging off his lean frame. Shadows like smudged ashes lingered beneath his eyes; his fingers curled at the hems of his sleeves, keeping them pulled taut halfway down his palms. He walked closer, but stopped an arm's length away, wary of invading the other man's space. He cleared his throat. Shifted his weight, one sandaled foot to another.
"Um. Mind if I join you?"
Gabe grinned to see his friend, shaking his head. "Of course not." His eyes narrowed a touch, curious about the long-sleeved shirt but he did not press, remembering to keep his boundaries in check. He would have opened his arms for a hug, but Rafe's careful distance seemed a warning bell. Taking a few steps behind him, he joined right alongside where Rafe was standing and looked back to the wall.
"You're right, it does look like a bird. Maybe...a chicken?" He tried the quip to judge how Rafe was faring amid all the strangeness; Rafael chuckled, and it sounded sincere. Gabe wished he'd seen the other man sooner, but he still wasn't sure of where their relationship laid. "How're you doing?"
"Oh, I'm all right," he said. "Enjoying being locked in as much as everyone else, I guess. There's mead on the third floor, though, did you see? Wine on mine." He looked to the stone wall ahead of them, bright eyes tracing the lines of the graven image there. Soon, though, his gaze drifted back to his friend; Rafe could not explain how, but Gabriel looked somehow at home there, as though he belonged in a way Rafael did not. It brought a smile to his face, made him drift closer to Gabe's warmth.
"How are you? No run-ins with the crocodiles, I hope."
Gabe shook his head, trying to keep his gaze from wandering down to Rafe's clothes; he had not often seen the man in anything outside a tank top, maybe a tee. He did his best to not dwell on it.
"No, I haven't been up that high yet. And I haven't seen anything on this floor outside of the plants, though I think there's a pitcher plant big enough to bite your hand off." He grinned, unable to keep from smiling in the other man's presence. Gently, he shoulder bumped Rafe for simple want of touch. "Where've you been so far?"
Rafael kept close to him following that small touch; he leaned in slightly, an approximation of the hug he did not dare. "Mostly the third through the sixth," he said. "The third feels… comfortable. And like I said, mead." He chuckled. "Alice is on the fourth, and last night Isobel and I stayed over there…" He stopped himself then, biting the tip of his tongue to chide himself for his rambling. He sniffled, his fingers tugging at his sleeves again. His eyes swept over Gabriel's face, studying his manner and mood as he considered what he both wanted and did not want to ask.
"Gabe… um. The sixth floor. Was that you?"
The other man blinked, his face reddening a little. Upon news of the sixth floor's offerings, he had eventually found himself down there perusing the ema. He'd seen what someone had put up there, tried to take it down, and of course found such an attempt impossible. Then he'd looked over others and thought he'd found what belonged to Rafe; the worries seemed so in line for him, considering his career path.
Finally, he nodded. "Yeah, that was me. I don't know how anyone found out, I didn't even tell Aurora..." He paused, dialing it back a few steps. "I'm just... I'm worried, is all. It looks like you've found a comfortable place, and I don't want to mess that up for you like I did last time."
"Gabe, you didn't mess anything up." Rafael could not stop himself; he did not want to. He took Gabriel's hand, giving it a tight squeeze. He blushed, but forged ahead all the same. Some things had gone too long without being said. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me. And I thought… I thought maybe that meant you were sorry you moved here. That you'd changed your mind about talking to me again. About…" He gestured to them both, vague enough to be interpreted however either of them liked. "All this."
"Of course not," was Gabe's instant reply. He threaded fingers through Rafe's, holding tight. "I don't regret moving here at all. I got to see you again! The only thing I regret was that it took me moving here to make this happen." He fell quiet, the happy look in his eyes curving his mouth as he studied Rafe's face; slowly, a stoicism was cast over his features. His other hand rose to gently cup Rafe's shoulder; as he spoke, his hand trailed down Rafe's arm. Rafe subtly flinched as his fingers drew over deep bruises and slowly healing cuts. "I saw yours, too. I want to help, however I can, anjo. There's so much that you can do, that I know you will do. You'll never become irrelevant; you have so much to share with other people. I just wish you'd stop putting yourself down and realize that you do have something to offer the world."
Rafael's blush had deepened considerably. He could not meet Gabe's eyes; his own were too bright and damp with tears, and he did not trust them to remain unshed. His throat felt tightly closed. For a time even breathing felt far too difficult. He nodded, still staring pointedly at the carved stone wall before them.
"I'm sorry," he said, familiar words to fill the silence he suddenly could not take. "I don't…"
Gabe shushed him, and wanted to pull him into a hug, but the other man's pained expression was not lost amid his words. He pulled his hand away from Rafe's arm, but did not loose his grip on the other man's hand.
"Rafe, are you sure you're OK? You know it's probably over a hundred degrees in here; and I have to say, I can't remember the last time I saw you in a long-sleeved shirt. Did something happen?" He wanted to say that there was no need to fear reprisal from him, that anything secret would stay safe with him, that Rafe could talk about anything with him, but he didn't want the other man to feel pressured. Instead, he gave that one simple offering and waited to see what Rafe would make of it.
Rafael nodded, though it was unclear at first which question he intended that gesture to answer. It seemed so foolish to hide anything now; so much had already been laid bare, and there was no need to impress a man who already knew the worst of him. It occurred to Rafe, though only briefly, that the faceless Eshan might not appreciate the depth of this reconnection, or the intensity of the feelings it roused in him. Then the thought was gone, replaced by the overwhelming relief of Gabe's hand in his, of Gabriel's bright presence at his side when he needed it most. It was nothing more than comfort, he told himself; no more than any friend would do for another.
"I, um…" The blush faded as memory washed over him, his shyness giving way to lingering fear and shame. "I got hurt, a little." With his free hand he hitched up his sleeve. The bruise that circled his wrist, just above where Gabe's hand held his, was far uglier than he remembered; it was healing, he knew, but in doing so it had become a patchwork of purple and yellow beneath his bronzed skin. He frowned down at it. "It's going away," he tried.
Gabe's hand loosed its fingers from Rafe's, twisting around the other man's wrist as his eyes fell on the bruise. The smile on his mouth faded completely as his thumb skirted the edge of the ugly purple blotch, and he looked back at Rafe.
"How? That's not a little, Rafael," he said, his voice quiet yet intense. "You can tell me, anjo; I won't judge you, I swear. If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine too; but you know you can talk to me about anything. Anything, anjo." The words brought to mind fervent promises made in a tiny, closet-like bedroom in Miami, though here there was no sun to create a halo around Rafe's head. Instead, he looked fallen, and it made Gabe's heart ache to see. He chewed one interior corner of his mouth, eyes pleading with the other man to open up to him.
It was more difficult than Rafael liked to meet and hold Gabriel's gaze. He felt seen in a way that both relieved and terrified him. His gaze darted around them, searching the corridor as if afraid they would be overheard. Satisfied they were alone, Rafael tried to find a way to begin.
"Monday…" His voice faltered, that single word fraying at its edge. "I've made some bad decisions, Gabe. There's a guy here. I should've known, really, I knew the first time I met him, the first time we…" He cleared his throat. It did not ease the tension in his tone. "But I just… I couldn't say no. I don't know why."
"Oh, anjo." Gabe's hand released Rafe's wrist, moving instead to cup Rafe's face, fingers hooking gently around the other man's jaw. His thumb drew a line down his cheek. "Did he... If he forced himself on you, that's not consent. You don't have to say the word out loud for someone else to understand that you don't want something." He wanted to pull Rafe into his arms, as if he could protect the other man from things that had already occurred. He wanted to take the pain and swallow it down so Rafe wouldn't have to; instead, he knew the best he could offer would be to help his friend through it. "When all of this is over, we should call the police. File a report."
"No." Tension hummed through Rafe's body, as strong as if he'd touched a live wire. "No." The sound he made was more audible tremor than laugh. He raked a hand through his hair. It fell back over his eyes, thick and damp with the humidity that surrounded them, and with the cold sweat that had suddenly broken out across his flesh. "I let him in, Gabe. I've hooked up with him before. And you know what I do. They'd arrest me."
Rafael shook his head. "It's fine," he said, though the words made no sense even to him. He felt as though he was unraveling. He shoved a hand into his pocket, reassuring himself with the light weight of the nearly-empty bag still there. "And he's right. I liked it or I wouldn't have…" His fingers tightened on the bag, but he did not withdraw it.
Gabe withdrew his hand from Rafe's face, gripping Rafe's free hand between both of his; he met the other man's gaze equally, ensuring that nothing he said next would go unheard. "Don't," he said, more forcefully than he meant to. "That's bullshit. I don't care what he said, if you didn't like it then it was abuse. Plain and simple. You are not the one in the wrong here, anjo, dios mio, I wish I could make you believe that." His anger was underlined by a row of tears along the edges of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Instead, he pulled Rafe into a careful hug, unsure of how far his injuries extended.
In that moment Rafael would not have cared how much he hurt. He leaned into Gabriel's embrace; after a moment, his hand withdrew from his pocket, and he returned the gesture. His hands rested soft at Gabe's hips, ready to dart away the moment his touch was no longer wanted. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I didn't come here to upset you." His voice grew thick, long hesitations stretching out between his words. "I just needed… I wanted to see you."
Gabe held Rafe close, telling himself it was for the other man's comfort more than for his own. He knew it was a lie, but he let it stay for a moment, too pleased with the way this scenario had turned to deny himself.
"You can always see me, Rafe. You always could." Hands moved down Rafe's back, tender and mindful of what might lie hidden beneath that white shirt. He pulled back, still touching the other man, but putting a careful distance between them. It was one thing for Rafe to come to him for comfort, another for what else Gabe wanted. "If you wanna talk about this, I'm always here." His fingers treaded along Rafe's ribcage, feather light.
A slight nod was the only answer Rafael could give. By slow degrees the stinging of his many and varied wounds began to fade, though so too did the lingering warmth of Gabe's welcome touch. Rafael remained close, unwilling to give up the comfort of proximity.
"Thank you, gatinho."
He looked back to the stone wall, as though his roiling thoughts might be calmed by contemplating the patterns there. His teeth worried at the tip of his tongue. "So a chicken, huh," he said, laughing weakly.
Gabe turned, one hand falling away from Rafe's side as he looked back to the wall. "Yeah," he said, turning back, a smile turning up half of his face. "You know, if you turn your head and squint a little.
"Hey, though, somehow that reminds me," he said, thumb drawing circles on Rafe's side, "I wanted to ask if you'd check out my screenplay for the sequel to The Butterfly's Kiss. I think you must've read the original a million times, so I think you'd really be able to give me good feedback if it's even worth doing another one. Not that it's the same exact film, of course, but sometimes I-I-I-I just wonder if it's more of a cash grab than actual expression, you know? And it just helps to get a second opinion.
"I could give you a copy now, if that works for you. Wanna go up to my apartment?" Despite his genial words, in truth Gabe was looking for a way to pull Rafe toward what he considered a safe area. Obviously Rafe's apartment would be the man's own sanctuary, but he wanted Rafe to feel as though 805 was a second home, even as he wondered if he was crossing lines he should not have been.
Rafael appeared to have no such reservations. He nodded, a shadow of a smile flickering over his lips. "I'd like that," he said. "You know I'm going to love it, but I'll try to offer actual criticism. If it's needed, I mean." He raised a hand to his nape, rubbing idly at it; the gesture did not hide the shyness that suddenly returned to his face. "Are you sure you don't mind?"
Gabe gave no verbal reply, instead shushing him with a raised index finger and small noises; he grinned through it all, shaking his head in mock disbelief. Then he curled his hand into Rafe's and tugged him toward the elevator bank and the stairs.
"You can love something even with all its flaws," he said, not knowing if he was driving at something deeper with those words. "In spite of, or because of. I just think you should take a look. Maybe you'll get some ideas for your own work, you know?" He glanced back at Rafe, giving a little shrug with one shoulder. "I'm definitely not going to shut up about that, by the way. I'm going to get you back behind a camera one way or another."
Rafael smiled sheepishly, shaking his head as he followed in Gabriel's wake. Gabe pulled the stairwell door open and started leading Rafe down toward the eighth floor. Questions about how Rafe felt regarding the environment of his abode lingered at the back of his throat, but Gabe abstained; instead, he focused on offering himself as a focal point, neutral ground they could both wander on without stepping on a mental landmine.
"It's beautiful here," Rafael said. His thumb slid over Gabe's skin, rubbing thoughtlessly over warm flesh as they passed colorful walls, elaborate statuary, and myriad offerings. "You know, I haven't taken a single picture of any of this, even with my phone. Maybe I should fix that."
"You should," Gabe interjected, though he didn't pull them into another long conversation over the topic. For the moment, he just wanted Rafe somewhere where he knew no one else would be able to touch him, even if only for a few brief moments.
Rafe fell quiet again as they reached Gabriel's door. He swallowed around the lump that had risen in his throat, looking back to his friend as if he might have changed his mind in so short a time. But when the door opened he entered without hesitation, and immediately felt as though a weight had been removed from his shoulders. The knot of tension still lingered in the pit of his stomach, but it was lessened now; this was a safe place with a safe person, one small fragment of the building still inviolate.
Gabe did not see this small transformation; he was too busy pulling Rafe inside, making sure the door was shut behind him, thinking nothing of propriety or social norms. He did not let go of Rafe's hand until the door was shut.
"Something to drink? Water? Juice?" He had a number of things well stocked in the fridge (thankfully due to his assistant), and had been carefully living off of that rather than the variety of offerings in the hallways. With the exception of one minor excursion with Lucas, Gabe had kept a clear head throughout the majority of...whatever was going on. He moved toward the kitchen, glancing back at Rafe. He could not disperse the smile there every time he laid eyes on the other man.
"Wine?" Rafael tried. He gave a small, self-effacing laugh. "Or water, I suppose. Either."
Rafe followed his friend into the kitchen, lingering in the doorway, leaned against the frame. In the privacy of Gabriel's home he felt comfortable enough to hitch up his sleeves, letting the fabric gather around his elbows. Only the smallest edges of the cuts showed beneath the upraised cuffs.
"So how is the writing going?" he asked, a smile finally playing on his lips as he watched the other man work. "Does all this weirdness make it easier or harder to focus?"
"Uh, both?" Gabe pulled the fridge door wide, still shooting small glances back at Rafe as if he expected the other man to disappear. "Neither?" He grinned wide, pulling out a Brita pitcher and filling two glasses with water. He could understand Rafe's need to escape, even if only with a simple glass of wine, but Gabe knew the other man needed to hydrate and stay healthy if he was going to get well. Knocking the fridge door closed with a bump of his hip, he offered one of the glasses to his friend before raising his own glass to his lips.
"Here, lemme show you my office," he replied. "I didn't get a chance last time." Their dinner had dissolved into deep conversation that had gone on long into the night, though Gabe did not bemoan a minute of it. He moved toward the left, moving slowly to entice the other man to follow. "I've still been knocking out a few things, I mean, however long this lasts, I've got deadlines coming up and when it's over, I won't be left holding the bag, you know?" He led Rafe down a short hall; to the left was a small guest bath, straight ahead was a guest bedroom (the door only slightly ajar), and to the right, Gabe's office. The space was clearly personal, even more so than the rest of the apartment. Rafael moved quietly into the room, keeping close to the wall as he studied this sanctuary.
A large, heavy wood desk was placed directly in front of a window that showed a gorgeous view of the beach and ocean. On one side of the desk was a typewriter, and the rest was covered with stacks of paper; some had scribbling all over them, a ballpoint pen sitting atop one stack. The typewriter had paper still threaded through it, stopped in midsentence. The rest of the room was covered in bookshelves, each filled to the brim. Knick knacks filled the space as well, holding stories to Gabe's travels and life. On one sat the Blue Morpho butterfly he'd received at the beginning of the month.
Gabe took a step to the side, letting Rafe take a long look around. Rafael moved from doorway to shelves, carefully holding the glass in both hands. He touched nothing, but his gaze lingered on each item, each piece of bric a brac, however small. He observed each small thing as if it might tell him the story of the long years between them, give him insight into the man he had once known so well. At last he lost track of himself, enraptured by the items and images before him; his fingertips traced over the edge of one picture, the corner of one small souvenir. Gabe said nothing throughout Rafe's perusal, instead content to watch the other man explore.
"Seems like a nice place to work," Rafe said. His fingertip tapped against the corner of the butterfly's shadowbox. "I like it. Very much." He turned back to Gabe, a small smile on his face. He tipped his chin toward the stacks of papers. "And it looks like you're getting a fair bit done..."
Shrugging, Gabe moved forward, put his water glass down in a spot that showed a number of overlapping, circular water marks (he'd never been good about keeping track of coasters), and started paging through the manuscript that looked about done.
"Most of this was already finished before all of...whatever's going on out there started," he explained. "I've had a rough draft of the first book done for awhile, it's just been going through rounds of edits. And I have a sketch of book two done, just the skeleton, but you know, progress is progress." He reached down, pulling out a drawer in the desk to reveal another manuscript, this one wrapped with a rubber band. "And here's the one I wanted you to check out," he said, lifting the stack of papers up and holding them out for Rafe to take. Rafael set his glass down alongside Gabe's, wiping condensation on his shirt before gripping the manuscript tight. The top page had a single line for a title: The Hornet's Embrace.
"The title's a work in progress too, so," he finished. "Feel free to take your time. I haven't shopped it around anywhere yet, so there's no rush." One hand reached up to fiddle with his glasses. "And, just putting this out there, but if you need somewhere to stay, you're always welcome here. Room down the hall from here is a guest room." He pointed in the direction that would've taken them the rest of the way down the hall. "I'm not saying that you do need one, but, you know, you're always welcome here." Glancing away, he closed the drawer, fiddling with things on the desk as if to keep himself busy and ready for whatever reaction Rafe might have.
Rafe was flipping through the pages, reading snippets here and there. Slowly Gabriel's words sank in; he nodded, the smile on his face twitching larger for an instant. He looked up, his thumb still on a page near the middle of the work. "Are you sure you wouldn't mind? It would make it a lot easier to read this and bother you with feedback." He chuckled. He was reaching and he knew it, but in that moment he would have used any excuse, however flimsy, to linger there. "I'd use a lot fewer Post-Its this way..."
Gabe shook his head, amused, meeting Rafe's gaze with an ease that spoke of their long connection.
"No, I just have the guest room when I feel like sleeping on the other side of the apartment, anjo; yes, it would be fine. And, to be perfectly honest, I'd feel better knowing you were somewhere safe. I know you could stay with your girlfriend, but I'm just offering my place as an alternative if you want it." He finished aligning a stack of papers, leaning back, wondering why that last sentence had popped out of his mouth.
Renewed color bloomed in Rafael's cheeks. "I, um…" He thumbed through the pages of the manuscript, listening to soft sound of them fanning beneath his touch. "I broke up with her. Tuesday. After..." Shaking his head, he chuckled, suddenly and overwhelmingly self conscious. He forced his hands to be still on the sheaf of paper between them, gripping it firmly now. "It's been a hard week."
Gabe's brows jumped up his forehead, but he quickly calmed himself, sympathy moving over his face. Without thinking, he took a step toward Rafe. "Then you should really stay. I can make omelets in the morning; I promise not to burn yours too much," he tried to joke, a hand rising to brush Rafe's elbow only to be withdrawn before actually making contact. "And then you'll have plenty of time to read. If you want something from your apartment, I can help you go get it?"
Rafael froze. His hands tightened on the manuscript. His lips formed the word "no" but he could not speak it. He had gone back before, collecting clothes and fish food while pointedly ignoring the existence of his small bedroom. Such a thing would be markedly more difficult with someone else there. He would have to go back, sooner rather than later, but he would bear that shame alone.
He softened his expression before he looked back to Gabe. He even managed a small, crooked smile. "No, but thank you," he said. "I didn't come here to make you run errands with me. I'll go back tomorrow. After omelets and at least a good chunk of this." He raised the manuscript, his glassy, distant gaze darting down to it for an instant. It seemed to clear somewhat as he refocused on Gabe. He gave a weak little laugh. "Mr. Fishy and clean clothes can both wait until then."
Gabe kept a frown away from his mouth, even as his mind sent warning bells pealing through his form. But for the moment, he didn't push; this time, though, his hand settled on the other man's elbow lightly.
"If you're sure, anjo. I've got stuff here if you need it too." He gave Rafe's elbow a squeeze, then started to lead him back out toward the living room. "For now, let me get you set up comfortably so you can read, and I'll get some writing done so you have quiet. That is, if you don't find a typewriter constantly clacking to be annoying," he added, smiling easily.
"Not even a little," Rafe said. He found it easier to return that smile than to start one on his own. He let himself be led, breathing deeply as they moved through spaces he already found comfortable. He kept his eyes on the manuscript as they walked, though they wandered back to Gabriel far more often than perhaps they should. This continued until Rafael was settled in the guest room and his host had departed; then he was overtaken by his friend's words in place of his presence, distracted thoroughly from himself and all else, besides.