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Gordon was used to not seeing everything very well, but the draped darkness made it especially hard. So, it wasn’t his sight that made him particularly aware of the figure across from him on the mattress,it was his hearing. It was all of the sounds he wasn’t used to picking up on in his flat - the existence of another person in his space. Gentle breaths, in and out, rolled over Gordon, a tidal wave epiphany that someone had managed to sneak past his defences, that someone cared enough to still be there. The creak of the springs as the other man shuffled in bed, the rustle of the duvet, he’d thought having another person around would be irritating, yet he found comfort in it.
“I swear your thoughts are louder than the traffic outside.” Tony finally spoke, soft words and an even softer tone somehow slicing through the shadow night had cast over them.
“You’re ridiculous.” He grunted back. It only made the other laugh, another sound the flat hadn’t had before his arrival.
“I’m not the one letting my brain keep me awake.”
“Why aren’t you asleep yet then?”
“He’s 5”11, Scottish, bit grumpy, you may know him?” Yes, Gordon was now used to his not so great vision, but he didn’t really need 20/20 to see the beaming grin in front of him. At this point, he wasn’t even sure he’d need eyes to see it.
“You’re the worst.”
“ No ,” Tony whined, scooting closer to him. The duvet rustled again, the mattress creaked and the sound of his breaths grew louder with proximity. “You love me really.” A head burrowed into the space between his shoulder and neck. Now Gordon wasn’t sure he could hear his own thoughts anymore, the in and out of oxygen and carbon dioxide permeating his brain via the skin on his neck. He felt his own chest match it. The noise in his head dulled and he found it free of anything else. Everything except one thing.
“Yeah, I do.” He could feel the corners of Tony’s mouth quirk against him.
“I’m glad the feeling’s mutual.”
Now, a year later, Gordon no longer heard much in his flat. The mattress didn’t argue with a body’s movements, the duvet didn’t squeal its disturbance and the only breaths that hit the empty air were his own. He cursed his poor eyesight, perhaps if it had been better he would have been able to convince himself his hearing was the sense that was off, that Tony was just being very quiet, he just wasn’t hearing him. In the same stream of conscience he felt grateful for his partial blindness. At least then he couldn’t see the ghost left behind in his apartment. Not so much the ghost of Tony, but the ghost of the Tony who had loved Gordon.
Thinking over everything they had been in the darkness brought a few key memories to mind, like the first time Gordon had visited him in London, towards the start of their relationship. After they’d met in Edinburgh and gotten to know one another during the few weeks Tony had been on holiday there, this was the next time they’d gotten any time together. It had chucked it down on his walk to the station and the rain hadn’t abandoned the train window next to him throughout the entire journey. Pulling into Kings Cross, the weather was the same. Perhaps, looking back on the memory now, it had been a sense of foreboding, an omen, one of a warning. But back then it had just been irritating and cold, so so cold. It had almost pushed the nerves out of seeing Tony again out of his system. They’d spoken on the phone, texted most of the days since they’d last been face to face, but being in person was different. As the train ground to a halt, questions began to rush through his mind. What if they didn’t mesh well away from the crutch of a phone? What if it was unbearably awkward? How was he supposed to greet him?
The crowd of people exiting the train seemed to carry Gordon with them, flooding him onto the platform. He could hear the rain slam against the roof and pavement a few metres away, he thought he could smell it too, sort of musty in a way he wasn’t used to. At this point, his heart was hammering inside of its rib cage prison. He should just get back on the train, any train, hell, go to Manchester or Liverpool, he didn’t care, but he wasn’t ready for this. Sure, last minute tickets are expensive but it would save him what would likely be a great deal of embarrassment so it evened out in the end. That’s when he spotted him, a face he hadn’t seen for a few months. Gordon’s tensed shoulders dropped. The corners of his mouth crept upwards involuntarily, trying to match even slightly the beaming grin on Tony’s face. He needn’t have worried about how to greet the other man, he’d seemed to have decided for him, Tony’s taller frame wrapping around his own like they weren’t standing in one of the busiest stations in the UK, like they weren’t standing anywhere with any other person around, like he wouldn’t let him go again. The beating of the man’s chest seemed to push against his own. Much like the nerves surrounding greetings ebbed away, so did the rest as Tony finally let him go, keeping a tight hold of his hand and pulling him into London to show off all his favourite places. Everything had been so easy. The hardest part had been getting back on the train a week later.
Thinking back to that day now, Gordon noticed how loud worries seemed now. Nothing really seemed to make them disappear. They were like a blaring television whose mute button was faulty. He figured it made sense that the one who’d helped him find his voice was also the only one who knew how to get it to shut up. He still heard Tony’s too occasionally. Whispers of it anyway. Times like now, as he wandered the few rooms that made up his abode, hoping to find the secret to sleep in the well-traversed areas, torso covered in a shirt Tony had borrowed so much it felt like his. He’d lost a lot of sleep in the past few months. No one had commented on the sunken eyes, the graying bags that accompanied them, but he knew that Peter was holding his tongue. Unusual, but just spoke to how bad he truly must look.
He’d developed a routine of curling up in front of the television, begging the fake smiles and over exaggerated enthusiasm of the teleshopping channel to overpower the voices in his head. The questions from that first time in London were still there, just different. Questions of how this had all happened, what he’d done to drive Tony away, how he hadn’t been enough. The shopping channel didn’t exactly fulfil its purpose, but he knew how to sell a sectioned pan. What always seemed to lull him off eventually was the t-shirt he wore on the worst nights, the memories laced into the cotton, the whispers that echoed off of the faded logo. A voice that sounded a lot like Tony’s.
It was about seven months into their relationship he’d gotten to know the full extent of Tony’s charm. His brother was getting married and they’d been together long enough that he’d brought him as his plus one. Of course, he’d been nervous about Tony meeting his family for the first time, but, much like any other social situation, he’d been in his element. If he closed his eyes, even now he could see the handshake he and his father had exchanged in greeting, firm but friendly, his boyfriend charming everyone before he’d even spoken a word. Gordon wished he had that skill, but at the time, it was enough to behold the talent. The evening was a whirlwind of introductions and Tony finding perfect anecdotes to swap with every person he met. He’d always been the life of the party, but tonight especially he seemed to be thriving off of the atmosphere. Complimenting his new sister-in-law, swapping jokes with his brother, he just seemed to fit in everywhere, like he’d carved out a space himself, specific to his exact dimensions.
As the evening had wound down, he’d rolled his eyes at a comment Tony had made and found himself being pulled towards the dance floor as ‘punishment’. He wasn’t much of a dancer, didn’t have great coordination, but the song was slow and his boyfriend had pulled him into his skinnier frame, one hand taking one of his own and the other finding his waist. They fit together like they were one entity and chatted softly while they moved, luring laughs out of one another. It was more swaying than dancing, but they stayed there for the next few songs. Gordon hadn’t done either of those things since.
It had always felt particularly hard because most of their memories were happy ones. Sure, they’d had arguments, they were quite good at it, but they seemed to thrive off of them at times. It was just who they were. Both of them knew how to use words to their advantage, but it also meant they knew how to recover from them most of the time. He knew he’d heard their voices raise more than once, but Gordon cherished the moments they’d quietened more. Whispered voices across a dark room nonsensical in their exhaustion or hushed tones so no one around them could hear their personal back and forth or, when he was shut up altogether, Tony kissing him in the middle of one of his particularly long-winded economic rants. Yes, the quiet moments always stood out more. The only whispers he really heard nowadays were Tony’s name rolling off of his lips as he woke. Somehow along the way, quiet had become torturous.
Gordon had always known Tony was desperate to get into Politics, he’d been open about it from the start. And he’d been fine with that, he knew his partner had what it took to make it. In a way, he both had and hadn’t. The charm, the charisma, the easy smile that made many take a quick likening to you, he had all of that. A relationship with someone that wouldn’t turn a proportion of voters away from ticking his box at the polls? Well, Tony didn’t have that. Quite the opposite actually. He’d never confirmed that was the reason for their breakup, but Gordon knew. He’d always known in the back of his mind, but a part of him hoped it wouldn’t have mattered. That he’d try to win anyway. A few months afterwards, when Tony became an MP, he watched the election coverage on the same television they’d once sat in front of together. The man on the screen looked so similar to his Tony, yet just slightly off that he couldn’t bear it. It’s like he could picture him there, across from him, head slouched against the side of the sofa having fallen asleep after a long day at work, but the image couldn’t quite settle in.
That’s all he really had of Tony now, footage on a television screen and pictures online and in papers. On a day he’d felt particularly strong he’d thrown out the shirts his partner had liked and locked away any memento or picture in a box in the very back of his wardrobe, never to be seen again. It felt strange, an ex still being around in some way. It felt even stranger still when he was elected Leader of the Opposition. He didn’t know how to be happy for someone that had taken the feeling away from him. In a way, he was proud, but the feeling came with a sour aftertaste.
It was one day in particular that nearly got Gordon. Peter had invited him out for a drink in the evening and he’d accepted, not having seen the man in a while. The invitation seemed out of the blue, but he didn’t think anything of it. In fact, the reasoning only made sense a few hours before he was set to clock out of work and head to the pub they’d agreed on when he’d overheard one of his coworkers talking about a recent news update. Tony was getting married. To someone that wasn’t him. He’d gotten engaged to a hardworking lawyer who was probably everything he couldn’t be. It had been years since they’d broken up, but there was still a stab in his gut. One that didn’t heal with the scotch Peter bought him in the pub, nor with the paracetamol he took for the hangover the next morning. In a drunken haze, he’d asked his friend about the man, if he was happy. He remembered not getting an answer, one of the only things he remembered. Peter had changed the subject and asked about how he was doing instead. That had also been met with a change of subject. Gordon didn’t really know how he was doing. Some ridiculous part of himself thought there perhaps had still been a chance for them, that now Tony had solidified himself as a political force to be reckoned with that it wasn’t so risky anymore. He didn’t know when he’d started to lose his head to daydreams.
The day of Tony’s wedding, Gordon avoided all televisions. He’d travelled back up to Scotland to spend time with his family, getting the train out of Kings Cross on the same day the man who’d once commented “Could be us one day” as they glanced at his brother and his new wife while they danced instead met someone else at the end of an aisle. It was sunny that day, as if his ex-partner had enticed it out with one of his broad smiles. In fact, it was a rather beautiful day, everything that his first trip to London hadn’t been. The train ride felt longer than it usually did and the beams of heat through the window were stifling in the shirt he was wearing. He felt far too warm and clammy and the grind of the train against the tracks seemed louder. Not loud enough that he couldn’t hear the thoughts he wouldn’t allow himself to have poking at the barriers of his brain. He couldn’t let himself wonder if Tony thought about him at all today, if the other man ever let his mind stray to a future that now will never be, about how it could have gone if things had been different. Gordon had had his fair share of mulling over what ifs and they hadn’t gotten him anywhere. He’d lived in the moment with Tony, so focused on the now that he’d never looked ahead to see any indication of their ending looming on the horizon. Today was another ending, he supposed. One that would force him into the reality of the situation.
He had loved Tony. In fact, at some point, Gordon was sure the man had even loved him back. It’s just, sometimes love isn’t enough.
His mind flashed back to one of their last encounters. Tony had wanted to meet him for lunch in the hour he took off at work. They’d gone to the cafe they liked, the one they’d gone to for over a year after Gordon had liked their chocolate cake and they’d gotten to know Tony’s coffee order. Something had felt off about the whole thing, nothing concrete, just a feeling and small, weird things like how his partner kept hold of his hand for nearly the entire meal, rubbing circles into it as if to remind himself Gordon was there. He’d been less chatty too, he’d shrugged it off, some excuse about a case at work. It was only after that he’d found out he’d just come from a meeting where he’d agreed to stand in Sedgefield for Labour. The meal had been nice, it always was, but the atmosphere felt tainted. Of course, hindsight was 20/20, even with Gordon’s vision, but he couldn’t help but curse his younger self for not recognising it, for not doing something, anything to stop what was going to happen the next day. Instead, he’d just treat it like any other day.
“I’ve gotta head back now if I wanna be on time.”
“Are you sure?” Something in Tony’s voice sounded desperate, he recognised that now, but back then he’d laughed it off, chalking it up to the slight neediness his partner sometimes displayed.
“I’m sure.” He’d stood, bending down to give Tony a brief kiss, ignoring how the other seemed to linger. “I love you.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”
“Yeah, I think I can manage that.” Gordon had attempted a joke. Tony hadn’t smiled. “Tomorrow.” He confirmed instead. Before he left, Tony had pulled him down by his wrist into a longer kiss, one of his hands cradling his face delicately. He’d never treated him like he was so fragile before. It should have been an alarm bell, Gordon should have noticed that the emotion that seemed to pour through his lips wasn’t normal. But he didn’t. He’d simply returned it in fervour, unaware it was the last time he’d ever get the chance to do so.
As they parted, he watched Tony gulp, eyes glazed and mouth smiling, somewhat bittersweet. Gordon noted he looked like he did when he’d made a decision he shouldn’t have, usually when he put work off until later. He didn’t pay it much heed as Tony took a breath and muttered one word. A word that now, looking back, was spoken very much the same way as a goodbye.
“Tomorrow.”