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due to the fact that gabe can’t sit still for longer than a few weeks or so, he gets around america a lot. it’s not an adhd thing as much as it’s a sentimental thing – if he sticks around for any longer than that, he finds that people try and get to know him. it sounds emo when he says it to himself (and in the back of his mind, he knows it’s bordering on TTTYG early pete emo,) but since william he prefers to be by himself.
it’s weird in a kind of aching way that he’s thinking about william as nothing more than an era of his life – or maybe just even an incident, the way someone would talk about an accident. william was a lot of things, many of them everything but good, but he wasn't an accident. if anything, gabe was the accident.
the thing about relationships where you can’t cope without each other is that once you end up having to cope without each other, everything has changed. no, you can’t buy that brand of shampoo anymore, because you’ll close your eyes once the smell of coconut hits you and for a split second, their head will be resting on your chest again and you’ll open your eyes hurting even more than you were before you closed them. no, you can’t go to your old favourite restaurant, because soon that became their favourite restaurant and anything that they loved when they were with you is torture, because well- they loved you, didn't they?
so anyway, for some godforsaken fucking reason, the second he booked out in minneapolis, he booked a ticket to chicago. looking back at it, he’s not even sure why. muscle memory, from all the times in jersey that he was on the phone to william and almost paid for a ticket here. maybe if he’d come sooner, this wouldn't have happened.
he wouldn't be like this.
what is this, though? his mental state’s pretty poor- technically (or at least, according to his therapist) it’s always been that way, but it’s gotten to the point now that he just hopes he doesn't look like an addict when he walks down the street. gabe considered going back to drugs when william was finished, but his sobriety was the last thread of control he had left in his life, and he wasn't prepared to give that up. that’s not to say it didn't take pete threatening to book a flight from whereverthefuck to stop him. it’s also not to say that he didn't spend the first week after william in a painful mix of hungover and too drunk to remember why he was drinking in the first place.
it hasn't been a year, which is good, because he’s already bordering on pathetic. he’s in the heart of chicago, so of course he’s seen william wondering around – and of course, he’s seen william with other people. the younger man had always been the more serious out of the two – gabe just hadn't ever clocked that up to mean that he’d be able to grow up and move on. it’s been what, nearly five months now? and gabe’s still as attached as he was when he first saw william.
forget bordering on pathetic. he’s already there. he’s pretty sure he reached pathetic when he booked the plane ticket to chicago five weeks ago.
he’s hungry, stomach gurgling so obnoxiously that the nearest woman on the phone raises her eyebrows at him, but the only decent restaurant on the street is the spanish place he took william on their five month. depressingly, he glues his eyes to the ground whilst he walks past it and just buys a tub salad from the nearest grocery store.
there’s a group of chinese exchange students bustling down the street, the crowd so large that he finds himself having to walk on the road to get past them. they’re all wearing those bright red stickers on their chests, ones that read hello! my name is
he’s assuming they’ve all written their names, but whatever they have written is in curved chinese, and he couldn’t read that if they were standing still, let alone bustling past him on a tiny sidewalk. what else could it possibly say?
hello! my name is alcoholic, but nobody here knows this.
hello! my name is clinically depressed.
hello! my name is i don’t fit in here.
gabe doesn't know what his would say. if anything, it would make more sense for him to leave it blank. hello! my name is i don't know anymore.
he scoffs mentally, returning his attention the the cracks in the pavement. emo.
there’s a quiet little coffee place down an alleyway that he hopes nobody else knows exists, and it’s where he’s choosing to sit and eat his salad. the rocket and lettuce are kind of just soggy, so he grabs a vegan carrot cake and stares blankly at the newspaper that’s been abandoned on the table in the corner he chose. the shop itself is practically empty, the only sound coming from a young girl turning the pages in her book on the other side of the shop or the barista humming to herself from behind the coffee machine.
william walks in.
gabe’s world falls apart.
william notices him.
gabe wants to shake his head in a no, don't come over here. don't ruin the small amount of sanity in my life that i built up after you left.
william orders an iced drink that gabe knows will be something to do with hazelnut creamer.
gabe wants to leave, wants to never have come inside in the first place, to never have come to chicago at all.
william walks over and sits down next to him. there’s no hello, just a brisk smile that he doesn’t mean and gabe doesn't return. “what are you doing in chicago?” he asks, and gabe doesn't want to answer, because he doesn't know. he wants to stop doing whatever he is or isn't doing in chicago and leave.
“i don't know,” he says back, thankful that his voice sounds cold and dull instead of like he's about to cry. he probably is about to cry. “how’ve you been doing?” he asks, because that's what you do when you want to leave a conversation. you ask questions that used to mean the world and now mean absolutely nothing.
“i love you,” william says, voice cracking in the way that tears gabe apart and always made him back down in fights he should have one. william’s hand is over his mouth, stopping him from making those broken gaspy noises he makes when he cries.
gabe shakes his head, standing up. “no,” he says, shrugging his bag back onto his shoulder. “you don't get to do this.”
william doesn't get out of the way, distastefully ignoring gabe’s indication of clearly wanting to leave. “i should have called, i know-”
“then why didn't you?” he asks, shaking his head when william tries to speak again. “you can’t just come back into my life like you didn't do anything. i was happier than i had ever been in my life when i was with you. and then you left me, to adjust without you. so no, you don't get to just reappear with a half assed apology.” he’s speaking too loudly and too harshly, and the girl on the other side of the room is looking at them. “you’ve moved on, william, and i’m getting there.”
william’s crying now, in the middle of the fucking store. gabe hates every single fucking word that’s leaving his mouth but he can’t stop, he won’t stop because if he stops that means he’s let william in again and he can’t let that happen, can’t let that ruin him again.
“i haven't moved on- and i didn't leave you, it was mutual-”
“you told yourself it was mutual,” he snaps, because that’s pretty much the essence of it. william says there’s too much on his mind for him to keep a steady relationship. gabe says he understands, but he also knows william can hear him sobbing into the couch he makes himself sleep on because it’s too late to find somewhere else to go.
“i’ll do anything-”
“you’ll do nothing, because i mean it when i say that there’s nothing you can do to fix this.” a small part of gabe is slowly crumbling, because what he’s saying isn't true at all. five months ago, he would have sacrificed everything else he had for william to come back, and nothing’s changed since that day.
william shakes his head. “don't say that. you- you know it’s not true, gabe, you can’t say that- please, i-”
“the person you broke up with,” he says, pausing to rake in a harsh breath that hurts him almost as much as the look on william’s face, “is not me anymore. you took who i was with you when you left and now i’m-”
he stops there, because he doesn't know.
all he knows is that he wants everything to go back to way it was.
“can’t we just-”
“can’t we just what? pretend like nothing ever happened?”
“i know how much i hurt you, gabe, i’m so, so sorry-” william tries to say, but he falters, and gabe wonders if it’s because he can see that gabe’s actually crying.
“if you knew how much you hurt me then you wouldn't still be here, billiam,” and the old nickname stings more than any insult ever could. “if you knew how much you hurt me then i don't think you would have come over here in the first place.
if you knew how much you hurt me then i think you’d actually get that there’s some things apologies can’t fix.”
william tries to talk again, harsh cries silently racking through his chest. the barista has put down whatever she was holding in favour of turning and watching them.
“i haven't lived in an actual house since we broke up because nothing is home anymore without you there,” he says, taking defeat in the way wiliam flinches. this is hurting. this is hurting a lot.
“i had nightmares about you- i still get them, actually. they’re like the ones i used have about you, the ones where something would happen and i couldn't stop it and i’d have to watch you get hurt or die or something. remember those?” he lets out a short laugh, but there’s nothing but hollow pain behind it. “the only difference now is that when i wake up fucking terrified, you’re not there.”
and it’s with the end of that sentence that he pushes past william, leaving his salad and carrot cake and soulmate in the corner of a tiny coffee shop. gabe’s proud of himself, in a way, for not breaking down in front of william or listening to the impulse that tells him to go back as soon as he’s left.
it doesn't mean he doesn't collapse into tears the second he shuts his hotel door, sobs that he can feel all over his body. gabe thinks he’s going to throw up, but he also can’t move, so he just curls up against the door and sobs. before today, he didn't think he had anything else left in him. the small amount of stability he’s spent the last five months building up bleeds out of him, and that dark cloud in his mind is back. it’s the one that wouldn't go away before he met william, the one that’s now telling him that the hotel balcony is high enough off the ground to make leaving it permanent.
he calls pete first. he wants to be talked out of doing something stupid, and pete’ll probably be the one to do it.
he picks up on the fifth ring, and gabe can hear muted chatter in the background. “i’m in a meeting, gabe, how important is this?”
gabe just tries to stop crying enough to breathe.
“gabe?” he asks again, and when gabe accidentally lets out this hideous wrenched sob, he hears pete excuse himself and then open and close a door. “breathe, gabriel,” he instructs.
“i just saw william and i want to die,” he says, or at least that’s what he tries to say. he thinks pete will interpret the gross crying in that way. nothing is good anymore.
“no, you don't want to die. you want to stop crying and breathe properly. where are you? i’m in santa monica right now, are you still in cali? breathe,”
“chicago,” he manages, fumbling at the black minifridge for a bottle of cold water. he’s numb now, but he can breathe, albeit ragged.
“why’re you in chicago? i’m booking a flight now. what hotel? shit- next flight out’s not ‘til tomorrow-”
“no- it’s okay. just- don't hang up yet?” he says, and it’s weak and pathetic, but it’s what he needs. “i know this is stupid- i’m sorry about your meeting, by the way- i just- he started crying in the middle of the coffee shop.” the window in his hotel room is shut, and the traffic is muffled enough to be a calming thrum of motor engines. “i really wanted to forgive him- i need him- but it’s never going to be the same again, is it? if i let him back into my life?”
“no, it isn't,” pete says gently, and he hears patrick distantly ask if everything’s alright. “but that doesn't mean it isn't worth trying again. just- take a bit to calm down, okay? this is your decision.”
“i don't forgive him but i think i’ll regret this for the rest of my life if i don't get him back whilst i still have the chance.”
“so call him and tell him that. this is william. he did a dick thing, but he’s sorry now, and no, that doesn't make it better, but it’s a start. i gotta go, but i’ll call you when i get out and i promise i’ll fly out within the next week.”
“i love you, bro,” gabe says, because nothing really covers what he should be saying to pete. thank you for dropping your life to deal with mine? it’s still not enough, but he says it anyway, and pete laughs and loves him too. once he hangs up, he closes the fridge door and curls up next to it, not thinking about william at all until he’s the only thing on his mind. somehow, he lets himself be dragged into sleep.
it’s dark when he wakes up, and his body is stiff from being on the hard carpet, but he starts to stretch out after a few minutes, limb after limb painfully cracking. some of the ache wears off once he gets in the shower, as it always does, but he can feel it in his legs when he bends down to look for some clean clothes. it’d be a lot cheaper to go downstairs to the $7 buffet, but he looks like shit and doesn't want to be near anyone, so he calls room service for a tub of minestrone. being a shitty hotel in the centre of chicago, there aren't many vegetarian options. it doesn't matter, because he’ll leave tomorrow. where he’s going, he’s not sure- pete’s house, maybe? all he knows is that coming to chicago was a mistake. his entire day was a mistake.
there’s a sharp knock on the door, which is remarkably fast for room service. it also makes gabe realise that he zoned out after putting on his boxers. “one sec!” he shouts, grabbing the nearest pair of sweats and almost putting them on backwards. then again – it’s room service in a shabby hotel. the dude’s probably seen a lot worse than gabe saporta in his boxers.
william’s standing outside the door.
gabe doesn't want to open it.
william’s holding a small bouquet of white flowers and staring at the floor.
gabe opens the door.
“i didn't follow you, if you were wondering. i called pete and asked if he still had that tracker on your phone,” he blurts out, instead of saying hello. gabe doesn't know whether to be relieved or not that william didn't follow him out of that tiny coffee shop. also, pete having a tracker on his phone?
not important right now, he tells himself. “why are you here, william?” he says quietly, because he knows how much he looks like he’s been crying, even after sleep and a shower. william’s eyes are red and puffy as well, which consoles gabe at least a little bit.
“i- i know that i fucked up like, a lot. and i know that i fucked up to the point that profusely apologising isn't going to cut it. i’m still sorry for what i did, and i think i always will be, even if you do end up forgiving me. you’re the person that meant more to me than anyone else and i completely abandoned that because i was struggling to cope with the distance and the stress of what was going on around me. i know that’s a pathetic excuse, but it’s all i have. leaving you was a mistake, gabe,” he says, voice thick with tears, and it’s been so long since gabe’s heard his own name uttered from those lips that he’s starting to like the sound of it again. “the distance was always something that bothered me and probably always will, but that doesn't matter at all because i can put up with that in the same way that i cannot stand not being with you. i need you.’
“‘i know this is ridiculously selfish, because you were starting to move on from me and then i just reappeared,” he mutters, and he’s crying again, being more open with his emotions than he ever was when they were together. it’s a start.
“i wasn't starting to move on from you,” he chokes out as if the words are something he wants as far from his as possible. “i could never move on from you, bill, and i hate you for that.” william makes no attempt to say anything else or move any closer, just continues staring at gabe like he’s his lifeline. “i don’t know if i can ever forgive you,” he whispers, and it’s burning his throat more than any vodka he’s used to forget about the younger man, “but if i don’t take this chance i have with you again i don't know if i’ll ever forgive myself.”
“so take this chance,” william breathes, stepping closer and tilting his head forward. it’s not a demand, which gabe is thankful for – it’s an invitation, one that reads i’m going to help you forgive me in william’s shitty cursive scrawl. it’s an invitation that gabe takes.
when he kisses william, he breathes him in, and he’s surrounded by coconut shampoo and cute arrogance and everything that’s been missing in his life since william left.
it’s a start.