Chapter Text
He stared at him. His eyes lingered on his rotten figure, unapologetically. Firm as a statue that had been staring at Medusa and perusing her serpentine head, too. Carefully scrutinizing his every move. From afar; unbeknownst to him, despite being right in front of him. Still, despite having his blood boil through all his veins — out of madness, out of worry, he still hadn't figured it out.
The troubled man held a cigarette between his lips, bowing his shoulders in a hump that leaned on that cigarette, attempting to light it. He didn't really have any more things left to look forward to — that cigarette might have been just one of the remaining few anticipations he could afford.
Gabin handled his lighter despite his shaky and tired hands, still careful enough not to set his entire rebel, wavy hair on fire.
A spark caught his eyes, but it wasn't coming from the lighter. He looked up and met those eyes — those hurt, mad, disappointed eyes. They looked grey from where he was standing. They looked pale in that light — the light of a bad day.
He sighed as his nicotine cravings suddenly weren't his priority anymore.
He approached him, slowly. Taking his time down the few stairs that separated the two of them.
“Are you here for me?” He asked, hands sheltered deep in his pockets, as he eventually stood before him.
“No, there's a hooker inside I'm bailing out”
Tobias had always struggled with tone, never knowing how to explain to other people how he means what he says nor knowing what way the things people tell him are meant.
Gabin never really struggled to understand his underlaying tone, they always had a natural flow to their communication since the very first day. But that time, he did, he struggled. Was he sarcastic? Was he being for sure? How was he supposed to know, anyway? He hadn't seen him in a few days and he had absolutely no idea what had been going on during said days. Still, his supposed sarcasm came off as the coldest, sharpest dagger in his chest.
“Really?” He asked, tentatively.
The waters felt rough. Kidding wasn't appropriate. Tasting those territories, actually asking what he means rather than joking about the misunderstandings, was the best laid plan.
Tobias sighed, giving off nothing about what he meant or how he meant it. He just took his hand out of his pocket and leaned imperceptibly closer towards the man in front of him.
He gently took a lock of Gabin's wavy hair and set it aside, uncovering his bruised face.
His heart was bathing in a boiling moisture of indignation, angst, hurt, and sorrow that was making his chest burn and pinch so much it felt like his whole soul was evaporating. Yet, on the outside, he managed to keep the most clinical and detached face.
“What is it you Americans say?” He gave him a smirking nod and a playful nudge on his chest, almost flirting. “The guy I fought, you should see him”
Gabin had mistaken his gentle touch for preoccupation — affection, even. It came like a punch to realize that he was not flirting nor was he softening the mood.
“You should see the other guy” Tobias blurted out. And although it sounded like he was correcting Gabin reminding him the right expression, Gabin knew very well that it was not what he meant. Tobias's eyes told him so. They pierced right through his chest and pinned his heart up on a wall for everyone to see — here hangs Gabin's heart, he lost it over a reckless act of love he could not communicate any better.
Those eyes were exactly what Gabin needed a break from. That look he had — it was putting tears in his own eyes.
For a moment, his stare lingered on Tobias's chest. The exact spot Gabin had put his hand on, the night he had succeeded in the deratization of the choreographer's apartment, the night he told him no one has ever done anything like that for him. And Tobias, too, had put his hand on Gabin's chest before. Actually, he'd done it first.
'I won't be naive anymore' Gabin had told him. 'Your message was very clear' He stammered out, holding back the tears that came from a chipped heart which had deceived itself by thinking that someone had fallen in love with it.
'My message is never clear,' was what he told him right before taking off his headphones and crossing the room just to pat his chest.
Tears were dwelling up in Gabin's eyes as he still struggled to look at his — he wasn't brave enough, he wasn't strong enough. He just whispered, “Right. That's it.”
“I fucked up,” he said after a silent while.
The dancer's eyes were now wandering into Tobias's while also escaping from them — he looked like he had just entered his REM phase but did it wide-eyed.
“That guy has been messing with me since I was five years old. What, I'm supposed to let a fucking crackhead push me around like that?” A confession. A declaration of vulnerability. A wall taken down to let him in. It went unacknowledged.
“I've had a rough couple of days, Tobias.”
There was a moment where Tobias found it genuinely hard to tell what was redder — his bruised skin or his teary eyes; still, he couldn't talk. He was disappointed, sincerely disappointed. But he also cared about Gabin and couldn't help otherwise. He couldn't bring himself to yell at him. Gabin wasn't a 'no-one' he could easily cut out, or just forget. So, between saying words he'd regret and nothing, Tobias chose nothing.
“Just p-” the dancer's voice broke in a hoarse cry. “Please,” he'd whispered under his breath, so quietly he doubted his interlocutor had actually heard him. “Show me some sympathy,” he begged.
“This is sympathy” Tobias remarked. He was showing sympathy. He wouldn't be there in the first place, otherwise. Bailing him out, confronting him, was beyond the best he could be asked to do. Had he not cared, had he no sympathy, he would've never bothered to go get him.
“It stinks,” Gabin sniffled. “You're being cold”
'This is all I can manage' he wanted to tell him, 'My heart is sinking into a vacuum black hole I have reasons to believe I'll never feel it in my chest again. And you did it'
Instead, the polite way he chose to voice his hurt was, “You let me down”
“I didn't smash that window. They're saying I did” Gabin justified himself, thinking all Tobias was asking for was an overdue explanation. He wasn't, though. Tobias was just truly, genuinely hurt. And he could sense the gravity of it only after he heard his firmer, louder voice repeat it, “You let me down”
Tobias voice was never loud, unless he was having a nervous breakdown or a sensory overload. He figured he had to add 'emotional meltdown' to the list he had pinned in his mind after the several mental notes he had made on his quirks and triggers.
Disappointing himself was harsh enough. Disappointing someone he cared about was even harsher. But disappointing Tobias — it was utterly devastating, especially if he got to see those big, sad, hurt eyes.
That's when he realized the disappointment wasn't a pending state of mind. He had already made up his mind. And Gabin could do nothing more to prove himself, justify himself. The jury had announced their verdict — he has screwed up for good.
“Am I out?” He dared to ask, hoarsely and teary. “Did they say?” His eyes hopeless, on the contrary of his voice. “I'd have to find another company. Leave Paris”
“You let me down” Tobias cried out. It wasn't about Gabin's career. It was about the plain and simple fact that Gabin had let him down. He wasn't there. Although he had said he would be. He deserted him completely. Suddenly. With no warning signs.
He gave him one last look before he turned his back and walked away.
“Where are you going?” Gabin yelled out before Tobias could put his headphones on and just silence him.
“Wait, Tobias!” His legs were still sore and he was in too much pain to run after such a tall, fast man.
“Come on, man! I'm injured here. Slow down!”
“What?” He turned around, letting out all the annoyance he had tried to keep in.
The dancer painted, still catching his breath. He instinctively gripped the American's shoulder seeking support. And Tobias instinctively stilled, terrified that touch would be their last one.
“Just-” facing each other as if about to start a pas de deux, bodies separated but held tightly together by one fierce eye contact. “Just thank you”