Chapter Text
In front of Gabe is a polished wooden casket—it seemed cold to his eyes, prompting him to warm his hands. It wasn't that cold, but with the tears and sobs surrounding him, it felt as if his lungs are getting consumed by ice, making it harder to breathe. Beside the casket are flowers which he don't know the name of. All he knew was it represented William's death, and the beauty of him. This caused his eyes to flicker— remembering his face in his memories that are never to be seen but in his mind.
His eyes then started to get watery—his vision is becoming blurry—unfocused like the camera lens they used when they had too much fun when William was still alive. He didn't even realize his cheeks are wet, despite always being so guarded with his emotions. Gabe didn't like being vulnerable. Everyone knew him as a fun guy, and he tries to own it. However, with William? Gabe could open his skin and show him his frozen insides, and William would be the one to thaw it. He didn't have to pretend or prove anything to William.
A soft patting hand was on his suit, comforting him from the death of his lover.
Today, he was wearing a dark polite suit, something he doesn't usually wear—a change from his purple hoodies and numerous caps.
"Is he really dead?" He mumbles so low it almost didn't reach any ears, and his speech was practically incoherent because of the sobs in between his words.
"It's all so sudden. I saw it, but..." He trails off as he tries to recall everything that has happened before Beckett's death.
"We were happy. That's what I thought. I thought he told me we'd look out for each other." He pauses, letting the words sink first.
"Forever."
"I'm sorry." The person comforting him mumbles, possibly a friend. Gabe looked down, breathing in deep the cold air that continues to freeze his lungs, before exhaling sharply as he stares at the casket once again.
"I'll just approach the front." He lets the person next to him know, the corner of his lips curling softly to create a smile. He then stands up and he makes his way to the front.
The people in the funeral didn't greet him. It seems that no one really knew him that well there, like an outcast. Gabe didn't mind much though. There were other things he needed to prioritize. Like the love of his life was now cold and pale, in front of him.
A framed picture of William was next to the casket. The family probably fixed that up for the funeral. Gabe's eyes followed the outline of his face. His face was so full of life in that picture, so much that it gave Gabe something to live for too. The memories soon started to run back to his mind, but before he could even mourn and reminisce some happy moments, a familiar figure approaches him. He stumbles a bit, before wiping his eyes that have been blurry with tears.
"You came." The other man observed. He said his words with disdain, and Gabe couldn't help but feel his breathing get harder and exhausting.
"Yeah," he paused, trying to control his breathing, "I did."
The taller man walked closer to the casket, standing beside him. He also stared at the man inside the casket, his dark lips quivering. The two of them looked like as if they hate each other, and they do, but they're here cause they both offered themselves because of love.
"Can we talk? Outside?" He suggests—it sounded more like an order. Gabe can only nod before following the man's footsteps.
Their foots stepped towards to the door, continuing to walk to a quieter space. As they walk, Gabe felt the tie on his neck get tighter. Beads of sweat formed and dripped from his forehead. So much for cold weather. They finally reached a more private place. The taller man gathered all of his strength before saying it to Gabe. He turned to him, his face trying so hard to look at him with contempt, but all Gabe received was closeted empathy.
"You can't be here."
"Travie," he stammers, "You know I loved him too." Gabe's eyes widens while his eyebrows furrowed—his expression showing his disbelief, but is still kept as something polite.
"No. You still can't be here." The other man doubles down, continuing. "You do not have the right to just waltz in here. Maybe if you weren't in his life, I could have fixed it." Gabe quiets down, searching for something in Travie's gaze that he knows is there, but hard to find. He swallows nervously, the cold air that he exhales in front of their face.
"Because of you, I never had time with him." Travie spoke harshly, stepping in closer to Gabe's space.
"And because of you, I wasn't able to listen and try help him with his problems." He continues—pointing a finger to the other man's chest. His voice is breaking with every word.
"Because of-" Travie couldn't hold it and breaks down, tears fall. Left, and then right, before they fall down simultaneously. "I could have done something. I was his boyfriend for a reason! But I wasn't there."
"I'm so shitty." Hiccups eventually joined his words. "Why'd I blame you for my faults?"
Gabe was startled before he steps closer to Travie, wrapping an arm around his shoulder to comfort him. The other man accepts his warmth, crying on his shoulder.
"Hey... It's going to be okay." He sighs with the same sadness, patting him on the back.
"He was... a great friend. He was." A woman says in front, crying softly. Gabe didn't really had the courage to say something.
Ultimately, they were already getting ready to lower him down 6 feet under the soil. It wasn't rainy today, nor was it sunny. It irritated Gabe so much. How can this day be so mundane? It should be raining, and the sky should be sad and dull, he thought. For Gabe, William was a martyr, his saving light—and martrys deserved to be mourned and honored.
In the end, no one really care about William up there. He's just another young man who died—sad, but not a devastating tragedy.
"The heavens and the sky don't know anything."
The smell of the soil did calm his nerves for a bit, but seeing the casket buried deep down in the earth heightened his senses again. The casket can still be seen under the grainy soil before it is completely considered a part of the earth.
The final prayers were said before the funeral finished. The funeral director then announces the location for the reception, inviting guests for light refreshments.
Gabe decided that he wouldn't go. He never really knew anyone there, and it would be just an awkward situation. So, he slipped away to go to a place he and William only knew.
He slipped away quietly, making sure no one notices, but he knew that was impossible—of course. He continues, however, moving away from the crowd of mourners to the only place that can give him peace today.
He arrives under the bridge that's been know to have a lot of graffiti drawn onto it. Gabe did a fourth of these.
The air under the bridge felt more breathable and cooler, giving him a sense of comfort. He looks at the cold concrete wall, his eyes searching for something that himself knew he couldn't find. A warmness that was already gone. His long fingers traces the art on the wall—his hands went over the colorful writings on the wall, before it reaches something that made his breath hitched. It was something William wrote on the wall with him, something stupid—but now it felt like it was everything.
"Gabriel Eduardo Saporta passed his exams thanks to William Beckett." He mutters under his breath—his eyes crinkling while the corner of his lips catches a smile he wasn't aware of. He chuckles lowly, in a way he did it for himself—just to make himself feel better.
But everyone has their breaking point, and seeing that dumb writing on the wall was his. His eyes formed tears, rolling again down on his cheeks. This time, however, was faster. It went down like streams, falling on rocks that were his hands. He desperately tries to stop, wiping it roughly with his arm but it never stops—the memories fueling his sobs.
"After everything. That was it?" He asks to particularly no one, with anger in his tone, struggling to breathe as hiccups took over his words.
"But why? He was a great person! William helped so many people! And out of all of the people on earth, you took him?!" He asks again, but he looks above. To the person above who took his lover.
"He helped me! I wasn't a great person. I was shitty. I didn't deserve anything but shit!" He looks down, continuing to cry. Snot was coming down his nose and he pathetically wipes it with his arm.
"He made me feel better. He was the one feeling I was searching for my whole life." His breathing calms down—still continuing to speak.
"The one feeling that made me feel easy. Because for the first time, I felt like I didn't have to move all the time. I could just stay in his arms and close my eyes, and I knew everything would be fine." He soon quiets down, sitting down as he tucks his knees under his chin, facing his head down to the ground. The weight of everything coming down on him, and it feels heavy and tight. It always had felt heavy and tight, but it felt like William's corpse was adding the weight onto his back.
"So thats how you felt." A familiar voice breaks through his mourning. His head shot up, looking around for the voice. He saw the same man in the funeral who talked with disdain to him.
"Travie," he mumbles without thinking. What was he doing here? Gabe thought.
"Why are you here?" He stammers a bit, wiping his tears with a motion—as if the puffiness would just go away with one swipe.
"I go here all the time. To keep myself steady and calm." Travie moves closer, walking with all the time in the world.
"You... also go here too?" Travie raises an eyebrow, a bit skittish with his words.
"Yeah. With William." Gabe answers shortly. The other man nods, containing his hands inside his pockets, possibly to warm himself from the cold.
"Of course." He chuckles.
"I drew most of these." Travie follows up, looking at the graffiti on the wall as he turns his body away from Saporta.
"Yeah? That's sick." Gabe looks at the art on the wall. Travie has always been artistic, and he did look up to him because of it. "You really got your strokes right." He traces an idle hand against the concrete.
Travie does the same, looking at the other writings on the wall that wasn't made by his hands. His eyes caught a glimpse of his late boyfriend's name on the wall.
"Gabriel Eduardo Saporta passed his exams thanks to William Beckett." He repeats the words softly, his fingers following every letter as if he's trying to write them again.
"Sorry. For being harsh at the funeral." Travie turns his head. "I was just... frustrated with how things have been."
"I felt like he was always comfortable with you." It hangs in the air—his words spraying a soft mist of awkwardness. He immediately tries to break the silence that has been hanging around for too long after what he said.
"So..." Travie breathes in deeply, getting himself ready for the answer despite not having asked the question yet. "What's William like with you?"
"What's William like?" Saporta thought about it, looking down at the ground. He then comfortable sits down.
"Warm." He simply says. He looked at the wall before turning his gaze back to the other man—seeing if he'd understabd.
"Warm? What does that mean?" Mccoy questions, his body facing Gabe's again. Saporta looks away—trying to find the right thoughts to share.
He sits down on the concrete ground, then Travie follows—sitting down next to him. If he didn't get to listen to William, he'd atleast want to listen to the man whom he'd been close with for the last hours of his life.
Gabe rests his chin on his knees, feeling the warmth of his slacks despite of the cold weather. Thanks a lot for body warmth. He clasped his hands together while he wraps his arms around his raised legs—his hands meeting in the middle. Travie, on the other hands, rests comfortably. He leans his back against the cold wall, one of his knees up as his arm rests on it. He felt more in control of his body unlike Saporta.
"Whenever I'm with him, I just felt like... I never had to put an effort." Gabe mumbles quietly, looking at Travie. He then realizes what he said, interrupting his words.
"I mean—it's good to put an effort! It's a good thing. But I've felt like I've done it so much." His voice suddenly getting louder, decreasing as he starts to explain himself. The other man chuckles at his flustered state.
"I get it." Travie nods. "Continue." Gabe nods, breathing in again. The cold air wasn't freezing his lungs anymore. It felt warmer—for some reason.
"But with William, I was enough. I didn't have to move around and mask what I truly feel." Gabe chuckles—to just feel better for himself again.
"Cause whenever I wasn't with him—I feel the need to move‐," he pauses, looking back at Travie.
"Wait—are you okay with me? Dumping this on you?" Gabe questions. He secretly hopes that Mccoy would say yes and be comfortable with it. He's still trying to figure out why his insides felt warmer— maybe it was cause of him.
"Yeah–sure. Don't mind." Travie offers a soft, comforting smile. It was different from William, but it does warm him. He accepts it with a similar grin. He looks down at the water below them as he proceeds.
"I feel like I need to do something or else I'll freeze. I'll die."
"Die?" Travie repeats his word with a tone of a question.
"Yeah. But... With William, I didn't need to move to feel warm. I could just be with him and everything slows down." He relaxes, he slides his legs back down on the floor. He shrugs before continuing again.
"He's the one thing I've been searching my entire life. And then he's gone." He looks back at Travie.
"I've never looked at Bilvy like that." Mccoy says, muttering his late boyfriend's nickname. It tasted something similar to the last piece of candy in a pack. He'll miss it. Gabe quickly looks at him, his eyebrows showing his confusion. He tries to understand, before speaking again. "What do you mean?"
"I never looked at him as... a savior." He voiced out.
"I never said that. I-," he sighs, seeing that he might be right. "I just said that he helped me feel better." He still utters, but now he felt that what he said was wrong. He was never really good with his words.
"You felt better." Travie's tone turned colder, and it felt like it made the temperature of the air around them lower. It was exhausting to breathe again. "What about what he felt?"
"Travie, I never meant it in that way. I tried helping-," he protested as he tried to make him understand. If he could just explain everything. But Travie was stubborn. He took back the smile he offered earlier, replacing it with a look of disdain. Just like at the funeral.
"Maybe in the cost of his life, yours continued." Travie barked bluntly before picking himself up and leaving the place.
"Fuck... I never meant..." Saporta trails off.