Barnaby never had enough friends for anyone to add him to a group chat, but then, he wouldn't exactly call the chat between him, Raul, and Gil friendly.
Raul steered the conversation, and if it weren't for prompting answers from both of them, Gil may not have responded at all. Their mediator advised them that if they wanted to clear the air with one another, they'd need to do it in person, somewhere public. In public, neither one would have more control than the other (even Barnaby's suggestion of meeting at the cafe was shot down), and if emotions ran too high, either would be able to walk away.
They'd decided to meet at the library. It seemed to be the fairest compromise. What better place to resist making a scene, after all?
'In the back by Biographies.'
Barnaby read the message, and a chill that his bomber jacket couldn't protect him against surged down his spine. Perhaps he'd stalled in front of the building long enough.
'Be right there.'
The sky had turned dark - not that it bothered his peers any. They continued to walk right by, presumably more concerned about assignments and finals than the space he took up on the steps. He'd rather those be his biggest concerns, too.
Stuffing his phone into his backpack, Barnaby reluctantly got to his feet. Another group of students passed, and he slipped behind them to enter the library, his blood somehow colder in spite of the added warmth.
He slinked right through the aisles, following his feet before he could have the mind to turn around. He couldn't let fear stop him; as far as he was concerned, he had one more chance.
He spotted the plaque for Biography books and turned a corner. Three vintage armchairs waited, facing each other, blocking out the rest of the world. Gil, seated in one of them, appeared to be submerged in the world of whatever book he was reading.
He didn't look up until Barnaby was in front of him, muttering, "Hey."
"Hey." Gil placed his book into the satchel at his feet, then leaned back in his chair, hands folded in his lap. Like Raul, his nails were painted black. His eyes were as dreary as they'd ever been, lips taut in a straight line.
Barnaby sat across from him, struggling to hold his gaze while clenching and unclenching his hands. Unsurprisingly, they were sweaty. He imagined it wouldn't be long until sweat was beading down his face as well, accumulating under his arms.
He'd been thinking about how the conversation would go all day. What he would say. And yet, under Gil's cold, intimidating gaze, all he could do was stammer, "Sh-Should I start? I mean- unless...you want to?"
"Who paid you?"
Barnaby's lips were parted, at a loss for breath and, for moment, an answer. His heart pounded louder in his head, and he looked down, wiping his hands along his legs. "Jensen."
A few seconds of silence followed before Gil's next question, "Are you sleeping with him?"
Barnaby quickly shook his head, squeezing his eyes and pinching the fabric of his pants to center himself. "No. We're not— That wasn't why—"
"But you weren't lying." Gil's voice was monotone. Certain.
Barnaby hunched forward. Much more, and he might've curled himself into a ball. "It was just that one time." He hated how out of breath he sounded already. "It was a bet. N-Not against you. Uhm—" He started to crack his knuckles but quickly switched to rubbing his wrists and fidgeting with his sleeves. "Before the semester started. Jensen and I made this stupid deal on who could lose their virginity first. The winner got $100." He didn't mention that Jensen hadn't meant for him to take it seriously. He was shameful enough, wasn't he?
$100. Was that all his body was worth?
He slid his hands down to his knees, tempted to pull them onto the chair with him. "I needed the money."
A minute went by without a word from Gil, and Barnaby was still too cowardly to look up. He caught glimpses of passersby from the corner of his eye. He wondered if even they resented him for using the mini study area to Not Study.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Barnaby locked up. Gil sounded softer, somehow. Forgiving. "You would've turned me down?" But that wasn't all. Because that could've implied that Barnaby was reluctant going through the whole encounter. He shrugged, voice barely above a whisper - "And it's not like...I didn't want to be touched. I did. I was just as...sad and lonely as I am now." He wanted to laugh it off, but knowing how easy it was to trigger that lump in his throat, tried to swallow it down instead. "So, yeah. I went to you because I felt like I had to, but you made me want to stay."
It wasn't too long before Gil let out a sigh, "But the rest of it...Coming back. He never paid you for that?"
Barnaby's head shot up before he could remember his fear. If he was going to convince Gil of anything, it had to be that. Looking right into his eyes, he said, "No. I never thought...anything like that would ever happen. Uhm—"
He had proof. He started rummaging through his backpack for his phone.
"What're you doing?"
"I can show you," Barnaby insisted, "I still don't have a lot." He logged into his bank app.
"Stop."
Barnaby froze.
"I don't want to see it."
Demanding words. The blond hesitated before looking up again.
Gil had shifted to the edge of his seat, a troubled knit in his brows. His eyes had become smoldering greys. A sign of passion, Barnaby hoped. "I believe you."
The boy gulped.
It was exactly what he'd wanted to hear. It should have solved everything.
But then, he judged the distance between their chairs, and they didn't seem any closer. He couldn't say Gil's arms looked any more inviting, either.
He had to force his spine upright. Gil believed him, but the weight on his shoulders persisted.
It wasn't the fact they met on a bet, and it wasn't Raul's birthmark that drove them apart.
He tried to sound as meek as possible (not that it required much effort), not knowing how else to phrase the question, "Why did it matter to you? Whether I was being paid or not? You...got what you wanted either way."
"Barnaby," Gil groaned. He placed his head in his hands and rubbed his temples. There was a strain in his voice, as if consciously controlling his volume as he continued, "What I wanted was for it to be mutual. That's the— That's why I'm upset. It wasn't about money or about sex for me." The more he spoke, the more that control wavered. He glanced at Barnaby in glimpses. "At the end of the day, man...I just wanted someone around who gave a shit."
He remembered that. He remembered, as long ago as it felt, sitting in Gil's car, their agreement. But then he remembered Gil's confession that led to it, wanting someone he could relate to. Someone who wouldn't judge him.
I wanted someone to give a shit, too.
"What about Raul?" Barnaby peeped, "He seemed to care about you. Like he's really looking out for you."
Gil scoffed. "He cares because he doesn't trust me enough to leave me alone."
Barnaby bit his lip. They could have been playing Jenga and achieved the same effect — each sentence, a block pulled. A new piece of information. All the same, a step closer to send the tower crumbling down.
That was the goal of the game, wasn't it?
"Why doesn't he trust you?"
It was Gil's turn, but judging by the silence that followed, he was choosing to skip. His hands folded in front of his face, and perhaps he was praying to the floor for an answer.
Barnaby had an idea. At least of what it might involve. Though, the instant he parted his lips, Gil decided to steal the words from his mouth—
"He said you knew about the bracelets?"
Barnaby gave a solemn nod. "I know what's underneath them." He took a shaky breath in. "And it's nothing to be ashamed of."
Another scoff - the hint of sarcastic laughter.
Barnaby recognized it.
He shifted over to the middle armchair, the one directly at Gil's side. He hesitated before asking, "Can I touch you?"
Gil seemed every bit as hesitant. Eventually, he nodded.
Barnaby's hand grazed his shoulder, and gentle words slipped past the man's lips, "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Barnaby insisted. He tried to rub soothing circles into his back, a temporary relief for the knots in his muscles. "S-Sometimes the urge is there, and—"
"Not the cuts," Gil interrupted, "Though— Yeah. I am sorry you had to find out about that. I mean..." He cleared his throat and turned his head to Barnaby. "For hurting you. For...leading you on and not being a better friend. You were so good, and all I did was treat you like shit."
"No." If they weren't in public, Barnaby would have thrown his arms around him then and there. He settled for taking a hold of his hands instead. "Gil...you treated me better than anyone. I...I wanted to go back to you just to have you around, whether you cared about me that much or not."
What was meant to assure him only etched a frown deeper into Gil's face. It was hardly fair how wide and innocent his eyes could get. "If that's the case, I feel sorry for you," he said, sincerely, "You deserve better than that."
Barnaby felt the corners of his mouth twitch, and he shook his head. "I don't think so," he told him, "I think you're a great man, and...and you were good on your word. You were just so good that I couldn't help falling for you or getting attached or whatever I was feeling."
A cautious hand lifted to Barnaby's cheek, and Gil brushed a thumb below his eye, unexpectedly clearing his sight.
Oh.
He was crying.
Again.
"You deserve someone who can give you a stable future," Gil whispered, "And that's not me."
Barnaby sniffled, his lip quivering, but he attempted a sour laugh of his own. "I don't know about that," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes, "If I was as brave and handsome as you, I'd probably mess around, too."
He watched as something darker dawned upon Gil's face, shadowing his sympathy. Letting go of his hands, the raven leaned back into his seat. "I'm not pushing you away just so I can see other people, Barnaby."
The boy blinked away any of his remaining tears. He wasn't sure if he understood, and he didn't know if he wanted to. But he repeated what had been told to him, "Raul said you're not looking for commitment."
Gil rolled his eyes at that. "Oh good, so he believed that." He looked over Barnaby's shoulder and around them. Then, he focused back on hazel eyes, "Do you mind if we move somewhere else?"
"Oh, uh..." That all depended where, but as long as it was within the building, Barnaby supposed he didn't mind. "Sure?"
Gil stood up, and they grabbed their bags, Barnaby trailing behind as they journeyed to the Check Out desk. There, Gil asked for the key to the men's restroom, marking their destination. He continued to follow him until they found the door. Gil unlocked it, letting Barnaby in first, and entered behind him.
Passing the key off to the blond, Gil stayed slumped against the door.
He blocked the only exit, Barnaby quickly realized.
He gulped and kept a polite distance. "Why are we in here?"
"It's more private," Gil muttered, head tilted back to look at the ceiling. "I just—" He breathed in. "Don't want to risk word getting out again."
"Again?" What else was there to say?
"That urge you mentioned," he sighed, "It's still there."
Ba-dum.
"Oh." He'd spent so many hours with him.
"It's been there for years, and I think it'll be there forever."
He'd seen him bare from head to toe, never making out another scar.
"But I don't know how long forever will last if I can't get rid of it."
He never stopped to ask about what scars had formed on the inside.
Barnaby timed his breath. He couldn't panic in front of him; that would be the last thing he wanted from anyone else. "It's more than just, the uhm...self-harm," he asked slowly, "Isn't it?"
For a moment, Gil was completely still. Barnaby wondered if he'd even been loud enough for him to hear before he finally nodded.
It was in that shift of light that he noticed a shimmer down Gil's cheek. A tear.
In seconds, Barnaby brought himself toe to toe with him. "Hey—" Out of habit, he reached for his hands. But they were alone. So when Gil didn't resist, Barnaby tugged at his shoulders.
The man folded over him in an instant, clinging to his jacket. "I'm sorry," he choked, "I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."
"Don't be," Barnaby shushed him, stroking his hair and patting his back, "Don't be sorry. You're okay. I've got you."
"I'm such a piece of shit," he went on, "I used you—"
"You used me to feel good," Barnaby whispered, "It's okay. I understand. I wanted to feel good, too."
You didn't do anything I wouldn't have done.
He only wished Gil would've told him sooner.
Out of habit, Barnaby kissed the man's cheek.
Gil cried through his teeth, a battle with himself. If his lips were wardens, his sobs were prisoners, slamming at their bars.
His shoulders shook unevenly, and he groaned and hissed. He almost sounded like he was being burned, and Barnaby had to wonder if the tension on his body was reopening those wounds.
He guided him gingerly toward the sinks.
"Y'know," Barnaby murmured, propping Gil against the counter, "You don't have to be embarrassed about it. Not around me." He pried himself from Gil's grasp, grabbed a paper towel, and soaked it in cold water. "I've been there."
He started wiping down his face and neck, and Gil's sobs dwindled down to sniffling. He raised a brow at him. "Hurting yourself?"
"Well," Barnaby said, "That might depend on your definition." Like his mom might consider working customer service self-harm. Or how his therapist used to say that being friends with Jensen was hurting his self-esteem. Maybe being there with Gil, in that moment, was the greatest self-infliction of all.
He cupped his cheek and looked into his eyes. "Wanting to kill myself. I know what it's like."
Gil's hand covered his own, and Barnaby felt himself being studied. He didn't know what words he expected to hear, but what the man said next was a surprise - "Whose ass do I have to kick?"
Barnaby snorted and retracted his hand. "Wha- I- Mine? No one made me want to kill myself, I'm just miserable. I'm not happy with myself. I'd give...anything to live someone else's life. I've tried to change and fit in, but it never works. I'm out of place. I get it's not anyone's fault, but its made me so...lonely. I've always felt alone. And- And there was a time where I couldn't take it, but then, even I couldn't do that right, so I got used to it. And then you came along. Until you left, and...I remembered what it felt like. But I really felt like I belonged somewhere with you."
Gil's gaze flickered down. "So, what I'm hearing," he said, "is I need to kick my own ass."
"Absolutely not." Barnaby pouted and stuck the damp towel to Gil's chest. "You've done more than enough self-ass kicking."
Gil's smile was small, but it was promising. He sat on the counter entirely, slid over a few inches, and patted the spot beside him.
Barnaby hopped up, sliding into place.
"Can I touch you?"
The boy nodded. Gil's arm draped around his shoulder, and Barnaby leaned right into his side.
The raven asked, "Is this selfish?"
"A little. Maybe." Barnaby adjusted his own arm around Gil's torso. "But I don't think you're more selfish than me."
There was silence, but it wasn't so bad. He heard Gil's breath, steady, and tried to get his to match. He let himself cuddle close, remembering how his body fit so well next to Gil's. He was home.
"I don't want to be dependent on you to keep me happy."
A sinking feeling opened in Barnaby's chest, but it was shallow. "Neither do I," he admitted, "But I do want to help."
Gil huffed and gestured to himself. "I don't know if there's 'helping' this."
"I think there's hope for you." Barnaby bumped him at the hip. "I think," he muttered, "we can at least help to make sure the other is okay."
Again, Gil studied him.
He still had so much to learn about him. Why he was hurting, what he needed to heal in a way that was healthy - and could Barnaby borrow the weight on top of his own anxieties?
He couldn't imagine it would be easy. And he didn't believe he'd always be the solution.
But there was a light in Gil's eyes that needed protecting. A light that had showed itself in moments of laughter or intimacy. Maybe Raul saw that light, too. But until Barnaby could see the difference for himself, he was determined to take the responsibility of igniting it. At least until someone better came along.
Gil ruffled his hair. "What else are friends for, I guess?"