Chapter Text
Azra screwed his eyes shut in concentration, his fingers grasping at the sheets on either side of him. Gabriel’s fingers gripping his hips were anything but gentle, and the only noise coming from the man behind him were deep huffs of his breath as he moved against Azra; the occasional grunt with a particularly forceful, if still lackluster, thrust.
“Like that?” Gabriel asked against the back of Azra’s neck, hardly sounding affected by the exertion at all.
Azra’s only response was something halfway between a groan and a sigh, which Gabriel seemed to take as an affirmative, fingers continuing to pinch uncomfortably at the soft flesh of Azra’s hips as he moved.
Gabriel’s chest draped lazily over Azra’s back and for a moment, Azra felt a small amount of the closeness that they had shared when they first met, even just physically. He craned his neck, turning over his shoulder in an attempt to catch Gabriel’s lips in a kiss, but as soon as his jaw brushed his own shoulder, Gabriel all but jerked back until his spine was practically ramrod straight. The resulting ache in Azra’s chest was distinctly familiar, but at this point he should have been used to it. He couldn’t remember the last time Gabriel had kissed him in bed.
He could feel his eyes begin to sting; it was always worse when he actually made an effort. If he just took what Gabriel gave him, without asking for more, it never hurt quite as badly. He wasn’t going to cry. That would make it worse.
Gabriel was too far gone in his own pleasure to notice Azra's hurt expression. His fingers tightened on Azra’s hips and a few more forcefully uncomfortable thrusts had him finishing with a groan. Azra was almost thankful. It wasn’t anything resembling ‘good,’ and Gabriel had taken very little care to make sure he was ready and it hadn’t been especially comfortable, but he wasn’t going to turn down anything Gabriel was willing to offer him, even if it was lackluster sex.
As Gabriel stood and walked towards the door, Azra rolled over and watched as he flicked the lights back on without so much as a glance back to where his boyfriend was still laying in bed and retreated to the bathroom. A few moments later he could hear the shower running.
He sighed, bone-deep and weary, and pulled a pillow to his chest to bury his face in it, pretending for just a moment that the lingering scent of Gabriel’s expensive shampoo was enough to satisfy him.
He only remained where he was for a moment longer however; Gabriel’s showers were notoriously short and if Azra was still in bed when he exited the bathroom, he would be sure to catch a patented eyeroll, or a comment about laziness. Forcing himself out of bed, he pulled his linen pajama trousers from the floor where Gabriel had unceremoniously tossed them, and made his way towards the bathroom himself. If he brushed his teeth, there was a chance Gabriel might kiss him goodbye.
Thankfully, Gabriel hadn’t locked the door behind him and as he opened the door, the steam rushed out at him.
“Careful with the sink!” Gabriel called lazily from the shower, and Azra sighed. Of course the temperature of the water was all Gabriel was thinking about, not minutes after they had just had sex.
He turned the water on just enough to wet his toothbrush before twisting the faucet back into place and as he began to brush, the stream of water in the shower turned off abruptly. He looked over, shooting Gabriel a somewhat hopeful smile around his toothbrush as he stepped out of the shower door.
The returning expression was more of a grimace than anything else as Gabriel reached for his towel and began to dry himself off. Azra turned back to the sink, spitting into the bowl.
“Do you have time for a bit of breakfast before you go?” He asked quietly, before returning the toothbrush to his mouth, already knowing what the answer would be.
“You already brushed your teeth,” Gabriel said, his voice flat as he secured the towel around his hips. “We should have a chat.”
Oh.
“Oh… Er, we should?” Azra’s heart sunk.
“Yes. I don’t say things I don’t mean, Azra, you know that. You shouldn’t ask me to repeat myself.”
Azra could practically hear the eyeroll as he looked away to rinse his toothbrush.
“If you think about it real hard, I’m sure you already know what I’m going to say.”
“Er, yes, I… I rather think I do.” Azra couldn’t help but feel humiliated, nothing had even been said, but Gabriel had always had a way of making him feel small. In the figurative sense, at least.
“You’re boring, Azra,” Gabriel said without preamble. “We don’t work. This,” he gestured between them, “isn’t working. I can barely even stand to look at you when I fuck you. We have to end this.”
“What?”
Azra’s breath was coming up short, and he vaguely wondered if this was what being in shock felt like.
He had meant it when he agreed that he knew where this conversation was going, but he had never in his life imagined Gabriel would be this cruel.
“I mean,” Gabriel continued, as if Azra hadn’t spoken at all. “Look at you, and look at me. You’ve completely let yourself go. I can’t be seen in public with someone who looks like you, what does that say about me ? Maybe if you lost the gut, but even then. ”
His eyes were stinging again, and this time he wasn’t sure how long he would be able to keep them under control.
“Gabriel, please, let’s… Let’s talk about this. We’ve been together for two years dear, this is our home . We can fix this.”
“This is my home Azra. I’d like you to be gone when I get home from work.”
“Where am I supposed to go?” Azra asked weakly, feeling as if his knees might buckle and holding himself steady as best as he could.
“That isn’t really my problem, now is it? You’ve got a couch in that stuffy bookshop of yours, don’t you?”
“Well, yes, but--”
“Then it’s settled. I brought you some boxes home from work, they’re in my office downstairs.”
Azra stood there silently, gaping up at Gabriel, unable to understand what could possess him to be so truly awful.
“Close your mouth, that’s not at all attractive.”
Instinctively, he obeyed, mouth snapping shut and the hurt in his expression going completely ignored by Gabriel who took a few steps towards the door before stopping and turning back.
“Goodbye Azra.”
And then, as if things couldn’t get any worse, Gabriel bent over to leave a perfunctory, emotionless kiss to Azra’s forehead, as if he was checking an item off a to do list. Without any further ado, he was stalking out the door and shutting it behind him in Azra’s face.
Azra wasn’t sure how long he stood there, but as he did he was acutely aware of the muffled noises of Gabriel going about the rest of his morning routine in the next room, as if nothing had even happened.
There was something doubly awful about listening to the man he loved, the man who’d crushed his heart not even moments before, going about his morning without him, like he’d never even been there. Gabriel’s come was steadily trickling down his leg, sticking the linen of his trousers uncomfortably to his skin, and Gabriel had already forgotten about him. He felt frozen in place, the tears that had been threatening to fall as Gabriel walked out the door suddenly dry and gone, his throat tight and unsure of how to proceed.
He wasn’t sure which was worse, the prospect of having to walk past Gabriel in the bedroom, or being such a coward that he hid right where he was until Gabriel had left. The shower was right there however, and he didn’t think he could face the man in the other room, so it seemed like the universe had made that decision for him with that one saving grace.
With shaky steps, he moved towards the still open shower door, and reached for the valve, quietly wondering if it were, in fact, possible to drown oneself with only the spray of a shower head?
--
By the time Anathema and Newt rang the doorbell, Azra had numbly dragged the boxes out to the living room; his things strewn haphazardly. Each item that had once had a treasured space, a home, in this flat that he and Gabriel had shared now awkwardly out of place, much like he himself felt. He was grateful for the interruption, because if he had to spend one more moment staring at the framed photograph of he and Gabriel last year at his birthday and trying to figure out what the devil he was to do with it, he thought he might go mad.
Gratefully, he set it back down on the coffee table and made his way to the door.
“Congratulations,” Anathema said as soon as Azra opened the door.
“She means, ‘sorry to hear about Gabriel,’” Newt supplied, following behind her.
“I meant what I said, dear.”
The words stung with a painful familiarity from earlier this morning, but Anathema was smiling fondly up at Newt as she spoke, so very dissimilar to the cold stare Gabriel had leveled at him in their bathroom.
“Thank you, both of you, for your help.” Azra interrupted, smiling nervously and ushering them both inside. “I’m very grateful for your assistance. Can I offer either of you something to drink?”
He really was grateful for the two of them. Anathema was a regular customer of his from the bookshop who had quickly involved herself in his life and become quite a close friend. One of his only friends, he now feared, making him feel even more lucky for her persistence. He highly doubted that Michael or Uriel would have any interest in speaking to him now that he and Gabriel were no longer… attached.
He was glad at least to realize that he didn’t feel as though that was much of a loss. Gabriel’s friends had always seemed to look down on him in a way that, he’d thought, Gabriel hadn’t. He supposed he was wrong about that.
“No, let’s just get this over with. I don’t like the energy in here,” Anathema said distastefully. “Rubs me the wrong way. Just like Gabriel.”
“Well.” Azra clapped his hands together. “I’ve nearly got everything boxed up. I’ll just need help with the, ah… moving.” The word was bitter on his tongue. Moving had been the last thing from his mind. He knew, of course, that things with Gabriel were deteriorating, but surely two years together were worth more than a few minutes in a cold, cramped bathroom and empty boxes in the office.
“Is this all you have?” Newt asked, eyeing the small stack of boxes sat on the otherwise spotless floor.
“Gabriel’s is a more Spartan aesthetic. He isn’t a fan of clutter. Luckily most of mine has remained at the bookshop, as a result.”
“Sounds like you were living with him instead of the two of you living together,” Anathema said.
“Well, it is his flat.” Gabriel had made that abundantly clear earlier.
“You lived here together, Azra, if that’s the justification he gave you I’m going to hex him even harder, you know.”
“Oh dear, you needn’t do anything of the sort. This sort of thing just… happens sometimes, despite everyone’s best efforts.”
Privately, Azra, as he thought more about it, realized he probably didn’t make enough of an effort. He might have tried a little harder to keep Gabriel interested, took better care of himself, made himself more engaging and more available and just… more. He’d never been quite good enough for Gabriel, even at the beginning. He should have tried harder to keep him.
“Azra.” Anathema’s voice cut through, sharp and clear. “Whatever you’re thinking right now, I expect you to stop right now. I can guarantee you not a word of it is true and whatever you’re thinking about yourself, you should be thinking much worse about that complete prick of an ex boyfriend.”
Ex boyfriend.
It was the first time Azra had framed Gabriel as an ex, and he didn’t like it one bit. The loss was even sharper, even more blinding in the light of that horrible word. Surely there was something gentler? Former, previous, last, estranged even, but never ex . Something about ‘ex’ felt too final.
“Uh… come on, mate, why don’t you show me what you want to move first, yeah?” Newt’s ever awkward, but sweet voice pulled him out of his thoughts, and Azra was somewhat embarrassed to see the look he was giving Anathema.
Leave the poor sod alone, it seemed to say. Though realistically, he knew Newt would never think of him in such unkind terms.
“Of course.” Azra was grateful for the opportunity to shift his focus elsewhere. “Just these. Shouldn’t take long.” He gestured to the small stack of boxes with a watery smile. “Ever so grateful for the help.”
As Anathema and Newt turned towards the door with the first of the boxes, Azra paused, looking back at the table, and quickly shoved the framed photograph he had been staring at into the last of the boxes.
He was right of course, it took hardly any time at all to get the few boxes he had packed into the boot of Newt’s dreadfully named car. Really, it was for the best that Azra’s collection of miscellania remained at the bookshop; he wasn’t sure the car would have been able to handle much more.
It was more painful than Azra expected, locking the door behind him and watching their… no, Gabriel’s, flat leave his line of sight as the car pulled away. He stayed quiet for most of the ride, lost in terrible contemplation.
Mercifully, Anathema and Newt hadn’t pressed for more conversation as they made their way to SoHo, though he assumed this was more due to Newt’s mercy than Anathema’s. He could tell she was biting back sentiments that were sure to spill out sooner rather than later, and be rather scathing indeed. Regardless, he was grateful for the opportunity to regain his composure before it was gone entirely until the calming, reassuring sight of his beloved bookshop could be seen as they rounded the corner.
Newt pulled the car to the kerb and parked it before turning to Azra in the back seat. “You sure you don’t want to come to ours for a few days?”
“Quite sure, thank you.” While it was true that the bookshop had very little by way of actual home amenities, he needed the comfort of something familiar now more than he needed the comfort of… comfort. Besides, it did at least have a small kitchenette in the back room, he would manage while he figured something out long term.
Just as packing had, unpacking took very little time at all. Much of what had been at Gabriel’s was either clothes or books, and the books found their homes in the back shelves of the shop; the ones that held his private collection, which customers were not permitted access to. The clothes, for now, simply remained in their boxes in the back room. After all… he didn’t have much in the way of variety, Gabriel was right about him being plain.
“How about a spot of tea?” He asked suddenly, sniffing and attempting an air of indifference as he did so, plastering on a polite smile for his friends and gesturing towards the kettle he had just unpacked.
Anathema shoot Newt a look and they both nodded in unison.
“Ta, we’d love to,” Newt said, pointedly ignoring the fact that his friend was likely on the verge of tears. He wasn’t entirely keen on the idea of leaving Azra alone in the shop anyway; tea would provide an easy excuse to keep him from being alone for just a bit longer.
Azra gestured towards the overstuffed couch and armchairs that Gabriel had mentioned earlier, but finding that he was easily able to manage a genuine smile for his friends this time around. After all, there was nothing a bit of tea couldn’t fix.
He left them in the chairs and moved into the kitchen, switching on the kettle as he moved with practiced ease through the little space. Brewing tea was almost like a ritual to him, and the familiar actions soothed the remainder of his nerves that remained frayed.
By the time the tea was finished, he was smiling again, momentarily numb from the shock of the day, and walked the tea out on a tray to his guests.
“Two sugars for you, Anathema, and Newt, just milk,” he said, passing off the mugs to each of them in turn.
“Azra.” Anathema started as soon as he had sat down to join them, his own tea in hand. Here it was, everything she had wanted to unload in the car, and he braced himself.
“Gabriel is insufferable . We all thought it and no one said it to your face because we love you and you loved him. But he is.”
There went that lovely numbness. “He isn’t really,” Azra protested. It sounded weak even to his own ears. “You just have to know him.”
“Wine is an acquired taste, not people. It is a struggle to get through a five minute conversation with his stupid, pompous, smug face. He did you a favor. But I'm still going to fucking put a curse on him.”
“While I appreciate the sentiment, Anathema dear, that is truly unnecessary. If not for Gabriel’s sake, for mine; Whether he deserves it or not,” he paused to hold up a hand as she opened her mouth to interrupt, “and I know you think he does, I would feel truly terrible were something to happen to him.”
Anathema held his gaze in a hard stare for a moment before sighing deeply. “Next time I bring you back a crystal ward from South America, you’d better not turn it down.”
He couldn’t help but smile at that.
“Of course, dear.”
“No, I’m serious, Azra. You met him right after you turned it down.”
“We’re not,” Newt cut in, looking pointedly at Anathema, “of course, saying any of this is your fault though, Azra.” He smiled reassuringly at Azra.
They were a good pair, he thought to himself, a bittersweet feeling overtaking him. He’d thought the same about he and Gabriel.
“Of course not,” Anathema agreed hurriedly. “But the crystal would have helped, is all I’m saying.
Azra sighed, finally feeling the weight of what had happened that morning sinking down on him. He looked up at Anathema and Newt questioningly.
“What am I going to do, dear?”
“Well,” Anathema starting, expression finally softening. “Today, you’re going to try to relax. Don’t open the bookshop - or do, if you need the distraction. But you’re just going to have to make it through today. And tomorrow we’ll deal with tomorrow.”
One day at a time. He could do that.
“I’ll have to find a new flat.”
“And you’ll make it your own. Not Gabriel’s, it’ll be yours.”
“Mine,” Azra echoed. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”
After two years of ours, ‘mine’ felt rather hollow.
--
Azra awoke on the sofa with a crick in his neck. In books, when a person found themselves in a situation such as his, they always seemed to wake up and forget for a moment what had happened to them the day before and where they were. If he had to hazard a guess, the blame for the lack of this transitional experience was entirely on the cushions he was sunken into. He never would have felt like this upon waking up in Gabriel’s bed. He had grown used to the firm mattress that Gabriel insisted on over the last two years, and as much as he used to long for the softness of sinking into a cloud of a bed, his back could no longer tolerate the squashy, overstuffed sofa.
Generally speaking, Azra was quick to rise. He wasn’t one to linger in bed longer than he had to, eager to greet the day and start on whatever it would bring him. Today, however, he had no such eagerness. He sat on the edge of the little sofa, rolling his neck and shoulders to ease the crick, and stared at the opposite wall. The weight of the previous day’s events settled on him like a boulder between his shoulder blades, and he wasn’t sure if he was strong enough to stand with it pushing him down.
If he could stand to continue laying down on the sofa and let the rest of the world pass him by for the rest of the day he might. But the shop needed his attention. Keeping it running smoothly was more of a priority than ever now that he would have only himself to depend on.
He knew that Anathema had suggested to take a day for himself but he had as yet managed to keep himself from crying, and if he were to keep the shop closed and stew, that dam was bound to burst. He wasn’t ready to let go of that one last shred of dignity. Not yet at least.
Besides, the bookshop had opened every day except bank holidays and Christmas at nine o’clock sharp, and he wasn’t about to change that today. If there was one thing he could control, it was his bookshop. The one thing Gabriel had never been able to (nor wanted) to have any part of. The one thing that had always been and always would be Azra’s.
His morning routine was shortened significantly by the sheer lack of space and supplies in the bookshop, and he found himself ready to throw the doors open much earlier than usual, which was less than ideal considering any opportunity for an idle thought might be what finally pushes him over the edge. He looked around for something to keep him busy until the clock struck a merciful nine.
He may as well hunt for a flat. Too many more nights on this sofa would just be adding significant insult to injury.
Gathering up his tea and walking up to the till, he powered on the ancient desktop computer that sat on the counter, steadily gathering dust. He hadn’t wanted to have one in the shop at all, but now he felt lucky to have it as he waited for the poor thing to sputter to life. It seemed to be hanging on by a thread, and Azra felt a sort of kinship with it in that regard.
“You and I are quite alike today, my dear,” he muttered to the machine, the words coming out as more of a sigh than anything else.
After what felt like an eternity, the monitor came alive and Azra opened up a browser window, hesitating on the search bar, the cursor blinking back at him with a sense of finality. Things with Gabriel were well and truly over.
He could hardly keep dwelling however, Carry On and all that, and so he took a moment to steady himself before resentfully pulling up Google to search for flats, thus beginning the first day of the rest of his life.
After navigating through a series of categories, Azra was faced with a seemingly endless list of stark blue letters. How anyone was expected to comb through all that was beyond him. He came across something mildly promising, a newly renovated one bedroom just a few miles from central London, but a quick once over of the content of the advertisement had him choking with indignation at the price.
Another seemingly promising advertisement went into great detail about how desirable the poster found the prospect of renting his guest room to a young, nubile woman eager to please. Azra hadn’t been able to finish reading.
There had to be another option.
There was a flat above him, which he had declined to rent out in addition to the bookshop in favor of moving in with Gabriel - the most foolish decision he had ever made, he’s now realizing.
He vaguely remembered receiving a letter from his former landlord when he sold the building, and the paperwork from the change in management was around the shop somewhere. He hadn’t ever heard anyone moving about in the flat upstairs, and he had assumed it was just good insulation but now his heart leapt at the possibility that the flat might be empty .
Bustling into the back room where he meticulously kept his business and tax documents, he crouched down in front of the filing cabinet, pulling open the second drawer down and rifling through until he found the manila folder that contained his rental agreement. Sure enough, behind the lease, was an unfolded letter from his previous landlord, and down at the bottom, highlighted in yellow should he ever need use of it, was the name and telephone number for the new building owner.
Anthony J. Crowley
020 8576 8560
Finally, something was going right.
He shut the filing cabinet, taking the letter with him to grab his telephone off the wall and, with a cursory glance at the clock - it was a quarter to eight, not too early, he was sure, eagerly punched in the numbers.
The phone rang in his ear, once, twice, and then on and on for so long without going to voicemail that he almost hung up. But he sorely needed to reach this Anthony Crowley, the sooner the better, and it had to go to voicemail at some point, mustn’t it?
After what felt like an eternity, the ringing broke and a gruff voice, rough with sleep, cut through the line.
“What?”