West Egg was slowly being awakened for its slumber, turning from pitch black to the same shade as the Valley of Ashes to the brightness Gian had only seen in situations involving Gage. The lavish mansion was finally dim; the party having ended a mere hour ago, but Gian was still buzzed on the energy that such an event brought.
His small house, nestled in the shadows of Gage’s estate, was blissfully silent and the stock broker finally laid down on his bed. It had to be near midnight, but even though exhaustion was creeping through the young man’s veins he doubted that he’d be able to fall asleep.
Gage’s damn, beautiful face and laugh, the connotation of love as strong as stainless steel, had been hiding behind his eyelids and keeping him awake all night.
The clock ticked onward from its place on the mantle, and in the silence of his house Gian thought it was deafening. It was overshadowed, however, by the bright tones of the doorbell.
Crawling off of the rumbled sheets, the bed still cold, Gian stumbled towards his front door in the darkness of his home.
“Yeah?” He asked, blearily opening the door, “Oh, hello Gage.”
The dapper man was standing awkwardly in the doorway, hands in his pockets and gaze downcast. His white suit wasn’t as bright as usual; not the beaming color that Gian imagined angel’s wings would be, but the color of the moon is as it watches in pity.
“Good evening, Gian,” Gage smiled tiredly, “I just came to check on you, I didn’t see you at the party this evening.”
Gian resisted the urge to rub the sleep from his eyes, trying to recall his lessons on politeness, as he quickly welcomed his guest into his small abode. He flicked on the lights, and motioned Gage onto the couch as the taller man smiled with gratitude.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t come over,” Gian apologized, holding back a yawn—why was it now, when Gage was over, his body decided it was alright to sleep? “I was just… I was tired.”
“You still look tired, old sport,” Gage told him, “have you not been sleeping well?”
Gian sunk down onto the couch, leaving some space between him and Gage, and ran a hand through his hair.
“Don’t worry about it, Gage,” the bond man brushed off his neighbor’s worry, “So, anyway, how was your party?”
Gage shook his head, refusing to leave the topic alone, and Gian cursed him as he felt his eyelids get heavier by the second. He couldn’t fall asleep like this; it would be not only rude but embarrassing.
“Don’t worry about the stupid parties,” Gage told him firmly, and then worry flooded his eyes, “Are they keeping you awake?”
Gian shook his head, quickly reassuring his neighbor. “No, it’s not that. The parties are no problem, I assure you.”
Gage didn’t seem reassured, but nodded in a jerky movement, “Yes, of course, old sport. I…” the rich man seemed lost for words, so Gian let a small smile spread across his face in hopes to calm him.
It did the trick, because Gage settled back into the couch and a little of the anxiety that was painted upon his bones dissipated.
“So, please,” Gian decided that if his body had refused to sleep for so long, it would make it another hour or so even with Gage’s calming voice, “I heard your band, it was very lovely. What piece were they playing?”
“Ah yes,” Gage beamed, and launched himself enthusiastically into the details of his party; both large and small. His arms flailed in the air, white teeth flashing, and eyes so open—like windows to an old house flung into vulnerability for the first time—that it both drew Gian in and terrified him.
The sun had to be rising soon; Gian’s hour estimate was turning into the reading of a novel, so full of emotion it couldn’t be put down for fear of shattering the image it was painting. Gage was past the band by now, choosing raving about the lavish dress of all his guests as his next chapter.
Gian was barley awake, head slumping towards the back of the couch until he caught himself and bit his tongue in an attempt to stay awake.
Finally, with Gage speaking quickly about alcohol or something just as vague, Gian felt his eyes slip shut and head slump back. No matter how hard he fought to stay awake, his limbs refused to cooperate and just went limp against the cheap upholstery. The rich man next to him didn’t seem to notice, choosing to cast his gaze around Gian’s home and continue his narrative.
Gian would have to apologize in the morning, because the darkness of blessed sleep was creeping up his skin and he had no fight left. It was all consuming, just like Gage’s voice.
Gage slowed his speech, peering over at his listener with searching eyes. The shorter man had stopped his nodding, and his eyes were shut.
“Gian?” he asked gently, one hand hovering over his friend’s arm, “are you awake?”
The bond man didn’t answer, so Gage assumed he’d fallen asleep. Good, the rich man assured himself, the poor man looked like he hadn’t slept in days, perhaps weeks, and he needed all the sleep he could get.
However, the couch didn’t look comfy, and so Gage stood from his seat and pondered what to do. There were butterflies in his stomach, threatening to fly up his throat and choke him, and shivers racking his limbs as ghosts whispered in his ear.
Carefully, far too carefully when taken into context—for Gian was no frail lady shaking in her heels from exhaustion—Gage lifted the bond man into his arms. The older man shook his head, frustration and exasperation mixed into a vile cocktail, at his friend’s inanity.
Thankfully, Gian’s house was not nearly the monstrosity Gage’s was, and so it was no problem finding his sparse bedroom. Wrinkled sheets and a room with few possessions greeted Gage, as their owner was far from in a place to be a host, and he shifted his weight on either foot until sighing and laying Gian on the frugal bed.
The shorter man deserved the world decked in gold; bands playing to his name, the masses paying devotion to his mere image, a house broader than his heart, everything he wanted at his fingertips, his beck and call. He did not deserve to live in Gage’s shadow; a ghost of Heaven, of a chance not taken. He deserved Gage’s love, not to lie awake—alone—in the blinding light of the rich man’s home which was oh so cold without the shorter man’s presence.
So empty was that house—even when filled with beautiful, peppy women and gorgeous, drunk men—without Gian.
Gage pulled the covers up over his neighbor’s torso, stepping back with shaking hands as Gian rolled over a bit and curled up.
“Good night, old sport,” the taller man whispered in the darkness—so powerfully contrasting when placed next to Gage’s lightshow—and let himself out the wobbly door. “I love you.”
Morning light streamed in Gian’s window, blinding despite the foliage that should have blocked some of the rays, but it was barely enough to rouse the exhausted man. Eventually, the stock broker hauled himself out of the warm bed and sat, hunched over, on the edge of the mattress.
God, Gian couldn’t believe he’d fallen asleep in Gage’s presence. Gage’s! It wasn’t one of his pitying friends; this was the embodiment of the sun rising fervently into the sky and Aphrodite’s star pupil. This was the man who could bring the world to their knees with a smile; the man who made the ocean jealous, for it could never be as blue as his eyes. This was the man who saw Gian at his most vulnerable; this was the man that had no clue that Gian loved him.
Gian fell back onto his bed, legs sliding forward on the wooden floor as his lungs feebly drew in air. His hands clenched in the bedsheets, eyes closed against the blinding light.
“I love him,” Gian told his empty, lonely room, jaw suddenly heavy and lips numb, “I love Gage.”
The day progressed slowly, the light from the sun seemingly as lazy as golden molasses, and Gian felt like he’d never truly left his sleepy state. So, the bond man busied himself by cleaning his small home and sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. It was during the first of these times, with words refusing to register in his mind and thoughts becoming images—images he couldn’t handle, that he found the letter.
“Dear Gian,” it read, the handwriting far too neat—the handwriting of a trained individual, the natural look being scrubbed away and replaced by some artificial look—and panic ceased his heart.
“I apologize for keeping you up so late yesterday, and I beg your pardon for my actions. I should not have kept you up so late, and I hope you do not mind that I moved you to your room. I simply did not believe the couch would be an adequate place for you to rest. Thank you for listening to my stories yesterday evening, as you are a wonderful listener and a pleasure to have as company. I would hope, if you are rested enough and please, don’t feel pressured old sport, that you would attend my party tonight. I shall send over an invitation later, but if you can’t attend please don’t worry—it will not offend me. Have a wonderful day, old sport, and I shall hope that you will bless my house with your presence tonight.
Gian laid down the letter, eyes greedily tracing Gage’s words and walked into the kitchen.
Gage was leaning against the railing of his balcony, peering down at his guests with a bit of distaste and aggravation. He didn’t want these useless crowds, who swarmed like moths to a flame hoping to be the one that would come out victorious, he simply wanted his neighbor.
The sea of gold, red, silver, black and white and far too many shades of each all blurred from the rich man’s perch, and Gage leaned on his elbows as he watched over the sea of people like some sort of pitying fallen angle. His golden hair was vibrant in the night, in the artificial lighting and reflection of these women’s sequin dresses, and his white suit glistened. His eyes, however, were more gray than blue today.
“Sir?” One of his butlers called, opening the door to the balcony and footsteps drew close, but Gage sighed.
“Yes?” He asked, but winced at his tone once the word had escaped his lips. The butler didn’t seem to take offense, only answering back in a default tone.
“Your guest, Gian, has arrived.”
Gage swung around, hope fluttering behind his aching ribs, and weaved his way past the butler as he raced for the stairs.
“He’s still by the front door, sir,” the butler called, but Gage didn’t hear anything past that.
The dark blonde man descended the stairs with less grace than he usually presented, and didn’t charm his various guests as he usually tried to do. No, he was on a mission.
Through tides of partiers, Gage spotted the shorter man and quickly made his way over to him. The dark haired man, brown eyes overwhelmed, smiled when he caught sight of Gage and didn’t complain when the rich man grabbed his wrist and guided him away from all the guests.
“To the library,” Gage explained, leaning in close to Gian’s ear and definitely noting the shiver that wracked the smaller man, “it’s quieter.”
The two navigated the stairs and the hallways, Gage leading the way, naturally, and two butlers nodded a welcome to them both and pulled the grand library doors open. The dark mahogany revealed walls upon walls of books, and a few plush chairs.
Gage pulled Gian in, the library doors silently closing behind them, and grinned as wide as any man could.
“I’m so glad you could make it, old sport!” Gage grinned, “Please, please, have a seat.”
Obliging the man, Gian sat and Gage immediately sat next to him, throwing himself headlong into what Gian supposed the rich man believed was polite conversation.
“I love you.” Gage suddenly said, and then went perfectly still and the blood drained from his face. Gian was also startled, eyes wide and jaw falling open a tad, but his cheeks tinted red and the world slowed down, far from roaring energy of the 20’s.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t,” Gage started with a gasp, jumping from his chair and stumbling in shock. Gian leapt from his seat, also, and grabbed at Gage to keep him from falling.
Hands fisted in the rich man’s jacket, and their faces close enough that their noses nearly brushed, Gian stilled and Gage didn’t dare move.
“I…” Gage tried again, carefully extracting himself from Gian’s saving grasp but the shorter man shook his head and held on tighter to the white suit.
“No, say it again,” Gian demanded, trying to not let the hope show on his face but he must have failed because something lit up in Gage’s eyes, something deadly and dangerous. Hope. There was hope in his eyes.
Gage swallowed, throat dry and voice cracking and his words echoed in the grand library.
The room went silent, their panting breaths just as loud as the party outside, and Gian tried to find his courage that had ran away and burrowed in his heart.
“Please,” Gage whispered, breaking Gian from his trance, but the rich man didn’t finish his plea.
“I,” Gian started, his hands loosening their grip and sliding down Gage’s chest. The taller man caught his hands, winding their fingers together and watching his smaller companion with wide eyes. “I love you, too, Gage.”
Suddenly, Gian was swept off the ground and he instinctively wrapped his legs around Gage’s hips and his arms around his neck. The older man pressed his face into Gian’s neck, his breath warm and the threat of tears in the air.
“Please,” Gage begged, “again?”
“I love you, Gage. I love your silly smile, your wild hair,” Gian ran a hand through it and felt Gage smile against his neck, “I love your laugh, I love how free you are, how passionate and open and happy and excited…”
Gage whispered into his throat, repeating those three words over and over again like a prayer, and Gian finished, quieting down a bit.
“I love you, Gage. I love you.”
They stayed like that, even though Gian was sure Gage’s legs were aching, lit by the bright golden lights of the massive party just outside the window and drinking in each other’s presence.
Gian didn’t need sleep, didn’t need to dream of this moment any longer, and neither did Gage. They didn’t need the lavish parties, the attention, the glory, the chaos of West Egg or the pain of the Valley of Ashes.
They just needed this moment, this truth, and this reality. This love, purified in the sea of uncertainty and blasted hope, was all they had truly needed.
And, finally, they had it.
