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He had never ever, in his life, ever intended on making someone he cared about feel rejected over their body. In fact, the guilt was so pressing, his throat kept going tight and he was a hair’s breadth away from bursting into tears.
Taking a breath to control himself, Oliver turned the corner onto the main street where the bookshop waited. It had been there for just about ever, a small stone building which was surrounded now by a brewery, and a string of bars the university students frequented. But the bookshop thrived, drawing in tourists and locals alike.
Oliver had been in there a handful of times himself, loving the smell of old parchment from ancient books the owner kept stocked on tall shelves. He’d never been a big reader before, but there was something about that shop he loved.
He’d never seen Gabriel there before—he would have remembered someone so good looking. But it was no surprise the barista had a second job at a place like that. It seemed just his style, and in spite of his raging guilt, the thought of Gabe amongst all those old books brought a smile to his face.
With a breath, he approached the shop and peered in. He couldn’t see anyone behind the counter, but the shop looked bare, so he took the chance and walked in. The heavy, familiar scent hit him, and he paused to breathe it in before he went on his search.
The shop itself was small, two story with the stairs directly in the center for customers to go up and down. There were only a few main stacks, and shelves against the walls, so there wouldn’t be many places for Gabe to hide.
Consequently, he found the other man re-shelving from a small pushcart at the back of the shop. Oliver froze, then took a breath and knocked on the side of the shelf. Gabe turned, his eyes going wide, and his cheeks paled.
“What the hell do you want?”
Oliver winced, but he knew he deserved it. “I erm…had a chat with Leo who told me you might have got the wrong idea the other morning.”
“Oh? Wrong idea?” Gabe said, his voice low and furious. He shoved the book he was holding back onto the cart and turned to face Oliver. “About what? You fucking me then completely flipping out and breaking up with me? You swearing you wanted all of me, then tumbling into trans panic? Please, Oliver, enlighten me about my wrong ideas.”
Licking his lips, Oliver looked around to make sure no one else was listening before taking a few steps closer. “It wasn’t trans panic. It wasn’t you at all.”
“Right. It wasn’t you, it was me. You know, that line doesn’t actually work on people. You didn’t need to make up some bullshit story to get me to leave.”
Shaking his head, Oliver stepped even closer, but froze when he saw Gabe tense. “No, I…it is me. It…” He threw up his hands and growled. “I didn’t want you to see the scars. And when I asked you to stop, you didn’t.”
There was a small flicker of guilt on Gabe’s face, but he squared his shoulders and Oliver saw the life of their relationship flashing before his eyes. They were both stubborn shitheads—both too ready to die on their imaginary hills to save pride.
“I panicked,” Oliver went on in the silence between them.
“I own that I didn’t listen right away, but you could have tried actually explaining to me that I was crossing a line instead of telling me to fuck off and running out like that. I would have listened eventually.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t always think rationally. Most of the time I just…act in the moment and try to clean up the mess later.”
Gabe swallowed heavily, and for just a second, a smile flickered across his mouth. “That’s not new information. I figured that one out all on my own the night you brought Leo to my house.” The moment was interrupted by the front door chime going off, making them both jump.
Oliver deflated, leaning against the nearest shelf. “Can we talk later? I’m really shit at all this, but you’re the first person I’ve not only liked, but actually trusted in…hell, maybe ever? And I want a chance to start again.”
Gabe let out a quiet sigh. “You can come over to my apartment. I’m off at four.”
Oliver nodded, feeling something stirring in his gut. The desire to reach over and kiss Gabe until his insides felt better. The desire to have those arms around him again because it had been no more than a full day and fuck, he missed him. “I promise. And I really am sorry.”
Gabriel stared at him a long time, then bowed his head. “Yeah. Me too.”
Oliver turned on his heel just as the customer called out for help, and he hurried out of the shop.
It was something, at least, and though he was confused about what happened and how to make it better, he was willing to try. He hadn’t been lying about Gabe being the only person he’d ever liked this much, and he wasn’t ready to lose him.
* * *
Oliver turnedup at Gabe’s door at half four, with nothing in his hands. He had scoured the shops for hours, but nothing screamed, ‘I’m sorry for losing myself in a panicked moment and making you feel dysphoric.’
He half considered buying a blank card and writing something along those lines inside of it, but he wasn’t poetic enough, and he had a feeling Gabe wouldn’t entirely appreciate the sentiment.
By the time he gave up, four o’clock had come and gone, and he knew if he didn’t head over to Gabe’s straight away, he’d be late and then there would be no chance of forgiveness. Abandoning the shops and hoping his words would be enough, Oliver broke into a run.
He arrived at Gabe’s door right as the time ticked by four-thirty, and he knocked softly, pressing his head against the door jamb and hoping desperately Gabe hadn’t blown him off. He held his breath and tapped his foot. The seconds ticked by, and there was nothing.
Just as he was about to give up, the knob turned and the door slowly creaked open. Gabe’s face appeared in the crack, and after some hesitation, he swung it open. “Hey.”
