Archive of Our Own ^beta

“I can’t believe you managed to talk me into this.”

“Into what? You and I are just going out for a friendly, brotherly drink at a pub!”

“At the pub your boyfriend works at,” Antonio deadpanned, his brows flattening into a neat, straight line. His lips very much followed the pattern. “I thought you wanted to spend some quality time with me, but all you’re actually going to do is sit there and flirt with Abel. He won’t even be at the table, but I’ll be third-wheeling!”

“You’re being way too dramatic,” Gabriel said with a tut as they turned together onto the street where their destination stood. “Abel will be working, and you and I will be enjoying some quiet time together now that we both survived another Monday. Yes?”

Antonio did not look convinced, nor did he argue any further with his brother on the matter. He simply kept his arms crossed and bit his tongue. Gabriel was grateful for that; he didn’t need his ear talked off before they’d even sat down!

The pub was, as to be expected, not too busy with it being a Monday. It was why Gabriel had insisted he and Antonio go that evening rather than on the Friday. This way, they could have a little more peace, more space to chat, and could maybe even actually enjoy a meal without being deafened by any ruckus or football fanatics watching a match on the TV. 

When they arrived, Gabriel discovered that a table had been reserved for them. He recalled having told Abel that morning that they’d be swinging by, but it must have been Abel who had made a reservation on his behalf. 

See, wasn’t that sweet? Wasn’t that thoughtful? Gabriel wouldn’t have bothered, but no—Abel had taken it upon himself to make sure that Gabe and Toni had a table (and not just any table, but one tucked away from the main bar in a cosy spot by a window, just as he liked). That mattered. That impressed him. Antonio, too, had been somewhat impressed. Maybe he would warm to the idea of Abel being Gabriel’s boyfriend sooner than anticipated…

They sat together for a few minutes and perused menus together. Antonio did not often venture to pubs for food, and Gabriel had to be honest, he hadn’t really given it a proper go. Since he’d started seeing Abel, however, it had become a more common activity. He found he was now partial to chunky triple-cooked chips and meaty pies. But his favourite, of course, had to be—

“Fish and chips. It’s gotta be the fish and chips.”

“Of course,” Antonio hummed, pulling a brief face before he continued to study the menu. He was having a hard time making his decision. “Don’t suppose you have, uhhh… any recommendations?”

“Depends what you’re in the mood for.”

“Is the lasagna, y’know, good?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well this isn’t exactly an Italian restaurant!” Antonio reminded him. “What if I order it and it’s some freaky, gloopy, not-really-lasagna mush that they think is a lasagna?”

Gabriel bit back a sigh. Then he said, “It’s a normal lasagna. And it comes with garlic bread.”

“Oh, really?”

Antonio’s eyes were back on the menu and he seemed suddenly more enthused. It was amusing, but also so very, very Antonio. So confident, yet so not. A drink and rest would do him some good. Gabriel knew that there was something bothering his brother—it was why he’d really invited him out—to try and loosen his tongue—and he hoped to get to the bottom of it soon. 

First, though, he needed to order food and drinks. 

Once Antonio settled on his choice (the lasagna, after another two minutes of umming and ahhing), Gabriel said he would go to the bar and place their order.

“Say ‘hi’ to Abel for me while you’re there,” Antonio said as the other got up from his seat. “And try not to get lost in his eyes, or… pants. Or anything.”

All it earned was a tut, a soft, ‘shut up’, and a brisk exit.

Relief was found next door at the bar, quiet, with only a couple patrons dotted around the place. Gabriel went right up to the bar and even made himself comfortable on a stool, and waited patiently for—

Ah! Patience, in the end, was not needed.

Abel appeared as if by magic with clean glasses in hands, which he conveniently set down right opposite where his beloved brunet boyfriend (haha) was sitting. Once his hands were free, he leaned on the bar, lowering his tall figure, and he greeted Gabriel with that beautiful, small, precious smile that he only ever smiled for him.

“What can I get you?” the blond asked.

“A nice, tall glass of Dutch loving would be a good start,” Gabriel responded. It earned a light scoff—a secret laugh. 

“Is he okay?” Abel then proceeded, enquiring naturally about Antonio. He was used to Gabe's ways. “Didn’t see you come in. Is he here?”

“Yeah, he’s next door, probably talking to himself and having a little moan about being here,” Gabriel lamented with a shrug. “He reckons I might get a bit… distracted.”

“That so?”

“Of course,” he said. “There’s an irresistible bartender that I’m struggling to keep my hands off.”

Abel stood back up slowly, and politely reminded Gabriel that they would be seeing each other tomorrow evening for a proper date of their own; until then, he would have to control himself. It was quite a big ask—but Gabriel would survive, he was sure!

Following the other’s prompt, then, Gabriel placed the order he needed to. Two pints of cold beer were poured, which he claimed, and that was all for now. He bid Abel farewell (he would be back to refill glasses before long!) and returned to the space next door so he could join his brother at last, sit down, and have that drink. 

“Thanks,” Antonio said as he took his glass. “After today, this is a good start to the evening.”

“Rough day?”

“A long one,” his brother conceded. But he offered no further explanation, and Gabriel sensed it was best to not ask. Not yet.

Over the next twenty minutes as they waited for food to appear, they spoke as normally as ever. Gabriel went on his own ramble about work. They discussed the next time they would see their parents. Antonio laid down the foundations of their own next get-together (and not in a pub, he so commanded). They reminisced about bad dates in such places, in fact, such as the date that had led Gabriel to this very pub in the first place, now… gosh… almost a year ago…

A lot had happened in a year. 

Importantly, ownership of the pub had changed hands. After a month of closure and internal renovations, the building was given the thorough cleaning and TLC it needed. Its beams were glorious, the carpet still looked new, and the upholstery no longer stank of body odour and sweat. The bar was given a polish and wax. The bathrooms had been done up, re-tiled, neatened up.

The only thing that hadn’t really changed was the staff, which had been a relief. Abel had kept his job serving people, as had others, and it meant that Gabriel still got to see him. It was a positive outcome for all involved!

…That said, going back briefly to the bathrooms and that one bad, bad date… 

Gabriel thought briefly of old graffiti, puddles of piss, and lavender soap.

He hadn’t been too happy at first about all of the work being done—Arthur, that was. He’d been worried for his prized piece of work, about the noise, about the consequences, and Gabriel in turn had worried for him.  

It seemed, however, that the pub had remained haunted.

It had been another piece of good news on the pile, and Gabriel had been glad to have seen Arthur more than once in the meantime. Arthur in turn had been pleased to discover that Gabriel and Abel had become an item a couple months later. He’d been like a proud parent. Which, in hindsight, was a little weird when Gabe thought about how they’d met in the first place, but— details. Who needed them?

Food came and went. Gabriel very much enjoyed his fish and chips—a world away from what used to be served—and Antonio, too, ended up being quite a fan of the lasagna. He had had to order a glass of wine to go with it at his own insistence, and, well, when Gabriel had considered the price of glasses versus a bottle, he had decided that they ought to share. 

So now they mulled over the dessert menu, feeling just a little merry and warm, and both were happy with the way their quality, brotherly evening was going.

It was as Gabriel poured Antonio his second glass, the other’s fingers tapping lightly against the crystal base, that the cracks the elder had noticed in the younger in recents days finally began to show again.

Antonio had zoned out. Gabriel had been telling him about this lovely, new bakery that had opened up down the road from the office, but his brother had lost interest and was staring at the steady stream of red wine.

Gabriel stopped. 

Antonio still stared.

Gabriel was confused. 

“Antonio?”

“Mmmh…”

“Antonio.”

“Mm— What…?”

A click in front of his eyes seemed to do the trick in the end. Antonio jumped back and blinked and gave his brother a scandalised look, before he fell sheepish, realising that it was not Gabe who was in the wrong.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Got a bit lost in thought…”

“Don’t I know it,” Gabriel scoffed. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“Only… you have seemed a bit more distant this last week,” the oldest brother went on, treading as carefully as he could in the direction of answers he had been longing for. “Sure there’s nothing you want to talk about…?”

“…do I have to?”

“You don’t have to, no. But it… it might help. Whatever it i—”

“Let’s just say I’m single again, and leave it there, then.”

Gabriel set the bottle down properly (and gently) on the table. He looked at his brother and watched him take a sip of his drink somewhat too keenly, and realised that… maybe he was in the wrong. Maybe part of him was in the wrong.

What if Antonio’s reluctance to come out and his concerns about ‘third-wheeling’ were because the topic of relationships was something that had become uncomfortable for him? What if this evening, that was meant to be a bit of fun, was in fact just painful? 

Oh, what an idiot… What a complete idiot… How had he not realised? Not noticed sooner? The boyfriend, whose name had not been mentioned during recent calls, or been spied on recent visits. An idiot! Gabriel was a dumb, stupid, ridiculous fucking idiot!

“I’m— I’m so—”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“…but I should’ve—”

“Do you want dessert?”

“Toni—”

“Might have to be a sticky toffee pudding for me,” he concluded, closing his dessert menu. Then he looked at Gabriel expectantly and waited. He waited in silence, and Gabriel didn’t know what to say, other than, “The cheesecake, I think.”

Antonio nodded and then stood up. It was his turn to go to the bar, he insisted, and before his brother could get a word in, he left to go and order their dessert and grab another drink.

Gabriel watched him leave.

“How’ve you been? Don’t see you often.”

“You wouldn’t,” Antonio told Abel, somewhat plainly, before he fixed his tone and mannerisms, knowing that Abel was hardly at any fault. “I’m fine, thanks. And you? How have things been with you?”

“At work, good,” Abel responded. “Dunno if Gabe mentioned but as of last Saturday, I’m actually now the bar manager here, so—”

“Oh, wow, well done. He didn’t mention it, but— still! That’s good.”

“Thanks. Means I get to be a bit bossy, so, no complaints.”

“As long as you don’t let it get to your head,” the brunet warned, albeit light-heartedly. “Too many managers in the world like that.”

“And that’s why” Abel returned, whipping out a cloth to give the bar a quick wipe, “I’ve avoided corporate work like the plague.”

It was fair. It was sensible. Some days, Antonio wondered what his life would be like if he abandoned the office and found more humble and pleasant ways of earning his keep. 

To be quite honest, he’d liked the idea of hospitality, once upon a time. A people job. The office could be surprisingly lonely, even with a hundred employees, whereas working in this sort of environment seemed more enriching than what he currently experienced on his dull Monday-to-Friday nine-to-five.

In an ideal world—one of pure fantasy and years’ worth of daydreams—Antonio would run a hotel. A nice, quaint hotel somewhere in the countryside, with a lovely little restaurant and bar attached. He would greet visitors who, like him, longed to escape the city. Maybe they’d keep chickens out back so they’d have fresh eggs for breakfast. Gabe would have liked that. To have chickens. 

What a thing to imagine… Him and his brother running a country hotel…

God, it really was a fantasy.

“Are you enjoying your evening?”

Antonio lifted his gaze from the random patch of polished wood he’d been gawking at distantly, and looked at Abel once more. He gave a feeble and slow nod.

“Yeah, for the most part,” he replied. “Think things have just gone a bit awkward. Stale. Though dessert might help.”

“I see. Is everything alright?” Abel then questioned. He seemed genuinely curious. 

Antonio wasn’t sure why, but… he felt that being honest with Abel was an okay thing to do. Like he could trust him, which was impressive, considering that he didn’t really know the other that well (Gabriel had kept him a secret for a while, cheeky bastard).

Nevertheless, Antonio took a seat on a stool and told Abel about his recently-updated relationship status. And then he explained that he understood that Gabriel wanted to know what had happened, if he was okay, if there was anything he could do to help—but Antonio didn’t want the fuss. 

He was still trying to come to terms with it. It had come out of the blue, a real shock to his system. He wasn’t in the right place to try and break it down, work out what went wrong, decide if he was fine with it…

He wasn’t sure what he expected Abel’s response to be. Maybe he expected the usual, placating words that people tended to offer in the circumstances. The ‘there-there’s. The ‘it’ll be okay’s.

What came instead, however, was something entirely unexpected.

“Did you know,” the blond began, “that this pub is haunted?”

It was such a different conversation—a different topic—that it threw Antonio through a loop and almost made him laugh out of incredulity. It was as if he hadn’t just revealed some vulnerability about himself. It was as if they were old friends, and they’d in fact been talking about the weather, rather than something so— something so—…

He slowed his thoughts. He slowed his breathing. He slowed his mind.

He realised what the other was doing. And, after a few seconds of waning confusion, Antonio came to appreciate it. 

“No,” he eventually responded, “I didn’t.”

“Well, it is,” Abel told him. “I like to call him the ‘house spirit’. Inside jokes ‘n’ all.”

“Does he have an actual name?” Antonio queried, leaning on the bar and making himself comfortable. This could prove to be a fun distraction. 

“‘Course he does.”

“Care to share?”

“He might want to tell you himself,” Abel reasoned. “If you’re lucky.”

A smile stretched onto Antonio’s face. “That sounds like a challenge.”

“Maybe it is.”

“And if I were to tell you that I don’t believe in ghosts?”

“Five minutes of your time will prove you wrong.”

Oh. Oh, this really was a challenge! Antonio’s curiosity had suddenly shot through the roof and was flying high in the sky, and all thoughts of dinner, his brother, and anything else from that evening disappeared into the dark, dark night.

“I might just let you have those five minutes,” he responded, sitting back upright again. “There’s no way you can prove ghosts exist in that amount of time, haunted pub or not. So: you’re on.”

Abel seemed to relish in his answer. He nodded, satisfied, and then said, “You’ll have to go down into the cellar.”

“Mmmh… I reckon that’s doable.”

“Alone.”

“Good! That way, I’ll know you aren’t going to try anything funny .”

“I’ll need to let him know to come and find you.”

“Got him on speed dial?”

“No,” Abel said. “But if you come behind the bar and head down into the cellar, then wait for a minute while I fetch him, he’ll come straight to you.”

It was so, so tempting. It was so ludicrous, too! Ghosts did not exist, and if Toni could have a free laugh at Abel’s expense for only five minutes of his time in a cold, dark cellar, he’d take it. Maybe he’d have a funny story to tell Gabriel, about how insane his boyfriend was, talking to the spirits amongst the spirits! Ha!

Challenge: accepted. 

With the bar quiet as anything, Abel stepped away and led Antonio to the staff door, unlocking it and then pointing out the second door that would take Antonio down into the belly of the pub.

“There’s a light switch at the top of the stairs you can turn on. He won’t mind.”

Antonio glanced back at Abel. “I have to ask, just before I go on down there…”

“Yes?”

“You’re not gonna murder me, are you? That isn’t what this is, right?” 

The question was asked not entirely seriously, but… not entirely not. He had watched enough true crime shows to know. Boyfriends-of-brothers were not excluded from the suspect pools!

Abel’s answer of, “Not when people have seen us talking, and then potentially seen me show you to the staff-only area,” was somewhat humorous. But even so, Antonio felt a need to bestow final warning:

“If you do,” he said, “my brother will have your testicles. Then your head.”

“Used to it,” Abel muttered almost imperceptibly, before he told Antonio to go ahead, open the door, flick the switch, and venture into the dingy cellar. Just for a few minutes. He would go and speak to Gabriel so that he didn’t worry, and all the while, Antonio would get to meet a real life ghost. And then he would believe.

So, off he went. 

As soon as he opened the door, he was met by the cold. His jacket was back on his chair, but that was not a journey he wanted to make right now—not when a more lucrative one had presented itself—so he sucked it up, pressed the ivory switch on the right-hand wall, and followed the light down, down, down…

The cellar itself was not too large. The light, a dim amber that didn’t quite fully bathe the room in its glow, revealed a multitude of silver kegs all awaiting their turn under the taps. There was a rack of red wine bottles (and some bottles that looked more expensive, for special occasions and wealthy patrons), some old crates of who knew what (he couldn’t see the label), and other odds and sods that were vital for the bar’s operation.

Amongst it all, though, he did find an old stool, which he figured would make a decent enough seat for five minutes. He took his pew, wrapped his arms loosely around himself for a semblance of warmth, and… he waited.

He waited.

He waited for what felt like a while. 

Then, after waiting even more, he heard the door at the top of the stairs creak open again.

Victory, it seemed, was his.

“Sorry, Abel,” he called up in the direction of his impromptu jester as he rose to a standing position. “I guess your friend was feeling a bit shy! Or, I dunno, non-exi—”

He froze. 

He stared at the base of the staircase, where a figure stood.

It was not Abel.

“S— Sorry,” he said, embarrassed by his little outburst, witnessed by a stranger. “I thought you were, uh— Well, Abel. Clearly.”

“Clearly,” the other (also a blond, but notably shorter than Abel was, so, yes, definitely not him!) remarked, taking the final step down and joining Antonio in the cellar. 

Antonio proceeded to explain himself, all the while, feeling he had to make himself look less like an asshole: “Abel said there’s a ghost,” he began. “He’s a friend of sorts, so… He reckoned I might get to meet him, if, uh… if I’m lucky. Which I’m starting to think I’m not.”

A laugh riddled with awkwardness and regret tumbled from between his lips. 

The other seemed amused.

“A ghost, eh?” he said.

Antonio gave a nod. “Yeah, a ghost.”

“Did he say anything else to you about this supposed spirit?” the other questioned. He remained in place. His attention was entirely on Antonio.

“He— Well, not— Not strictly speaking,” he unfortunately came to realise. A sinking feeling began to swell in his stomach and he wondered, was this just some prank? Is Gabe in on this? God, I’m going to fucking—!

A noise made him jump, and suddenly, Antonio found that there was no figure at the bottom of the stairs, and instead, the man he had been talking to was perched on a keg behind him. Another had been knocked over, no doubt the violent noise he’d heard, and was now resting beneath a foot. 

Antonio blinked. 

The other, a foxish grin on his face, said, “Call me Arthur.”

A nervous laugh escaped him. “You… You’re not…”

“Saw you come in,” Arthur began to say, filling the silence that threatened to drown them underground. “Into the pub, that is, not down here. Abel told me where to find you. He said you were expecting me.”

“You’re kidding.”

“You want proof?”

“You’re not a ghost,” Antonio insisted, hoping—praying—he could stand his ground on this one. The room felt colder now than it had done when he’d first stepped foot down there.

No sooner had the words left his mouth, however, Arthur vanished once more. Not suddenly, in a blink, but slowly, terrifyingly, backwards through the wall. Through the wall. The solid, stone wall…

Antonio forgot how to breathe.

When he next opened his eyes, he felt groggy, achy, tired, and found himself staring up at the ceiling.

“You okay?”

Arthur appeared above, peering down at him, the amber glow of the bulb shining around his head like a halo. He reached a hand down as an offering, which seemed a bit silly because he was a ghost and that wasn’t how ghosts worked (was it?), but before Antonio could find his voice and tell him he was fine, a cold hand took a hold of his, and with another hand, began to carefully, slowly help Antonio up.

His head felt like a washing machine, whirring round, and round, and round. For a moment, he thought he might throw up, but, after internally arguing with himself that he hadn’t coughed up for a bottle of wine for it to be wasted, he swallowed it all down and breathed again. 

A keg became his support. The floor was like ice beneath his legs.

“Sorry,” Arthur said, coming back into focus in Antonio’s vision as he crouched next to him. “Didn’t mean to give you that big a fright.”

“What did you think would happen?” Antonio threw back at him. “You— You vanished through a goddamn wall!”

The other gave a ginger smile. “Tada…?”

Antonio could only huff. His head fell backwards, gently hitting the edge of the keg, and he tried to wrap his head around the last few minutes. Around what he had seen. Around the possible fact that ghosts, spirits, spectres, ghouls… existed…

“So,” Arthur went on, “what’s a good-looking guy like you doing in a place like this?”

“In a cellar?” Antonio queried. 

“In a pub,” the other amended, “having a nice evening out with your brother, rather than some lucky person. ‘Cause they’d have to be lucky to land a date with you, sunshine.”

“I, uh—” He laughed again, still nervous, still unsure and weirded out. “No such lucky person in my life right now,” he said. “Gabe’s the only sort of company I have at the moment. And he’s only obliged because he’s my brother, so… Yeah…”

“Better than having no one, and I’m sure he likes spending time with you,” Arthur mused. His voice was soft, calm, lush. “That said, you do seem a bit down.”

“One way to put it…”

“Would you like a pick-me-up, then?”

Antonio met Arthur’s gaze. In that moment, he saw the once-vibrant green in his eyes, the promise of thrill, a joker and tease, someone who was also a bit down and in need of a pick-me-up. 

It wasn’t entirely against his principles, nor something new to him. Antonio had been there a couple times before, seeking comfort and solace in someone else’s arms in order to escape from his problems. He was rather fond of the tactic, truth be told. And right now, as he looked at Arthur, who promised him that escape, he wasn’t against the idea by any means. 

But, he did wonder, “How does it work?”

“How does what work?”

“Sex?” Antonio clarified for him. “I mean, you are a ghost, aren’t you? Ghosts can’t touch things. At least, as far as I’ve heard.”

“Depends on the ghost,” Arthur started to explain. “I can touch things if I want or need to, just like I can float through walls and ceilings when I want or need to. Like this…” 

He reached a hand to Antonio’s cheek, the backs of his fingers brushing across his skin like a wave of cold water. When his hand withdrew, Antonio could still feel that sensation. He could feel the cold, but it was not unkind or unpleasant. It was just… there. And that was good, today. That was something he missed.

“If you want to,” Arthur went on, offering his hand—this time to help Antonio up off the floor. It was an offer that was not refused. “I can try to cheer you up. Might seem shallow, but sometimes all we need is a bit of fun to feel like we’ve been fixed.”

“And does this usually work?” Antonio then asked him as they came to stand eye to eye, soul to soul. “This… rough charm of yours?”

Arthur hummed and laughed a laugh that rumbled right through Antonio’s soul. Warmth in the cold. “On a couple of occasions,” he admitted quite openly. “Maybe not as often as I’d liked, but hey… You can’t catch ‘em all.”

Antonio couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help but smile. It really had been a freaky, weird evening, all things considered, and whether this was real life or a dream, he knew he wanted to do something. To feel something.

So he let the moment carry him. If Arthur was offering some ‘fun’, then ‘fun’ was what Antonio would have. He’d consider it his dessert. A sweet treat. A final dish for the night. 

After sharing this conclusion with the other, in perhaps a less poetic and long-winded way, Arthur assured him that he would not regret it, and that he would not feel cold for much longer—not with Arthur looking after him. Because Arthur would look after him. He’d make him feel better than he ever had.

It was a promise uttered right up against Antonio’s lips. It was a promise made as the backs of his legs felt the kegs in his way. It was a promise made as a heart began to race, and warmth—true warmth—began to creep into the fibres of his being. 

“Before anything else,” Arthur said, noses almost touching, “I have one question left for you, Antonio.”

“What is it?” Antonio replied curiously. Desperately. “Ask away.”

Arthur pulled back about an inch, and a devilish smile slipped cleanly onto his face.

“What’s your opinion on strawberry-scented soap?”

“There you are!” Gabriel exclaimed when Antonio finally returned from his magical trip to who-fucking-knew-where. “I was ready to send out a search party. I mean, Abel said you might be a little while, but Christ!”

“Sorry,” Antonio said meekly. He lowered himself slowly, and gave a soft groan as he sat, as though his body was stiff and sore. “Got a bit distracted. Lost track of time.”

“Clearly! What was the distraction?” he asked. “A good-looking guy at the bar?”

Antonio’s lips vanished for a moment. He struggled to hide eye contact. Gabriel, who had been about to have a sip of wine, put his glass back down and then leaned into the table. 

“I was joking,” he said in a near-whisper. “Did you actually meet someone?”

“I guess,” was his brother’s reply, combined with a deepening blush across his face. “Technically speaking.”

“What does that even—?”

“Did you know this pub was haunted?”

Gabriel stumbled out of his previous sentence and into the next with some difficulty: “Y— Yes.” He felt a strange tickle in his chest, like an itch. “Why?”

“Mmh, just wondering,” Antonio dismissed, reaching for his own glass and having a rather generous swig of wine. 

“You, uh… You don’t actually believe in ghosts, though,” Gabriel went on warily. “Do you…?”

Antonio gave a laugh that sounded a bit too forced, a bit too loud, a bit too… out of character, particularly based on how his evening had gone so far. It left Gabriel wondering. It left Gabriel wondering many, many things, and recalling many, many memories of one particular evening of his own. 

He wondered… 

The desserts that they had ordered, now a while ago (though delayed by a wise Abel who had perhaps known Antonio would be a while), appeared in front of them. A sticky toffee and rum pudding, and a slice of raspberry cheesecake. A slice to slice through their conversation, and give rise to a new one, the last half an hour forgotten about in a heartbeat.

The brothers both thanked the server who had brought their plates over. Then Antonio, as soon as they were alone, began to talk to his brother quietly but honestly about the Thing that had troubled him before. About why he was now single. About how his relationship had ended without warning. 

Gabriel listened patiently. He ate his food, and listened, grateful that Antonio had decided to trust him enough to share this with him. 

It was as he had only a bite or two left that Antonio paused to take a drink, and Gabriel’s eyes drifted across the pub, through the open doorway that led to the bar, and then—

A familiar face stood at the far wall. 

Arthur smiled at him, gave him a friendly wave—the sort of wave he normally gave whenever he decided to show his face again—and then, he walked away.

A few seconds later, Antonio continued his spiel, unaware of what Gabriel had seen. The literal ghost from his past. 

He wondered if that was meant to be some kind of confirmation. If that was meant to be a hint of what had happened, of where his brother had gone, of why he was so late back. He wondered if that was Arthur trying to reassure him that everything would be fine…

Rather than asking, however, Gabriel just… listened. He looked at Antonio, who had returned to pouring his heart out about recent events in his life, and he listened. 

The time to ask would come. But right now, Antonio needed his brother, and Gabriel was not one to shy away from his duties.

Besides, he had his evening with Abel tomorrow. Perhaps he could simply ask him what had happened for Antonio to believe the pub is haunted, hm? He was bound to know. And Gabriel... Well, he was bound to find out!