#hey! don't fucking match this length! he yapped! he yapped so much!

[tonibeltran]

He’s a little flattered and, frankly, touched, that Abel cares enough about him to feel sorry for him. Antonio’s never been one to believe he’s deserving of any sort of affection — Izzy gets a pass because they’ve known each other for ages, since before Antonio could speak English, even, and because she knew him pre-Elijah Falvey. Post Elijah Falvey, well. It’s not his ex-friend’s fault, either, not really. No one should be forced to feel any sort of way for someone — he’d accepted, for a long time, he’d never be enough for Elijah to love in any sort of romantic way. Somehow, he’d missed all the signs that maybe he’d never been enough for Elijah as a friend, either, not really. He doesn’t think, anyway. Hindsight’s usually 20/20, except for when he twists memories and feelings so often he’s not sure what’s true and what he made up in the haze of longing.

The point is, it’s hard for him to find himself worthy of anyone’s time, affection — even friendship, at times. It’s why sex has always been easier. Less commitment, less scrutiny. Easier to let someone like him for what he looks like, what he can offer in bed, than be disappointed in him as a person. It is, frankly, a miracle Roman feels any sort of way about him — still thinks, sometimes, that he’s making it up, despite how many times they’ve spent the night wrapped up in each other now — and he thinks the same about most of the friends he’s managed to make and keep throughout his life during and after Amethyst. Abel seems genuine in his affection for Antonio, in any case, for which he’s appreciative. More than Abel’ll ever know, he thinks. 

“It was a learning experience, yes,” he says, because maybe if he pretends they’re talking about Elijah instead of Roman, it’ll feel less like he’s lying, and he’ll feel a little less guilty about it. “I don’t know if — I wouldn’t call it — hm,” he tries to find the right words to express how real he thinks the whole experience might have been, in any case. Comparing what he feels for Roman now to what he felt for Elijah, then — it almost feels like apples and oranges. He wonders if that means he didn’t ever love Elijah, or if the love had just been so tainted by resentment and heartbreak it’d soured, even in its purest form. “I don’t know, actually. I just know it happened,” he shrugs. “Maybe that’s all that counts, right? It happened. And some things just need to happen to us, lesson or not.” He’s not sure he’s making any sense, but it’s about all he’s got for Abel at the moment.

I’m not good at that, Abel admits, and Antonio’s eyebrows rise in surprise. Less over the admission, and more over the intensity of the words that follow. He listens carefully as Abel continues to confess most of his life is lived off the opinion of others, and Antonio huffs a little in amusement when his friend finishes. “Yeah, no, no one’s good at that,” he points out. After a pause in which he takes in Abel’s words thoughtfully, he continues, his tone gentle but steady. “You know, Abel, not caring isn’t something you just wake up one day and decide to do. I think it's more about learning how to place people's opinions in their corresponding place, y’know?” He picks at the corner of the menu in front of him as he elaborates, “It's not about — shutting everything out, it’s — it’s choosing which voices matter. Letting others motivate you can be powerful, sure, I get that, but it’s easy to get lost if you don’t know what’s driving you deep down.”

He smiles, a little soft and knowing. “There’s always going to be noise, right, people who want to shape you, intentionally or not. But I promise — and like I said, I know this from experience — their approval can’t do the work for you.” A pause, in which he takes another sip of his coffee. Then: “And if it’s all you rely on, it might feel a bit empty after a while.” Antonio leans forward, his gaze intent. “So maybe it’s worth asking yourself: what do you actually want? If you can figure out a few things that are yours and yours alone, all the other voices, well. They might start to matter a little less.”

He reaches across the table to give Abel’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Besides, you’re allowed to be a work in progress,” he leans back with a small smirk. “It doesn’t make you any less capable. You’re one of the smartest guys I know, Abel — and that’s got nothing to do with what anyone else thinks.”

Visibly, Abel deflates when Antonio admits that nothing serious is going on, that whatever he had going on didn’t actually work. Somewhere along the line, Antonio had graciously adopted Abel - though looking back, he wasn’t sure he’d given the other a choice. Abel was likeable enough, had several friends growing up, and had several now - but whenever he stopped to think about the fact that he’d never let anyone in enough to actually become best friends with anyone, it left him feeling empty. Toni, at least, was kind enough to humour everything Abel was, and he eventually grew to idolise him. It was hard not to - they didn’t usually get too deep with each other, so it was a surface level observation, but Abel viewed Toni as incredibly put together. It was shocking to find out that he couldn’t find a person to settle down with, all things considered.

Abel knew he was awkward, but he could be comforting when need be. It came with his job, grown used to keeping it together for others until he had the luxury of being alone to either deliberate over a situation or just break down altogether. This wasn’t the same as sharing horrible news with a child far too young to understand their life was about to change forever, but he still felt for Antonio all the same - and most of the time, Abel still felt far too young to deal with half the stuff adults had to, anyway. Heartbreak was all in the same category. “His loss.” He said in solidarity, a gentle half-grin appearing. “Was it a learning experience at least? Or… not even worth it? I have to admit, I’m surprised. You are glowing and all still - you’re a very handsome man, Toni. Makes me a bit nervous for the rest of us, actually.” A joke, but as Abel said it, his face visibly changed as he took in the meaning of his words. Should he be concerned? Probably - the dating scene was terrible nowadays, and he was already terrible at it to begin with.

The last thing on Abel’s mind then is food. He’d been hungry moments before, but he can’t help but feed into Antonio’s advice. Which is common for them - leaning forward in his seat and everything. Toni delivers his words kindly, being more than patient with Abel as he tries to placate him - though he knows his company doesn’t view it that way. Abel can’t help but feel a bit juvenile sometimes when they’re together. “I’m not good at that.” He blurts out, though he doesn’t mean to. It feels like a crack at his chest, whenever Abel admits to something that would make him seem… lesser, for a lack of a better word. He’d been raised to be perfection, and had fought for that title his whole life, always falling slightly flat - it stuck with him his whole life. How could he not care what people think? “Handsome and smart. Jesus - my complex is coming back.” He teased, rolling his eyes with an easy smile to show that he meant no harm by it. It was a nice moment between the two of them, before Abel was word vomiting onto Antonio’s lap without realising it. “I’ve never learned how to not care, I guess. It feels like if I don’t have someone’s opinion goading me on, I have nothing to work towards, that’s all.” It sounded a lot sadder when he worded it like that - blinking in shock at his own confession, cheeks flushing of his own accord afterwards. “Sorry. Bit much, that - it’s a work in progress.”