hey, sugar

Character Study, Gil Hall - Home Sweet Home

Even Roo, who prefers to conveniently turn a blind eye to logic when it doesn’t suit his narrative, can recognise that you look nice is synonymous with gotcha. It leaves him looking moderately sheepish, but it’s short-lived – dignity is a foreign concept as far as he’s concerned, and, when cute boys are involved, everything else gets tossed to a far-flung corner of the cosmos – and he offers Gil a clumsy twirl to show off his outfit. “Merci, monsieur.” He’s wearing what he lovingly refers to as his retro-new wave pirate outfit – a ruffled shirt, ludicrously tight trousers and a military style jacket, with swipes of eyeliner and – for reasons perhaps best known to Roo – glitter in his hair. He thinks it’s high fashion; his housekeeper prefers ridiculous. She’s a woman of few words, but are you actually going to go out like that? has become a catchphrase in their household, particularly when he pulls out the pirate look. Still, if he’s going to be rejected by the receptionist, he’d rather be rejected looking like an Adam Ant tribute act. At least it’ll give his heartbreak the sense of theatre it deserves.

“Names are irrelevant, darling.” It’s punctuated with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “His face is a work of art, he idolises Audrey Hepburn and Holly likes him. What more could I ask for?” Likes is extraordinarily generous. Holly doesn’t like anyone. Icy tolerance is the most one can hope for, but the fact that she doesn’t actively want to kill this guy? It’s promising. “Besides, you’re not allowed to judge me. I’ve seen some of the questionable creatures you’ve pined for. At least I have taste.”

Gil knew when Roo was showing off more than usual. But he can’t really say anything, he and Roo were the same person and as such neither of them had any shame. “De nada.” Because Gil was more Spanish than he was French. Again, opposites and the same. They were both romance languages, sure, just... ones favoring different ~aesthetics.~ Like an overbearing mother, Gil couldn’t help but mumble a short, “Hold still.” brushing stray flecks of glitter off of Roo’s shoulders. 

As hard of a time they gave each other at times, Gil was sworn into being Roo’s wingman when these sorts of situations arose. It was an integral role, and one Gil took seriously. And if Roo were to be rejected? Gil was ready to supply whatever the man needed. Food, alcohol, and boogie (or F.A.B., if you will) were at the top of his toolkit. 

Still, as much as he cared for the glittery man in front of him Gil side-eyed his piano-student-turned-honorary-baby-brother more frequently than anyone else in the county. 

“This looks like my jacket...” he sniffed. Was he insinuating Rupert had stolen something out of his wardrobe? Yes. Yes, he god damn was. And Roo would be wise to weasel away before Gil could catch him.

“Do I hear wedding bells?” He asked, opening Holly’s carrier for her to be slid in, ready, as one is required to be, to close the damn thing before she could squirm her way out again. “I mean I could list some more things for you to add to your list there, dear but when have you ever taken my advice? --” His lips parted at the insult, free hand clutching at his invisible pearls, “First of all you little gremlin, rude.” holding up a second finger, “Second, I do have taste. Everyone doesn’t have to look like a Ken doll, Roo. It’s not what’s on the outside that matters. It’s what’s inside. Remember that.” In this case, what’s under certain items of clothing could be appropriate depending on what Roo wanted out of the receptionist but, listen, Gil was going to keep this P.C..

Staring aimlessly at the wide array of gums and mints, Raquelle couldn’t undo her actions, but she could forget about them. Now what exactly did she want? To distract herself, she internally questioned why there were so many different types of mint flavours. She soon realized that she was slightly losing her mind having to question herself that out of all things. It wasn’t until a soothe familiar voice interrupted her thoughts. “It’s cause of their catchphrase and their catchy commercials huh? You’re a music buff, I’m sure the tune has its way to capture the souls of people. It can’t be the flavour seeing as it doesn’t last long you know?” She refused to look at Gil, knowing god damn well there were people around them. However, the moment he tried to shy away the attention from her, she eventually glanced up and gave him a faint smile as she appreciated getting whoever was behind them away from her. 

She’d met the DJ slash radio host unconventionally as they crossed paths in many events in the entertainment industry. At first, she was confused and taken back as to why he boldly initiated each conversation. Eventually she commends him for having the balls to deal with her out of all people and now, Gil was considered on her tolerable list. “I know, but at least your suave makes up for your…” She eyed him from head to toe and shrugged, “Fashion faux pas.” Turning around, she gave him her undivided attention and sighed heavily, “Listen babe, I wish I fucking knew how I am.” Looking over at the magazines, she frowned some more and continued rearranging them until she stopped and picked a pack of gum. “It is, but a thousand times worse cause it’s all a bunch of fake propaganda. Thanks for lessening the blow by the way, I was way too caught up…So, are you out here doing errands?” 

Gil smiled, “Juicy Fruit commercials from the 80′s? Unparalleled. I live for any and everything that is too much(TM). Naturally, I have to stand by the company despite the weak flavor.” Gil was kind of like a whirlwind, coming into people’s lives and whisking them away into a world that’s eternally Soul Train. Unconventional was a fitting descriptor.

That night Raquelle had been standing alone, and, maybe, she had wanted it that way. But Gil figured he should at least find out before assuming and leaving the then stranger to have a boring, uneventful night... Or maybe even wishing someone would just talk to them. It had been a party after all, and as, well, a DJ, Gil felt like it was his job to make sure everyone was having a good time. Raquelle should know that Gil didn’t think of their relationship as him ‘dealing’ with her. He happened to enjoy the woman’s company. And genuinely wanted her happy. Especially with how brutal press and social media and whatever else came with fame could be.

A laugh, “Hey, listen. If I can’t dress like the missing member of Sly and the Family Stone then what’s the point?” When she turned to him, his smile faded, listening intently, “Mm... People get caught up with the ins and outs of other people’s lives so they don’t have to focus on their own, right? Even if it’s all,” he waved a dismissive hand towards the magazines, “Fake news. I think we forget the person on the page is, you know, an actual human being sometimes.” He lifted his basket, “I’d say it’s less running errands and more buying things I don’t need. After this, I had planned to go home to do chores but if you’re free you can help me procrastinate vacuuming. Unless you have other lunch plans?”

The mention of Grey’s followed by inquiries into her own non-existent love life earned a grimace out of Genevieve. “I’ll only sit through Grey’s if we skip past the Izzy and Denny episodes. And the ones where Meredith is crying over McDreamy. And the ones where the patients survive at the end — go big or go home.” She was a difficult girl to please, but Gil never failed.

She leans in close, as if she’s about to confess something absolutely delicious. “I met this tall, dark and gorgeous red-head at the bookstore. We both reached for the same copy of Margot Fonteyn’s biography and when our hands accidentally touched, it was electric. We got to talking and there was this immediate connection — we spoke for hours but it was as if I’d known her my whole life. When we said goodbye, she leaned in to kiss me and I finally woke up from my nap and went back to my actual miserable, lonely life where love is nonexistent.” Really, what else was he expecting? A romantic Genevieve only existed in dreams. “I’m not focused on romance at the moment — too busy doing absolutely nothing with my life.” And as if anyone would want to take a chance on a broken, bitter has-been like her, but she doesn’t dare voice her insecurities out loud. “Besides, no one in this town is good enough for me. We’d both have better luck fishing in Boston.”

Gil smiled, “That’s, like, the entire show. We need a new show.” Gil has learned to let Gen pick what they do and not suggest, it makes things far easier and less like pulling teeth. It was why they worked: Gen was hard to please and Gil was down for anything.

Ok, listen, Gil was ALL for tea. Especially when it came to romance. So if he fell for Gen’s ‘I met a gorgeous person at a bookstore’ story every time it was because he wanted her life to be a rom-com, god damn it! He wanted his life to be a rom-com. The response she received was a groan, “Why do you do this to me? You lure me into a false sense of security and then,” He shot his imaginary self out of the sky with his finger gun, “Every time.” He gave her ‘the look’ at her next comment, setting his wine down, “You and Jamie, man. Stop it. You’re brilliant and can do whatever you set your mind to.” He quirked his brows, “And you know I wouldn’t lie to you.” Bringing his glass to his lips he paused, shrugging, “... I don’t know, Devinstone very well may be a little pond but...” A sip, “There’s some interesting fish here, I think.”

It wasn’t the scent of delicious pork that wafted through the apartment that indicated that Dom had been dragged across town, dropped onto the velvet couch in the wee hours of the morning. Shockingly, it wasn’t the soft sound that pulled her from her sleep either. No, it was the sensation of his couch pressed to her cheek. The seam that would leave an indent into her cheek as she drooled on the same spot as always. 

Also, the headache was a pretty clear confirmation. Then everything else came in and forced a grunt out of Domino. 

“No,” she groaned out, using all the energy she could muster to grab a pillow and pull it to her ear. He wouldn’t be deterred to stop, she knew that much. They’d been here too many times. Some bacon, coffee, and a little bit of determination from the male would eventually get her to force herself upwards. “Gil,” she groaned, “Please.”

One, two — and the third time she tried to swat his hand away. Rather than attempt to burry herself deeper into the couch, Dom turned on her back. 

“Gimme —” she said before her mouth opened wide, demanding a sliver of bacon to be dropped in her open beak. With that, her hand lifted as she awaited for the cup of coffee to be placed there before she’d force herself into an upwards position.

Gil was an only child. And many of his good friends resided in the small town of Devinstone and not Boston where his childhood home resided. Of course, being Gil, he had many a playdate and sleepover. He was invited to everyone’s birthdays but maybe sometimes he felt that he was only a floater on the outskirts of these people’s lives. Always a friend, never a best friend. At least not to anyone next door. So when Gil was alone (as he was often) he learned to keep himself company. And yet maybe somewhere deep down he longed for a sibling to keep him company. Now, into his adulthood, it seemed like he had gotten what he wished for -- or something along those lines -- with Dom.

“Mm-mm!” He shook his head, “Not today! If you want bacon you’re gonna have to come and get it.” to up the ante he placed a perfectly cooked piece of bacon in his mouth, “MM. I really outdid myself today.” He did have coffee for her, “Your joe is right there on the table.” Just out of her reach, because, when was Gil known to make things easy for her? “If I’m gonna be your butler I need to get paid or something. My rate’s 25 per hour or no dice.”

“I know you are right about that, but I just can’t be a bit upset about what happened, that is all.” Georgie knew he was correct about it, and she was very glad to not have a broken ankle added to the mix. “But thank you, for saving the ankles.” The brunette honestly said. “Okay, so what would be a logic explanation for someone to carry a magnet around?” She asked curiously. She listened to his reasoning, seeing where he wanted to get with it. “Hmmm but I honestly don’t know anyone who would carry a magnet around, do you?” She asked, eyebrow raised as she looked at him. “I think calling your guy might be the safest bet we have right now.” Georgie didn’t mind that she was actually including him in this, since, after all, he was there helping her out in this madness. “I am kind of used to look a tiny little bit ridiculous, so this is really nothing new to me either.”

Gil nodded, “Oh, of course!” A laugh, “I’d be wilding out too. I’ve locked myself out or lost keys so many times that at this point,” He motioned to his belt loop where his keys rested by his pocket, “I hook them to my pants so I don’t forget them anywhere. This older gentleman gave me the idea after I had locked myself out of my car in the goodwill parking lot.” He ran a hand over his chin at the memory with a chuckle, a fond smile on his face. Gil could make friends with any and everybody without even trying. “-- Now we play checkers every other Sunday afternoon. -- Anyway! I don’t really drive anymore so that’s one less set of keys to have to keep track of.”

He nodded, pulling out his phone to shoot a quick text to his buddy, “Well, in the meantime I was heading in to get a cup of tea if you want to join me.”

The thought of petting the damn dog was enough to make her lips quirk into a pout, fighting hard to keep her tears at bay as thoughts of the movie invaded her mind. Gil wasn’t helping, either, even if he tried. Bless his heart, he tried, but he was only adding fuel to the fire and she found herself quickly grabbing onto his arm and hugging herself to him to stop herself from rushing over to the poor, unsuspecting puppy and assaulting him with pets and words of affection. “Marley is all I can think about when I look at that puppy, Gil, and I know he’s going to give his owner such a good couple of years before it’s–,” no, she couldn’t think about it. Cursing under her breath, she turned away from the puppy, her grip around his arm turning him with her.

“I can’t do it, I don’t need to cry again today.”

They always did this. They watch a sad movie and then cry about it for the next week. They should have learned from Titanic. God, that was a trainwreck.

He wrapped his arm over her shoulder, beginning to walk her in the opposite direction, “So, here’s what I think: This park is dangerous. For the sake of both of our eyes let’s get out of here, hm?” He pulled out his phone, “What about... A cute little cafe? How does that sound? And then I can walk you home well fed and caffeinated. That’s what we’re supposed to be doing anyway. Today is our scheduled date day, cry together is next week.”

All right, at least he could appreciate the man’s honesty.

“I hate to admit it, but you might be better off,” he said, turning to look at him with a resigned chuckle. More often than not–even with the bruised egos and unnecessary fighting aside–the stress of sports was more hassle than it was worth. Had he ever actually enjoyed a Super Bowl when his team was playing in it? Solid no. 

“Wait, you mean to say this isn’t normal Devinstone behavior?” It was meant as a teasing observation, but now that he’d said it, he found himself wondering. “I thought perhaps they were going stir crazy. Small town syndrome.” Erik had been away for long enough that for all he knew, this could’ve been the norm. The idea of bumping into the same people day in day out for the rest of his life was surely enough to drive anyone insane… “I would.”

Gil smirked, “Now, don’t sit there and tell me you aren’t like a rugby player or a boxer or ~something.~ Did you play football in college?” This man had to have played football in college.

“The most I ever got around to trying was track and field, I’ll give myself that: I’m fast... But only for a short period of time.” a laugh.

Brandon laughed at his own mistake. Radio station and police station were two very different types of help. “No take backs, fine, you got me.” He held up his hands in a mock surrender. Not that he would have given the chance. Brandon was always looking for more ways to help out in the community. It was his hometown after all. Giving back was in his blood - or at least that was the lingering church speeches in him from all those years of going when he was growing up. “That they have,” he shook his head. The officers down at the station were working time and time again to keep people under control. It was wearing them all down and Brandon had taken it upon himself to keep stepping in to help out. “Sheesh,” he shook his head, “I can’t believe it and yet, I keep looking right at it.” He had yet to make his way to the store and it hardly seemed worth a trip at this point. 

“Not enough people care,” that was the damn, cold truth. It seemed to be such a shame to him but the man could hardly drag himself away from caring so at least there would always be that about himself that he liked. “You will be wooed, I mean, look who you’re talking to.” He joked with teasing words before bringing his beer back up to his lips. “Yeah?” His brows raised, “I have to admit even I’ve done that before.” He laughed and shook his head in shame, “Yeah, my family adopted her when I was ten.” The age difference accounted for most of their relationship not being typical, “We weren’t real close growing up.” For many reasons coming back down to his father and not wanting to adopt Georgie in the first place. The home had often felt like two separate families living together. 

Gil smiled, “I appreciate you, brother. You always humor me.” He held up a hand, “But, really, I’m serious. I think this’ll be good for the community. I grew up in Boston, but I had so many friends here growing up it’s as if Devinstone is my hometown. I care about this place, you know?” He paused, “I don’t think I’ve ever asked, are you and yours from the area or..?” He asked.

A laugh, “Oh, my 100′s of love interests will be so jealous.” an obvious joke, capitalized by the roll of his eyes, “If only.” At the moment, Gil figured he had a whopping 0 people interested in pursuing an actual relationship with him. “Dating apps, man. Nothing good ever comes out of them.” He nodded as Brandon spoke, “Ten years is a big gap. Not that I would really know, I was an only child. We did have an African Grey though who I treated as a sibling.” Another laugh, “He was super smart, you could have whole conversations with him... The challenge was to get him to stop talking. But I guess I have that same problem.”

“I like your wardrobe,” Jamie tells him plainly, almost absent-mindedly, in between drinks of his beer. Michael Jackson still plays loudly around them, Rock with You fading out to get ready for the next song, but Jamie barely registers the sound with Gil sitting in front of him like that. He’s always demanded Jamie’s full attention, whether Gil’s been aware of it or not. 

Jamie subconsciously adds that to the long list of things he admires about him– optimism and effortlessness finding themselves at the very top. (Incidentally Jamie’s list of things he admires about Gil and envies about him are identical.) 

He smiles as Gil reminds him that everyone should dance– a Gil phrase, if there could ever be one– but doesn’t say anything of it. Ask me again, Jamie thinks, and I’ll do it.

“Hey,” he pouts in mock-defense, making a sweeping gesture around the messy office, as if it were a palace and not a tiny room in desperate need of some TLC, “I’m living the dream, baby! They only wish they could be me.” He sinks back into the couch, half-expecting it to swallow him whole, and takes another drink. The can is nearly empty now, but the refrigerator feels miles away. (For the record, he doesn’t know who they is.)

“Up to my ears in debt with a store that sells shit nobody but us wants anymore,” he finishes. It’s angry and bitter and entirely unlike him– or rather, it used to be unlike him. He talks as if he’s all but given up. Maybe he has; his guitars have been abandoned for nearly two years now, left to gather dust on his bedroom floor. 

The truth is that Gil is infinitely better than Jamie, at damn-near everything: hopefulness and success and just life in general, if he really stops to think about it, and it’s Jamie who should have to fight to keep Gil around. He wonders why he hasn’t given up on him yet. He never asks, of course, for fear it’ll finally make him come to his senses. You’re right, Jamie, I don’t know why I put up with you. Have a nice life! Good luck with the store.

“Sorry,” he says a moment later. The thought is dark enough to pull him back to reality– they’re supposed to be celebrating– or at least scare him enough to genuinely mean it. "God, I don’t know what’s wrong with me today,” he adds, but that’s a lie. Don’t leave me because I can’t seem to get my shit together is what he’d really like to say. Instead, he picks the easier excuse: “Long day. And too many goddamn bills I need to figure out how to pay.”

A pause, allowing a light chuckle to fall from his lips and into his beer. “Well, that’s a relief. All this time, I was starting to worry my attempts to impress you weren’t paying off.” It was always: Is this a gay thought or a jealous thought with Jamie. Since the summer before college, Gil had walked that thin tightrope.

For as ready for anything as Gil presented himself there were somethings he’d rather not risk.

Gil watched Jamie deflate, turning to face him. An arm propped up on the back of the couch, chin resting in his hand, “That’s not true. Music? Music’s like books or art. It’s -- Rob’s?” He waved his free hand, “-- This shop is a cornerstone of this community. You...” He exhaled.

You never give yourself enough credit anymore.

“Don’t apologize.” Was all Gil could respond, shaking his head, “Never apologize.” It took the place of all the things he wanted to say but didn’t have the words to. Gil was a smooth talker until he wasn’t. So he would have to improvise. “Forget about bills for tonight.” A pause before standing, “Alright? Alright. Come on then.” even going as far as to turn the music off, abruptly ending their party, “We’re movin’ this shindig,” Out of Rob’s where Jamie felt trapped, and away from bills and debt, “Don’t fight it.” a grin, walking backward towards the door, “This’ll be good for you. I promise.”

--

It wouldn’t take Jamie long to decipher where they were going. Gil’s house was very distinctive -- One, by the people on his street who hollered at him from their porches and windows, and two, by the green door (and seashell windchime not too far from their heads that was definitely from the 70′s and definitely his mother’s from whatever peace and love commune she was apart of at that time.

“My mother always got some kind of proverb she wants to beat you over the head with but some of them I do stand by.” he held the door open for Jamie, tossing his keys into the bowl by the door, “She would say: Your food is supposed to be your medicine. And I say good music goes with good food. So by this logic what we need right now is a good jam session in the kitchen and you can’t convince me otherwise.” Gil’s home looked about how you would expect it too: lots of orange and wicker and art on the walls.

He moved to his record player, long fingers flipping through the vinyl until he found what he was looking for, “While I set this up can I task you with seeing what I have in the fridge?” Looking over his shoulder, “Listen, if you hate it. We’ll stop. But just... Try for me, ok? Trust me.”