This just a word-vomit of things. When I wrote this I didn't have anyone particular in mind.. but halfway through it suddenly occurred to me that this reflects Gabriel is some way so much. He lost so much and still tried to do things or make things right even though he was too late for most of things in the show.. still I think if the writers had given Gabriel a bit more detail & chance I think his character would be very interesting to explore.. and that few latest episodes with tortured!Gabriel, Asmados and his death afterwards still makes me so mad! Like here is one archangel that can stay and actually help the boys buuut no what happens! Same old song for him! His death was like oh noooo whyyyy do theyyy have to do this to hiimmm! So well here is his interospection? Insight? Thoughts? Character study? Whatever you wanna call it…
This will be cross posted on Ao3 also.
Him. Heart.
There was a restlessness in his movements, in the way he would glance around like searching, no, looking for something. Like he expected something to attack him. To pounce on him and take him to some dreadful place from which he never escapes and be locked forever there. That movements and glances were only indication that something was wrong with him, that something was bothering him. Everything else, his body stature/stance, expression, his voice would belie to an untrained eye and give the aura of a man who was enjoying the moment. Not that he wasn't, in fact, even with all those tells he was enjoying the moment.
Everyone has a heart. This made also had once. He also had a heart. The one beating under his ribs and the one that he lost. He had them. Only very few, scarce ones knew of the one he lost. Of the one that was ripped away, stolen, and lost to universe unknown.
He was the same even after he lost his heart. He behaved the same, he still had same interests, he still went loud as usual, still spoke like before. Maybe he picked new hobbies, new interests. Maybe his old things, old habits, interests were suddenly being discarded. Maybe, Maybe not. He's growing up/maturing is what people said. Maybe he did grow up. Maybe he did mature.
To everyone, he was the same person with little changes and nothing else. No difference. It was true. To some extent. What everybody saw was true. As it was meant to be that way and it stayed that way.
Because the pain, the emptiness, the silence, the ache that would grip him at times, whether it be day or night, awake or asleep, alone or in company; is not something just anyone or everyone can understand it.
The pain of his heart being ripped from him, the emptiness of where his heart used to be there, the silence of its beats, its noise so much unbearable, the ache; the despairing ache that would come. This are not things anyone can understand and really, no one should be casted to bear this ache, this pain, emptiness, this silence: to be broken in a way you cannot be mended.
Sometimes when he lets himself slip or is caught off-guard, he remembers though it's like a hurt scar, pulsing, a smile that he loved the most, the arms that made him feel protected, loved and most-of-all felt like home, that one gesture which made him feel as though everything will be alright.
Many promises were exchanged, many hateful words were spoken, some fights, would be physical, some moments were precious, and some spoke of a familiarity of years even though they knew for only a short time. The one thing that remained was despite everything they cannot live without the other. It was true.
It is still true. He lost his heart but is alive and living. Others do not know of this, but he lives because he awaits for his heart to return to him, to be reunited with his heart again.
Sometimes people will try to meet him up with others in hopes, that he will have a partner, someone to be with him. He becomes friends or is cordial with them but expecting more than that is futile. He knows what they are doing. He is waiting, they do not know.
Sometimes he curses everyone and no-one for his loss. Sometimes he cries and when someone stumbles upon him he tells them he misses home or something. Some truth is better than getting caught lying. He cannot lie properly. Half is better. Half is him.
Sometimes he distracts himself. Ends up with thoughts and the ache of his lost heart. Sometimes he wises for death. Sometimes he curses his heart. Sometimes the one beating under his ribs feels heavy and painful like the blood has turned sluggish and its tired of beating. He wishes his heart was still with him, every breath. Sometimes he wants to tell everyone what it feels like and what he goes through. He does not do it. Somethings cannot be understood by everyone. Somethings cannot be explained. Words fail, only weariness remains. Also he cannot bear the looks of pity and words from people anymore than the pulsing emptiness in him.