Chapter Text
Noble had a soft spot for light eyes: blue, green, hazel, even gray. The young man at the bar? His eyes seemed to shift color depending on his mood. Noble would've attributed this color-shift to the drugs in his own system, but he hadn't taken any yet, and was only two drinks into his evening. That would come the next night - the bad batch of mash, his brush with death (the closest one so far) - but for now, seeing was believing; the man's eyes were magical. Beneath the glow of the lights, the stranger looked like everything at once: soft skin and a well-worn button-up shirt which would've felt smooth beneath his fingers, but with hard muscles beneath; casual, yet observant; approachable, and yet aloof.
Noble Sanfino knew the official Church stance on his passions. He also knew of the hours and months and years he'd prayed, long lonely nights on his knees, for God to change him. It was difficult to say which secret he'd puzzled out first - the fact that the Sanfino family was not like other families, or the fact that he, the son, grandson and nephew of many hardened criminals, was only interested in boys.
He knew, just by the law of averages, that there had to be other gay or bisexual gangsters - both in history and in the present time - but most of them would literally rather die than let their secret out. Sure, one of the Kray brothers was gay, and it was a known thing - but Noble didn't find much comfort in studying that particular historical figure, seeing as things didn't end so good for him. Italians in general were all about family, copious sex, and making big broods; when you added the crime family aspect into the mix, Noble was letting everyone down double. Criminals needed to be detached, above all that lovey stuff; to show romantic affection - especially for the same sex - was a sign of weakness. Sure, most of them had women, even families, but 'family' always came first. If one of the dons called upon you to execute your own spouse or child, you did it. Period. Noble couldn't afford to love anyone, especially not a man - and definitely not a Mick like this guy probably was. Sexism, racism, homophobia - all part of being a Sanfino. Noble hated it.
If he went to prison someday, Noble idly thought, maybe he could start up a support group for gay criminals. He'd be safer in there (from his family) than he would be if he came out as gay while free.. Then again, for the right price, someone on the inside would do his family's dirty work and take him out. It was bad enough that he had a drug habit, making him reckless and emotional rather than business-minded and cold; his sexuality would be the straw to break the camel's back.
Essentially, Noble was already in a type of prison. He wasn't free to live a legitimate, law-abiding life; he wasn't free to be himself.. and he wasn't free to find somebody to love.
As he watched two drunk and high blondes hitting on the stranger, Noble wondered if the guy had a girl. No wedding ring, he noticed, but some husbands didn't wear one - especially while drinking alone in a crowded bar teeming with fresh young tail. The man didn't seem the type, but looks could be deceiving. Already, he chided himself, I'm building this guy up to be some kind of saint. Maybe he's a doctor who saves sick children, or a firefighter, rescuing kittens from trees. He has the build for it, Noble conceded.
He needed something else, stronger than booze. Noble needed something to distort his thoughts, to shift his focus, to keep him from feeling anything resembling an emotion. Reality was too painful; a high might bring dark hallucinations, but at least those ended, and you could dismiss them as illusions. Maybe he'd O.D, and the pain would stop. The family wouldn't miss him - not on any deep level.
As if in answer to prayer, Noble got his opening. As 'Bri-Bri' muscled in on the stranger, his inferiority complex threatening to snowball into a fist-fight (and Noble didn't want to see this man's pretty nose broken), Noble attempted to engage the man in conversation, half-expecting to be ignored or rebuffed. After all, it wasn't exactly a gay bar; wouldn't a man like that bristle at being approached by another guy, a guy who was clearly there alone?
The stranger didn't do either. With Brian out of the way, the stranger didn't even blink as Noble trotted out his "Don't I know you from somewhere?" pick-up line. Perhaps the man just didn't take it for what it was, thinking it was general conversation, or drunken rambling. Noble shifted on his bar stool, telling his body to slow down, to not read into things. Noble insisted multiple times and in multiple ways that he did, in fact, know the man from somewhere, wishing it were true, praying the guy would take the bait..
Jimmy, Noble's new friend, didn't bite, but he DID keep talking. Noble took another sip, tasting the man's name in his mouth, wondering how their respective drink choices would taste mingled together in a kiss. So far, Jimmy seemed as sweet and boy-next-door as Noble had first thought - but then things took a slight detour.
"I'm meeting this chick later. She might need a little encouragement. Think you could point me in the right direction?," Jimmy wanted to know.
Noble took the question like a double-punch to the gut. Meeting a girl later, AND wanting something to drug her with? So much for Saint Jimmy. That, added to Jimmy's admission of being an old attendee of Stardust, lowered Noble's opinion of him - but he was so pretty, and he just had this aura about him, this energy of goodness...
Definitely time for some drugs. Things were getting too heavy. Unfortunately, Noble had spotted an undercover cop in the bar. He pointed the cop out to Jimmy, making his excuses. As Noble left the bar that night, he was kicking himself, wondering if he'd see Jimmy again.
For better or for worse, he did.
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The next night, Noble found himself at the same watering hole, hoping that in a city of millions, he'd spot a shooting star.
It was so. Jimmy was there, looking better than the night before. It made Noble wonder about the 'chick' Jimmy had mentioned, and he asked, making conversation. Jimmy confirmed he'd managed to get some without 'help,' and Noble feigned happiness over the revelation.
He punished himself, sitting at a table with an old friend of a friend who happened to be female, buying her drinks, wasting her time as well as his own. He knew he didn't want to take her home, or even drag her to the bathroom for a quickie. There was only one person in the bar Noble wanted, and he had no reason to believe that person would be interested.
Eventually ditching the girl, he made his way back to Jimmy at the bar. They talked; the memory of it was stashed more as 'feeling' than words, blurred in the aftermath of what happened.
The last thing Noble remembered before blacking out was stumbling back to the bar from the bathroom. When he awoke, he was told by the nurses that "Jimmy" had called 911 and saved his life.
Great. Wonderful first impression. Wonderful way to cut the evening short. And then there was the whole, you know, almost-dying thing.
He'd even failed at THAT. Jeez.
But wait.. If the man had saved his life, Noble now had an excuse to draw Jimmy into his world, at least long enough to thank him.
Okay, he hadn't saved a kitten from a tree, or a kid from cancer. What he'd saved wasn't worth saving. Still, the code was the code.
Noble was going to track Jimmy down and repay his good deed. It was the Sanfino way. It was part of his birthright.
It was his job.