Work Text:
Somewhere in the late 2010s, or the early 2020s. Time, as always, is deeply immaterial; much like this characterisation.
It's freezing outside, and though the inside of Will's flat is warmer, it does very little to warm your heart. Absolute nightmare, once again. You'd feel defeated, but at this point, the string of failed dates with men is becoming less of a hit to your self-confidence and more of a string of humorous anecdotes you'll tell at parties once you've clocked the Youtube thing, the bisexuality thing, and the social anxiety thing.
Right now, not the greatest feeling, though.
“You making it a habit of coming over here every time you strike out?” Will asks, as you slide onto the couch looking windswept and feeling more than a little bit miffed.
You shrug. “Yeah. Guess so. He bailed. Same as usual. Unbelievable.”
“Third fella in a row?”
Something like that. It's perhaps been more. You'll never tell.
Dryly, you say, “Not great for my reputation, eh. How ever will I maintain my reputation of Your Sluttiest Friend if none of my dates pull through?"
“You’ll always be a slapper in my heart.” He says, leaping up, a mass of gangly legs and dangling fabric, and passes you a cider from the fridge.
You wrinkle your nose, it’s not your favourite drink in the world, but needs must, and accept it. “Thanks, Will. Love your work.”
“To lost love,” He says, and pops the cap from a Corona. He toasts you, “lost pipe, and the absence of both of our sex lives, 'cause unfortunately I'm sat here too.”
“Yeah, yeah.” You toast him back, and take a pull from the cider. It’s fruity, but too sweet, and you wince, wrinkling your nose at the taste. “Eugh.”
He sits back down next to you and pulls his legs up onto the couch. You’ve always liked those pants of his - pink tie-dye - a style choice you generally wouldn’t expect from a person like him. “So?”
“Back to the Tinder mines.” As much as you don’t really want to do that. There’s something so disconnecting about Tinder. It feels a little less authentic, sometimes. “I guess.”
“Yeah, good luck.” He takes a swig of his drink and lets it settle for a moment, dropping the bottle back to his lap.
You glance at him. “No hot dating tips? No compliments? I’m shocked, William.”
He stares you right in the eyes for a second, then pats you on the knee, with all the warmth of a dead fish. “You’re a good person. You’ll find someone.”
You roll your eyes and knock your hand against his, just for a second. “Thanks, Will.”
“Real leng.”
“Yeah, shut up.”
You both sit there for a bit, sitting with your drinks as the wind shakes the building, comfortable in the silence, before he says, “Where were you going to go?”
“Cinema, then Roka.”
“Fancy for a first date.”
You shrug. “We messaged for a while. Good looks, good vocab, not just there for sex. Thought he was worth it.”
“And he ditched? Lousy fella.” He drains the last of his Corona and then offers you his hand. “Come on, then. Let’s go somewhere.”
“Will?” You take his hand, confused, and let him pull you to your feet, stumbling a little as the sudden movement makes your head spin. “Why?”
“Threeish times in the last couple of weeks? It’s not very fair, is it?” He bumps his shoulder against yours, eyes surprisingly soft. “Come out with me?”
Your cheeks heat, just a little. You can’t help it. It’s been… a while, since someone’s been this nice to you, even if it’s just your best mate. “Okay. Since you asked so nicely. Dick.”
It's desperately windy back out on the street, but you find it hard to care as Will dances along in front of you, causing chaos with just his sheer presence.
“If you’re leading me somewhere nice, keep in mind you’re wearing joggers, William.”
He shrugs, hands thrown wide as the wind ruffles the edge of his trim you can see under his beanie. “Since when do either of us care about appearances?”
“Yeah. I just-” You blow out a breath. “I’m a bit fragile now, yeah?”
“Yeah. No worries. Pizza good?”
“Pizza very good.” You reply, and grin at him. Pizza, is indeed, very good.
“Was thinking we could just get Papa John's but that’d probably be a bit shit.” He says, as though he's not memorised their entire menu and probably orders it more in a month than most people do in five years.
“There’s nothing wrong with cheap pizza if you’re with good company.”
“Do I count as good company?” He asks, looking back at you, eyes sparkling.
You shrug, “You’re not half bad.”
“High praise.”
“I try.”
So you go for pizza. The place on Canary Wharf isn’t that bad, it’s fancy without being fancy, and the pizza is good. It’s lovely and toasty inside the building, and Will’s being a bit of an arse, cracking terrible jokes. It all makes up a bit for the little hole in your heart.
“Thanks for this.” You say, sipping on your Coke through a paper straw. “Was nice.”
“‘s nothing.” He replies. “You’re paying, anyway.”
“In my time of crisis, William Lenney. I can’t believe you.”
“It’s your turn.”
Technically, though last time we’d gone out to eat we’d literally just gotten ramen. “You earn more money than most people will ever see, Will.”
He shrugs again, but there’s a mirth in it, a tease. “Still your turn, though.”
“Piss off.”
He stonewalls you for the rest of the evening, but then pays anyway, tossing a couple of mints your way from the bowl by the cash register. Nice of him. Uncharacteristically so, really.
Together, you walk back to Will's along the Thames, which looks much less grey in the sparkle of the lights from the city around you. It almost feels like it's pretty, like it could be picturesque under the right lights and the right camera. There’s a chill whipped up from the water, and you shiver a little, pulling your coat tighter around yourself.
“I would offer you my jacket.” Will says, from behind you, “But you mocked my joggers earlier so I don’t think I will.”
“You’re all chivalry, Lenney.” Not to mention that he'd freeze well before you would if he lost it.
“Real hero, me.”
“Yeah.” You stop walking, and reach out to nudge him in the side. “Genuinely though, you’re a sweetheart. Thanks for this. I had a good night.” There's a deep fondness welling within you, despite his absolutely shit chat.
He shrugs again, “It’s nothing. But I did too.”
“Aw.”
He drags you in for a hug, pressing the long line of his body up against yours, head tucking in just against your chin. He gives good hugs, nice hugs, and you find yourself relaxing into it, sinking into the moment, completely comforted for the first time that evening.
“Full disclosure.” He says, voice a little muffled, “I kinda hoped you’d be back early.”
“How’d you mean?”
He sighs, and you feel it all throughout your body where you’re both pressed together. “I’m going to get absolutely raked over the coals for this but… fancy you a bit, don’t I?”
Oh. That’s… something. That’s… a lot. That's utterly unexpected from him, especially, who's so often been utterly opposed to your vague queerbaiting antics that it sort of doesn't make a whole lot of sense. Had it just been sitting within him the entire time? It takes all types, you suppose. You still, for a moment, confused. That’s-
“I will now take a leap right back into the friendzone.” He says, pressing a rough and haphazard kiss somewhere near your eyebrow and pulling away.
“No. Stop.” You say, grabbing his hand tightly. You don’t really know what to think. It’s not like… leaping into the unknown. You love Will like a mate, you’ve known that for years, but… maybe it does mean a little more to you than you think. There’s nothing for it, and you almost hate that you’ve been put in this position, but you really want to know more. “Kiss me?”
He looks at you, seemingly examining your face for tricks. “Really?”
The wind whistles by, and you pull him a little bit more into the alcove along the river walk that you've found yourself in, free hand coming up to curl along the edge of his zip. “If it’s shit you’ll have a great tale for an Insta story.”
He laughs, a little, but it’s not even really that funny. “Deal.”
And then he kisses you.
It’s not like a fairytale, no fireworks, no lights going off behind your eyes - but it’s pleasant, and nice, and comforting, and it’s so incredibly him.
You wind your arms behind his back, pulling him in tighter, feeling the clasps of his jacket tight against your chest. He tastes a little like mint.
It’s almost like years have passed before you part, but it’s probably only been moments.
“Good?” He asks, a little hesitant, a little vulnerable.
“I reckon we could make this work.” You reply, and the light in his eyes brightens immediately. “Let's go home, I reckon.”
“Yeah.” He agrees, and takes your hand. “Home.”
Whatever direction this will take, it doesn’t really matter - because he’s already the person you like most in the world.
The kissing is just a bonus.