Work Text:
Shock careened through Willie like the crash of his heart restarting.
For days, he'd been avoiding anywhere he'd ever been with Alex, anywhere he'd ever seen him, except his shift at the club. He was scared of how those places would feel without him. Willie had spent years carving out his own little world of secret places in Los Angeles, and in a few short weeks Alex had made the idea of being in any of those spaces alone seem unbearable.
So he'd found new places to be, new empty pools to skate in, new half-finished construction sites to haunt, new ledges in the Hollywood hills from which to watch the sunset.
But he was drawn back to the museum eventually. In life, he'd done art - splashy and loud, riots of color that careened past the edges of the canvas and necessitated liberal amounts of paint thinner in the cleanup. He used to skate with paintbrushes holding his hair up in a bun, used to have paint smeared on his arms like a second skin.
In death, he had spent months, alone, trying to pick up his brushes again. When he'd finally managed it - by himself, in a closed studio space, yet to find any other ghosts to guide him - it had suddenly felt empty. With nothing changing in his life - in his existence - he had no stories to tell, no emotions to process. He'd stare at canvases for hours, but something in him had not come along when his soul had left his body behind. He was just a little less.
By the time Caleb had found him, it had been months since he'd painted. He never tried again.
But the museum always reminded him of what he had once been, displaying other people's stories, reminders of how the people around him hoped and longed and prayed and dreamed and created, even when he didn't. So it was the first place he'd come back to alone.
"Willie?"
His skateboard crashed out of his hands onto the floor, and his helmet followed, bouncing once with a sickening crack.
"Alex?" His voice was thin enough to shatter.
Alex dragged an agitated hand through his hair. Willie couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. He couldn't-
"Where have you been, man?" Alex asked, pushing himself up from the bench he'd been sitting on, the bench Willie had taught him to move. "I've been looking for you for days, I thought Caleb had gotten to you or something, I tried to figure out where that Justin person's pool is, but that Julie said you can't just Google that sort of thing-"
Willie was barely processing. Days? He'd assumed Alex had been destroyed when they'd disappeared from the club, had fought so hard against Caleb's jolts that they'd broken him instead. He'd assumed he'd been left again, like always, left behind.
His feet closed the distance between them of their own volition, something twisted impossibly tight inside his chest.
This couldn't be real. Alex couldn't possibly be here; forty-odd years and no one had ever come back.
They crashed together, Willie's arms thrown around Alex's neck, his face buried in the soft skin below his ear. He was real, he was here, he was solid and close and he smelled like varnish and dust and he was here.
Alex wrapped his arms around Willie, and the force of their collision nearly lifted Willie's feet off the ground. He felt Alex press his face into his neck, lips on skin, and he was soft and warm and for a moment the whole world fell away. There was nothing but the press of Alex's chest against his, Alex's strong hands braced against his ribs, the skin of Alex's neck pressed against Willie's face, the heaving of their bodies together with pointless, ragged breaths.
It wasn't enough. He wanted, he needed-
Willie pulled back just enough to look up into Alex's eyes, searching for reassurance, confirmation, permission.
Alex was staring at him in wonder, still holding them impossibly close together, his gold hair brushing his cheekbones. His gaze flitted down.
It was all Willie needed. It was a shift of their bodies, a tilt of their heads, and then it was Alex's mouth searing and hungry against his.
It was not a gentle kiss. It was full of adrenaline and fear, lips pressed too hard together, hands dragged too quickly against shoulder blades, boys so afraid of separation that releasing pressure was to risk devastation. It was Alex's nose against Willie's cheek, it was Willie's hand tangled in Alex's hair, pressing him closer, closer, it was Alex hauling Willie against him, unwavering.
It was this: Alex and Willie together, and nothing else.
When they finally broke apart, the space between them barely shifted. Alex leaned his forehead against Willie's, his face full of awe.
"I thought Caleb had broken you," Willie whispered, an admission of guilt laced through the syllables.
"I've been looking for you for days," Alex repeated. Willie could feel his breath against his face. He never wanted to be further away from Alex than this, ever again.
"I was avoiding memories of you."
Alex gave him a soft smile. "I wouldn't leave you like that." All at once, the fear wound tight in Willie's chest unravelled. Instead, he was filled with the feeling of being understood, of being seen, of having a promise between them that was for both of them. "I'm yours, as long as you'll have me."
Willie kissed him again.