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"If we are to make reality endurable, we must all nourish a fantasy or two.”
~ Marcel Proust
Ronald Knox drove William absolutely insane - and not just for seldom sending in his paperwork on time.
He was obstinate, foolhardy, and insufferably flighty. William was often astounded by the amount of breath Knox wasted over the most trivial of matters. He knew Ronald would drive him up the wall from the moment he laid eyes upon him. His suspicions were only reaffirmed the second the latter had burst into his office without so much as knocking, clutching a stack of files. Ronald's breathing was ragged, his once-immaculate white shirt spattered with blood that was certainly not his own, his hands and the lenses of his glasses smeared with red too. He remembered that day as though it were yesterday.
Stumbling over to William’s desk, he flattened one of his palms upon the freshly polished oak surface. William drew in a sharp breath, cringing inwardly at the scarlet smudge that remained as Ronald withdrew his hand. All his hard work was undone - the two hours that he had spent ensuring that every inch of his office was spotless were now for naught.
He flashed him a winsome smile, unsuccessfully attempting to draw attention away from the fear in his eyes.
‘Sorry I’m late. Got into a wee bit of trouble on the way back.' Laughing, he ran a hand through his hair. 'But,’ he recoiled as Ronald thrust the files, upon which he had left several bloody handprints, towards him, ‘I got back the documents that you’d asked for.’
And that would not be the last time Knox provoked his ire.
What aggravated William more than the resulting mess was his impudence. The man seemed to feel that he had every right to disrupt the semblance of order that he had so painstakingly tried to create, showing little regard for deadlines or decorum. He would nonchalantly assure William that everything was under his control, but the state of affairs would say otherwise.
Then again, he himself was hardly one to talk. Although he had tried to maintain some semblance of normalcy ever since being put in charge of the Dispatch, he was often hanging on by a thread. As though his sanity was slowly slipping and there was little could do to keep everything from crumbling. Redemption was what he tirelessly worked towards almost every day, what motivated him to wake up when he dreaded every morning. Thus, he did not take kindly to anyone’s shenanigans doubling his overtime hours - especially not Ronald’s.
However, his glaringly obvious misgivings were not the sole reason his presence grated on William’s nerves - it was the effect Ronald had on him. Why did his stomach twist like a rag being wrung when their gazes met? Why did he find himself noticing the way Ronald's nose scrunched up when he smiled, the lilt to his shoulders, and the way he tossed his golden head?
Had he not known better, he would have mistaken the peculiar feeling in his gut for a rather violent case of indigestion.
What especially exasperated him was that those gold-green eyes, often alight with mirth or with that knowing look in them, seemed to peer into his soul - as hackneyed as it sounded - and permeate his very consciousness. Seeing past the exterior he did indescribable things to maintain. Gauging his hopes, dreams, and fears; pulling him apart - as one would a piece of intricate machinery - with his gaze alone. Knox was better at reading people than he let on. William hated how exposed it made him feel, how very vulnerable he was under his scrutiny.
As much as it pained him, they had more in common than he would care to admit. After all, Ronald’s casual nonchalance seemed to conceal a sense of deep-seated insecurity and fear of vulnerability that William himself tried to suppress. Whilst Ronald was one to use the charm he exuded to ensure that no one would see what belied his carefree demeanour, William never let his guard down, ensuring that the impermeable walls he had built remained up at all times.
Initially, they both felt nothing but indignation towards each other. Yet there was only so much animosity that could linger when they found themselves having to save each others’ lives. Multiple times, at that. As the Dispatch manager, it was but expected that he would find himself rushing to Ronald’s aid as he did when that bloody demon showed up - and, surprisingly, vice versa. Ronald had once bought him an extra mug of coffee after yet another mishap had led to eight additional hours of overtime for William, nonchalantly offering it to him as they passed each other in the hallway, giving him another one of those smiles.
‘Here’s something to make up for earlier. If ya need me, ya know where I’ll be.’ And, with a wink, he went on his way.
The next day, he found Ronald's paperwork on his desk at eight o'clock - exactly when he had requested it. And the day after, too. Not to say he didn't slip up after that, but the poor sod was most certainly trying. Despite his insouciance and flippant attitude, Ronald indeed possessed immense potential, even if partying was more often his focus than paperwork.
Although Knox remained insufferable as ever, William could not help but feel that they came to share a sense of camaraderie, albeit a rather subdued one. It was his duty to save the members of the Dispatch - especially Ronald - from themselves, to ensure that their heads were still upon their shoulders when they returned. Ronald had seen him in states that he liked to pretend he had never been in. Including blindly fumbling for his glasses on a cobbled street in a dark alleyway, only to be holding them up for him minutes later. William found a strange sort of solace in Ronald’s presence when he lingered nearby during breaks, a mug of piping hot coffee in hand. They’d exchanged little more than a few words, but the glances they traded conveyed all that was left unsaid.
But… it couldn’t be.
They were colleagues first and foremost - nothing less, nothing more. And as far as he knew, he had never felt a flicker of desire for another man. So far, only women had captured his heart - and that too, none too often.
Looking back, did he dismiss how his chest tightened when the backs of their hands brushed? Or how his pulse quickened when Ronald gave him a silent look of understanding on a particularly trying afternoon? The feeling that salvation would forever be out of reach seemed to be growing stronger, seemed to have him in its iron grip. Given what he had to endure in the afterlife as he atoned for his past sins, he bloody well deserved some reprieve.
However, he would never find peace with thoughts of Ronald tormenting him. What played behind his eyelids as he slept made him glad that Knox could not actually read his mind.
Never would he let the man know - and never would he let himself dwell upon his thoughts when dawn broke the sky. So he let his mind wander when he could. Let himself envision his mouth slanting over Ronald’s, his fingers twined in that amber hair. Let himself picture Ronald’s profile, so lovingly traced by the moonlight, as he lay asleep beside him. Though he lapsed into indifference once he awoke, the nights were when his imagination knew no bounds.
To make reality endurable, one must nourish a fantasy or two.