Chapter Text
With a sigh of relief, Will opened the front door to the apartment and trudged in. After staying overtime on an emergency call-out till two in the morning, with the miserable heat of a mid-August night and not even so much as an iced-coffee to keep him awake for the past seven hours (Angel, at that rate he would’ve even taken a regular coffee, heat and all), all he wanted to do was snuggle up beside his boyfriend.
He didn’t bother with the lights. Half-asleep from exhaustion, Will (quietly, so as not to wake up said boyfriend) tossed his bag onto the couch, stripped off the majority of his clothing, and dragged his feet into the bedroom. It appeared that the quiet voice in his head was trying to tell him something about the mess he had left behind in the living room, and he half-heartedly vowed to himself that he would clean it up tomorrow, if Jem didn’t take care of it first (the far more likely option).
However, any coherent train of thought was interrupted when Will pushed open the bedroom door to see Jem sleeping peacefully. He was relieved to find that his boyfriend had listened to him when he told him not to wait up, after realising he would not, in fact, be getting home at six thirty.
Will was actually glad that Jem had been allocated to the Lightworm (Lightwood) Fire Station that day, to assist with their issue of being short-staffed after Rupert had left. He could almost put up with having his boyfriend spend the day with people who were most definitely the reason why the middle finger had been created, and not with Will, if it meant that Jem managed to sleep properly for once.
At the sight of that familiar silver hair and graceful limbs artfully curled around the linens, Will’s face inadvertently softened, and the burdens of the day melted away. And the world became only this room, and Will standing just inside the doorway, and Jem, sleeping.
Jem, breathing.
Jem, Jem, Jem.
In the very core of his chest, his heart filled with warmth, and the strength in his legs crumbled away. Only the sight of that achingly familiar form tethered him to reality.
Beautiful. And inviting.
Without any prompting, Will fell into bed beside his boyfriend with a sense of utter contentment. He felt that, at least for a moment, all was right in the world. He fell asleep moments after his head hit the pillow.
* * *
Despite the streaks of buttery sunlight falling into the bedroom, which the thin sheers did little to protect against, (the draw curtains had been opened – likely Jem’s attempt at getting him up), Will remained blissfully dead to the world for what was seemingly most of the morning.
To be fair, he didn’t technically have to get up until five pm, and in his opinion, he deserved some beauty sleep after the night (morning?) he’d had. After all, his devastatingly handsome complexion was not simply created from thin air, no matter how much Will insisted otherwise.
It just so happened, (whether the Sun had indeed succeeded in its job of attempting to blind him or Will’s body had recognised the salivating scent that had been wafting in from the kitchen for the past ten minutes), his brain caught up with the rest of the world. He noticed that the presence of said sunlight indicated the absence of something much more vital to his survival.
Unlike his better half, Will wasn’t what you would call a ‘morning person’.
A huff escaped from his mouth as he internally warred between staying in a semi-conscious state of near-oppressive warmth, or actually getting up to greet the glorious thing that was whatever Jem was cooking (from the heavenly scent: pancakes, definitely pancakes), and of course greeting his actual boyfriend.
Jem won.
Entirely unsurprising, considering he was the thing Will would always, always put first.
Disentangling himself from the sheets and rolling out of bed, Will left the room in a state of disrepair, uncaring that his hair was fashioned in a similar manner. It was commonly known by all things that resided in the Universe, that Will was unable to function after waking without at least one cup of coffee.
Jem, Angel bless his soul, was dutifully working in the kitchen. Will drifted away from the bedroom door, instinctively moving towards the awaiting deliciousness (he was convinced that, if heaven existed, it would smell exactly like Jem’s red bean paste pancakes), and the outline of his boyfriend.
The translucent blinds over the far window to the right had been half-drawn up, flooding the tiled floor with golden light, and outlining the silver of Jem’s hair and skin with a halo of soft illumination.
He was barefoot, but clothed (unfortunately), with a navy blue t-shirt and grey shorts underneath the cheerful yellow apron he had gifted Jem for their anniversary one year prior, which he knew was embroidered with the words, ‘I cook as good as I look’, because it was true.
Jem, attuned to Will’s presence in the way that the two of them seemingly always were, sensed his departure from the cocoon of warmth and safety that was their bedroom. He turned to give him a smile that quite literally disintegrated Will’s mental capacity to think.
Will could have written dozens of poems about that smile. The way his goodness shone through those bright silver eyes, the subtle curling of the corners of his mouth that Will so desperately wanted to press his lips to, the inherent reassurance in knowing that they were both here, home, together. When Jem smiled, the darkest corners of the world were flooded with sunlight, and Will forgot how to be afraid.
Jem turned back to his cooking, taking Will out of his morning revervie, and saying, “good morning, Will. For a moment, I thought not even my red bean paste pancakes would be able to get you out of bed. What time did you get back last night?”
Will, who had finally reached his destination (see: Jem), simply wrapped his arms around Jem’s slim waist, set his head on his boyfriend's shoulder, and made some sort of unintelligible response that sounded something like, “rrmmbrrghh.”
“Honestly Will, how am I meant to finish the pancakes with you clinging to me like this?” Jem’s voice was light with humour and amusement.
In response, Will only tightened his grip.
Sighing fondly, Jem reached up with one hand to ruffle his boyfriend’s sleep-mussed hair, declaring, “there is a cup of iced coffee waiting for you on the island.”
Will immediately perked up, “the Institute?” Naming the cafe they frequented on a daily basis, due to the fact that they also offered an excellent range of quality tea and pastries to match their exquisite coffee, were situated close to the apartment in a hidden lane (which meant that it was actually possible to be served during rush hour), and in Will’s words, had ‘actually hot coffee’.
Jem simply nodded in affirmation, and Will’s eyes landed on what he had previously missed; there, sitting innocently on the island, in all its caffeinated glory, was an iced caramel macchiato with an extra shot of espresso.
A grin leaped onto Will’s face, his eyes twinkling as they beheld the beautiful sight. With all the dignified grace of a man in his early twenties, he extended his arms in a gesture that could only be described as making grabby hands (yes, Will was fully aware that he was a complete child, as was everyone with whom he interacted) and gleefully snatched the drink.
“We’d run out of your favourite blend, and I was up early, so I decided to go for a walk to the grocery store to buy some more and picked up a coffee for you, and shortbread biscuits, on the way back.” Explained Jem.
“What would I do without you?” Will asked, in awe of his incredible boyfriend, and now coherent enough after a few sips of his coffee to form an actual sentence.
“You would have to find some way to survive without my fabulous pancakes.”
“My goodness, such harsh truths so early in the morning.”
“It’s twelve pm.”
“Precisely!”
Jem simply shook his head in amusement at his boyfriend's usual antics, setting the now-completed pancakes neatly onto two plates, and sliding them onto the island where Will had pulled out two chairs (see, he could be taught!).
The pure delight lighting Will’s face as he gazed upon the pancakes was reminiscent of the very first time he had tried these particular pancakes. That particular incident involved a broken-down car, wet weather in London (because when wasn’t it, really, other than this morning apparently), and one disastrous attempt at cooking (Will had since been banned from the kitchen, though that hadn’t stopped him from trying to make cookies for Easter several months ago. Why cookies? Who knew? Certainly not Will).
The saga ultimately culminated in Will’s newfound obsession with the traditional Chinese dessert, and he begged Jem to make them at least once a week (he was successful half the time).
Finding his way back to the present moment, Will noted that Jem had also begun eating from his own serving. The action itself wasn’t unusual; they often ate breakfast together, and it wasn’t as though Will had been expecting Jem to spend time cooking without making some food for himself. Still, it was, after all, twelve pm. A time that was close enough to lunchtime, that it was strange for Jem to eat what was, effectively; breakfast (that was, at least for Will).
“Haven’t you had breakfast yet?” Will queried, with feigned disinterest.
Jem looked up with a start from where he had been picking at his food. “No, I wasn’t hungry.”
At Will’s prolonged stare, he added, “I had tea earlier this morning.” Jem’s usual calm demeanour had barely changed, but Will couldn’t deny the firmness with which he had responded.
There was a strange sense of something tightening, something in the air growing heavy, some unvoiced thing given weight that disrupted the peace of a lazy Sunday morning, entirely unwelcome. An interruption of the comfortable aura of their blissful morning in. Yet it was undeniably there all the same.
Jem held his stare. The world paused for one beat.
Two.
“Okay.” Said Will, letting the subject go. Such a simple word, yet it was as though the very air loosened, sighing out in relief as the tautness washed away upon its utterance. Yet Will could still feel the shadow of what they were too afraid to voice curling around them, a warning that they had strayed too close to the roaring fire they were so desperately avoiding, for fear that it would consume them entirely.
“When you finish eating, get dressed.” Jem changed the topic just as suddenly as Will had brought it up, yet he recognised the olive branch for what it was.
I’m sorry , Jem’s expression seemed to say. And Will knew just as well that he had also been forgiven for his prodding.
Then Will, who had been planning to remain in his pyjamas for the day, remembered what Jem had said. “What? Why?”
“We’re going out for a walk. There’s a new nature trail I’ve been wanting to explore.” Jem’s calm voice dispersed any lingering tension between them, and left no room for argument. (Ha! And people believed Jem to be soft. Sometimes it surprised Will just how often people mistook Jem’s kindness for weakness).
It would seem Will’s intentions to stay in his pyjamas were destined to go unrealised, forever condemned to remain a fantasy. Because it was Jem that asked. And Jem wanted to go for a walk. And so Will would go, too, without complaint. Because he would always give every piece of himself to Jem.
Always, and without question.
* * *
“You know, I am certain this path is leading us to a secret duck lair that is only disguised as a lake, upon which we will be brutally attacked by thousands of bloodthirsty little beasts.” (Okay, maybe a little complaining).
“Well, I am quite certain that this path is leading us to a perfectly normal lake. Which you know, Will, because we’ve been there plenty of times before.”
“Yes, but this time we are taking a new path. Which has clearly led us into an alternate dimension, within which there is no doubt an army of vicious ducks hiding in their secret liar, waiting for us to fall unassumingly into their webbed clutches.”
The fact that said new path had been absurdly difficult to find, despite the fact that it had only just been constructed, did nothing to deter Will’s nonsensical claims.
“And how is it, exactly, that we happened to cross into an alternate dimension by taking a nature trail in central London?” Jem asked with mildly exasperated fondness.
“It’s obvious! The flowers, of course!” Will supported his theatrical claim by dramatically throwing his hands out to either side, indicating said flowers, happily lining both sides of the trail in small, star-shaped shades of purple and white.
“For something that doesn’t adhere to the laws of time and space, they seem perfectly innocent,” said Jem, who had thought they were pretty.
“That’s what they want you to think!” Will drew his face closer to Jem, lowering his voice conspiratorially. ”However, I have never seen these particular flowers before, which I know, because I pay attention to these kinds of things.”
This latest comment prompted a sincere nod from Jem.
“Therefore, I have cleverly surmised that the presence of these flowers, which I will now be referring to as ‘the plant of the devil’, indicate that we have been led to an alternate dimension by ducks, in order for them to enact their nefarious plots. Taking this new path was clearly a dangerous decision.”
“Honestly William, you make it sound as though thousands of ducks have been planning for our arrival for months. We’ll likely find two dozen at most.”
“But James!” Will gasped. “The ducks will have prepared for our arrival, and as such will have made arrangements to amass an entire armada that they no doubt plan to use someday to achieve total world domination. Never trust a duck!”
“Fear not, I shall protect you, and you me, as we fight valiantly together against the army waiting for us!”
Just as Will finished his passionate tirade on the heinous virtues of ducks, the lake in question came into view. Previously hidden by a colourful assortment of (suspicious) purple, white and yellow flowers, the aegean water scintillated in the sunlight, a hidden paradise of sorts. They often visited the lake in the warmer months, and Will had no shortage of fond memories spent lying beside Jem in the comfort of shade and calming sound of flowing water.
They rarely came across other people here, (unsurprising, as they had stumbled upon the lake entirely by accident – Will’s fault), which proved true for this particular Sunday morning, judging by the quiet solitude they had been greeted with.
Jem’s hand reached out, finding Will’s instinctively, as he knew he would. As he would always find Will, as Will would always find him. Beside one another was right where they belonged. Palm to palm, Will’s fingers curled around Jem’s, and he willingly obliged as he was pulled towards an oak tree that rested along the left side of the riverbank.
Jem settled himself against the side of the trunk facing the lake, producing two books from his canvas bag, one of which was significantly more worn, as evidenced by its cracked spine and dog-eared pages. This was the book that Jem held out to him in a silent offer.
Without a word, Will accepted the proffered book, rested his head against his boyfriend's legs, and started reading.