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Will stared at the computer screen, and back down at the piece of printer paper he had been using to try and schedule his fall classes. The now-arcane jumble of arrows, times, and days of the week was a tangled reflection of Will’s increasingly frustrated state of mind, and he felt that all it would take was one tug and the entire thing would fall apart.
It was Will’s senior year; there should have been no problems with his scheduling. But Will was beginning to realize, as his mom often said, that man plans and God laughs. The only reason that Will had not ragequit the shitty university scheduling program and paced around the room was that Bella was a fat weight on his lap, anchoring him to the seat and his doom.
Bella was Will’s roommates cat, as much as a cat could belong to anyone. She was obese, and all methods Robbie had tried to get her weight down were failing spectacularly.
Will sighed at the screen. He had managed to get all the necessary classes to finish his degree. It was the one general education class that had somehow escaped his notice that was killing him. Will had gone through all the subjects he generally preferred; all of them had had good options Will would’ve liked to take, but for some reason they always finished fifteen minutes into the start time of one of Will’s necessary classes, and was thus a no-go. So Will started at the top of the list of subjects, and began working his way down.
It was not going well.
Will sat back in the chair and sighed. In his lap, the sandy ball of fur that was Bella huffed, like she knew what a hassle scheduling would be and agreed.
Will was still staring with glazed-over eyes when Robbie returned from wherever it was he had been.
Robbie was interesting. He was, by an order of magnitude, more interesting than any other guy Will had ever been mates with. The fact that they were even mates was half a miracle and half serendipity as it was. Robbie was a history nerd, a scholar of some esteem, a fairly accomplished chef/baker, a fair sportsman, a goodhearted person, and, most importantly, a little odd and a lot bisexual.
Will would not feel it necessary to say “a lot” except for the fact that Robbie severely Fucked. Or got fucked; Will tried not to care. But the man was a regular casanova of both genders.
A little less than a year ago, Will’s old roommate had gotten caught with plans to bomb the British Museum. Their apartment had been declared a crime scene, and sealed away. Will had not been pleased to learn, many months later, that there was nearly forty pounds of various explosives in Colin’s closet. Regardless, Will had needed an apartment posthaste, and Robbie had had one. And Robbie was a very good roommate.
Also, Will was fairly certain that Robbie was not hiding C4 in his bedroom.
But only fairly.
As Will had said, Robbie was a little odd.
“You look like you’ve spent some time in somebody’s digestive system, and then got regurgitated,” Robbie said in greeting, hanging up his keys near the door.
He was wearing five-inch inseam exercise shorts. Robbie had very well-muscled thighs, and every inch of them was on display.
Sometimes, Will would’ve liked to call Robbie a manwhore. But he felt that that comment, for all that Robbie and Will got along, might not go down well.
“Class scheduling,” Will said by way of explanation.
“Oh.” Robbie made a face of disgust as he toed off his trainers.
“Yeah, I just need one more fucking class, and then I’m done,” Will complained. He sat back in the chair and stretched, and this is what finally woke Bella. She raised her head, and must’ve seen Robbie, because she began going through the motions of getting up.
“What kind of class?”
“Just a gen ed,” Will told him, wincing as Bella dug her hind paws into his thigh to jump off his lap, landing with a near-audible thump. “But all the times keep being wrong.”
“What times do you have free?” Robbie asked, grabbing a glass from the cabinet and filling with water from the tap.
“Uh.” Will looked down at his sheet and made sense of the numbers. “Tuesdays and Thursdays between nine-thirty and eleven-thirty, and Monday-Wednesday-Friday between one-forty-five and two-thirty.”
Robbie grimaced, but then took a swig of water. He appeared to be thinking.
“You know, I think one of mine is in that Tuesday-Thursday slot,” Robbie said.
“What’s it under?” Will clicked open the drop-down menu of subjects.
“History.”
Will clicked the option. It was one he had previously avoided. Will eyed the scroll bar and noted that it was very small. There were a lot of history classes.
“And what’s it called?” Will asked.
“Medieval English Life: Lower Classes and Culture,” Robbie said, and Will could almost hear the capitalization.
Robbie rounded the kitchen island and stood next to Will, leaning over to watch him scroll through the options.
“You smell rank,” Will said.
“You’d be amazed at how much you sweat in a yoga class,” Robbie replied.
Will found Robbie’s class, and sure enough, it fit into the time Will was free. He clicked on it.
The class was full.
Will inhaled, and on the exhale carefully rested his forehead on the computers’ trackpad. He couldn’t.
“Oh, it’s full,” Robbie said unhelpfully.
“Yes,” Will said.
“No worries, I’ll write a letter or something and get you in. Don’t worry about it!” Robbie patted Will’s shoulder.
“Are you sure there’s not some kind of issue, since we’re roommates?” Will asked.
“I see no reason there should be,” Robbie said, and then pattered away to his bedroom, presumably to take a shower.
Will stared after his closed door, and hoped to god that Robbie knew what he was talking about.
×
Robbie had, in fact, known what he was doing, and the class appeared in Will’s scheduling within the week. It was still a month and a half before classes began, and between Will’s job and spending time with his girlfriend Karis, this meant that he saw very little of Robbie over the next few weeks.
Will returned home after a particularly long day of work, and wanted to do nothing except sink a few more hours into his games, but instead found that his space on the couch was occupied.
Robbie was sunk into the cushions. One hand grasped a cup of tea, and the other was buried in Dream’s hair. Dream was laid out on the rest of the couch, and he appeared to be sleeping.
Will hung up his keys and removed his work boots, putting them off to the side. He sighed out through his nose and moved Dream’s boots, too, from where the man had left them in the center of the hallway.
This was one of many of Robbie’s strange friendship-with-benefits quirks. If Robbie was interesting and odd, Dream was a million times more enigmatic.
Dream also looked very sweet, conked out on the couch. Upon further inspection, Bella was squished between the back of the couch and Dream’s hip, which implied they had been in that position for some time.
Will nodded in greeting to Robbie.
“Sorry,” Robbie said in a low voice. “He’s very imperious.”
“It’s fine,” Will said, even though he had really wanted to use the Xbox.
Robbie narrowed his eyes at him, catching the lie, and then he reached around and patted Dream’s chest, effectively waking him.
Dream blinked awake, and for a moment he seemed utterly confused about where he was, until he laid eyes on Will, who was pouring himself a glass of orange juice.
“William,” Dream greeted him. Dream’s face was normally stolid, and upon waking it had resolidified into a blank model’s stare.
Dream sat up quickly, disturbing Bella, who released a muffled mmrrp and a wheeze.
“Apologies,” Dream said to her.
“I wasn’t going to bother you,” Will said to Robbie.
“He can go sleep in the bed,” Robbie said.
“Sleeping? In the bed?” Dream echoed. Something about the way he said it implied that he had done very little of that action in Robbie’s bed.
“That’s what it’s made for,” Robbie said amiably. “Sleeping.”
The look Dream leveled at Robbie was scathing. Robbie appeared unflustered.
“Didn’t you say you didn’t sleep well?” Will asked. Dream had not said that; however in the handful of times Will had met him, he had never been sleeping.
Dream’s face swiveled back towards Will. His hair was even messier than usual; in the back, it stuck up at an odd angle, having been flattened against Robbie’s thigh. Robbie apparently noticed this at the same time, as he ruffled a hand through it, making it even more unruly.
“I do not, usually, sleep,” Dream said.
“Yeah, sure,” Will said, and crossed the room, snagging the controller on his way over. “Budge up,” He told Robbie. The man scooted down on the couch, pushing Dream over and giving room for Will to sit.
Will sank back into the cushions with a sigh. Bella, who had now been fully woken, padded her way across Robbie’s thighs and settled right into Will’s lap.
Will scratched under her chin as the telly and the console turned on. Dream finally stood up and headed into the bedroom. He returned with his coat (despite the fact it the sun was shining and it was yet balmy outside) and shrugged it over his shoulders.
“Leaving already?” Robbie asked.
Dream made a noncommittal noise, which apparently Robbie spoke of the language of, since he just nodded in reply.
Robbie got off the couch and trailed Dream to the door. Will didn’t catch Dream putting on his boots, but when Will looked back over as their apartment door opened, Dream was fully arrayed to go outside.
Will turned away as they said their goodbyes, and waited for the loading screen to finish.
Robbie glanced at the telly before plopping back down on the couch next to Will. Robbie had never played any video games that Will had seen; Will had offered the use of both his console and his game pass, but it seemed Robbie preferred—if he didn’t have anything better to do—to watch.
“More intrepid slaying of wonderfully designed supernatural monsters?” Robbie asked.
“They’re not—If I beat Rykard, it will make the rest of my day,” Will told him.
“Hm. And will you remember to eat on your quest to cut off his head?”
“Probably not,” Will admitted.
“I’ll worry about dinner,” Robbie said, and then he shut up.
An hour and a half later, and Will’s admittedly not-powerful-enough character was still missing the same marks, and on the fifth or sixth time YOU DIED flashed across the screen Will was seeing red.
“Okay!” A cheerful voice broke through the battle-haze of Will’s mind. “Time to eat!”
Will blinked and paused, slowly tearing his gaze away from the screen. Robbie was standing over two plates of sandwiches.
“Eat, and then try again,” Robbie told him.
So Will ate, after thanking him. Will hadn’t even noticed that Robbie had left the couch and made dinner, he’d been so engrossed in his game.
After Will had thoughtfully inhaled his sandwich, he returned to his game. Robbie also hung out on the couch, pulled into the game by the nature of seeing Will get bested a billion times over.
“You ever think about if any of those guys are real?” Robbie asked as Will traveled to the battlefield.
“Who?” Will asked, distracted.
“The ones you fight.”
“They’re characters in a video game,” Will said, wondering where Robbie was going with this. On the screen, the great serpent began to uncoil.
“To you,” Robbie said. Then, as the great serpent turned and reveal itself, Robbie said, “Lykenes of a serpente, and I prostat mī-self and evele at þis visage. I beg yevenesse mid-outen sin.” His voice had lowered, and whatever he had said over Rykard’s talking escaped Will.
“What?” Will said in disbelief.
“Oh, I was just thinking,” Robbie said.
Will decided to leave that comment behind, and in his confusion, somehow his fingers managed a correct sequence, and he was left staring at the corpse of a dead lord.
“YES!” Will shouted, nearly shaking in relief. He sunk to his knees on the floor in front of the couch, setting the controlled down and breathing out.
“Congratulations,” Robbie said, more subdued. He patted Will on his shoulder, and then disappeared into his room.
×
It happened that Will was able to get to Robbie’s class early. He found a seat near the middle of the room, peering around the building. Will had not ever been in this particular building, and to his annoyance, the inside of it was ancient, winding, and poorly air-conditioned.
Will rifled through his backpack, pulling out his notebook and a pencil, and then sat back. The rest of the class filed in in twos and threes. The rest of the students ranged in age; many of them seemed very excited to be there. Quite a lot of them had dyed hair. There were two or three girls that were absolutely stunning.
Every single one of his classmates that came through the door sat in the front row seats, which was something Will had never seen in all his years attending school. This also meant that he stood out like a sore thumb in his middle row.
At exactly nine-thirty, Robbie waltzed in, sipping his particular iced coffee of choice. He had on his backpack and a stack of papers under his other arm, which he slapped down on the little table at the front of the room.
“Hi Rob,” One of Will’s classmates, a girl with a buzzcut said.
“Sage, hello! It’s nice to see all you guys, new and familiar faces alike,” Robbie said amiably, his gaze sweeping across the room. He winked briefly at Will, which caused a few heads to turn back to look at him. Will shifted in his seat.
“Please be nice to Will, he’s a transplant from one of our more modern disciplines,” Robbie said, pulling a sleek laptop out of his bag and connecting it to the projector. Will couldn’t decide if Robbie was being kind or malicious with his comments.
Robbie’s powerpoints were done in Comic Sans. This one read: First Day of Class. Robbie reached over and handed a stack of papers to a boy in the first row, who began passing them out. When a paper reached Will, he took it and found it to be the course syllabus.
There was a textbook, which Robbie assured them would be provided in the online system and was “Completely free! I don’t believe in expensive books—you’re already paying to be here!” which tracked with everything Will know of Robbie and he was also incredibly thankful for.
Upon glancing over the semester itinerary, Will was relieved that there was only one final paper, a few quizzes, and a rather hefty slant towards attendance and participation.
“—Now,” Robbie was saying, “As anyone who has taken any of my other classes knows, I put great emphasis on showing up and participating, which is why that portion takes up about 40 percent of your grade. Ten percent of that is based on attendance alone. Of course, we all get sick and have emergencies and life happens, so--” He waves a hand. “If you can’t show up to class, email me an excuse! If you are sick, please either don’t come in or wear a mask for everybody’s sake. I will grade you based on the number of total times you showed up at the end of the semester so; if you came to all,” Robbie peers down at the sheet, “28 classes, you’ll get a 28 out of 28. If you made it to 20, you’ll get a 20 out of 20. The more points the better, but you’ll get a hundred percent.”
He continued on, explaining the final paper and the setup of the class, which was fairly standard, and his device policy (“I think machines are fine and wonderful but if you’re being annoying about it I’ll probably make fun of you in front of the class, so let’s just avoid that, shall we?”). Finally, he got to the end.
“Also, and this is something you may have already noticed,” Robbie said with a grin, “but you can call me Rob or Robert or Robbie or Mr. Glad. Not Dr. Glad—I’m not a doctor, not yet!” Robbie laughs. “But I prefer the informal. And I think I have talked and talked as is my wont to do—be free!”
With that, he unplugged the laptop and dismissed them. More than a few students hung back to talk to him, but Will had another class to get to.
×
Robbie was, Will had to admit, the best professor Will had ever had, full stop. He was funny and engaging; his lectures were memorable, his quizzes not easy but certainly not hard either, and within three weeks of classes Will understood why his class had been filled so quickly.
“You’re really good at teaching,” Will told Robbie one night, as they’re sharing a pizza.
“Thank you. I’ve had a lot of time to get good at it,” was Robbie’s response.
The other thing about Robbie’s class was—and this was the thing that perplexed Will—Robbie’s students adored him.
Will could get liking a professor. But this was beyond liking; some of them were clearly friends, and it was a strange boundary to know. Especially when Will arrived early one morning and found three of his classmates in conversation.
“—best is the purple shorts. Nothing,” The boy with blonde hair said with emphasis, gesturing with his hands, “Nothing screams top three more.”
“Dude, check your crotch, I think your boner could be better tucked away,” the black-clad guy next to him said.
“Oh, that’s rich coming from the person who thinks 2021 sword demonstration is in the top three,” Blond scoffed.
“I have two words for you: leather. Pants,” Goth said.
“I’m sorry, but I have to agree with Cal. The leather pants are one part, but you also have to consider the inherently sexy nature of swinging at sword around. None of that energy is present in purple shorts,” Sage, the girl with the short hair, said.
Cal made a noise of victory. Will settled into his seat, but only Cal, the goth, glanced back at him. The other two continued:
“But purple shorts is a framed shot. It is supposed to be sexy, and also,” the Blond’s voice lowered, but Will could still hear it (though he promptly wished he hadn’t). “It left nothing to the imagination.”
“Brynmor, you’re a horny bastard,” Sage said.
“Listen—!”
“They’re right, but also, Sage, you think goose sweater should be in the top ten, and try as I might, I really don’t understand why,” Cal said.
“It’s about the shoulders, the cuddlyness of it!” Sage pinched her fingers together and gesticulated at Cal. “He is the epitome of househusband material.”
And suddenly, the pieces fell into place. They are talking about Robbie. Will knew the purple shorts; he had seen that picture on Robbie’s facebook. The goose sweater was one of Robbie’s favorite sweaters, which is blue and has a large, white goose across the front. Will doesn’t know what 2021 sword demonstration is, but he can make a guess.
It’s very strange to be hearing this unslated thirst for his roommate.
Will got his notebook out of his bag and tried not to look like he was eavesdropping, even though he had forgotten his earbuds today and couldn't really help it.
“Oh, we can all agree he’s wife material. He can clearly cook and honestly, he’s probably already married,” Cal said.
“And if he isn’t, then there must be something terribly wrong with him!” Brynmor exclaimed.
Will can’t help himself, as he ducked down he let out a snort, not only because they’re kind of right, but also because they are kind of wrong.
“Oh!” Sage said, and all three of them turn around to look at Will. He freezes, thankful for the two rows of seats between them.
“Got an opinion on Robert’s house-husband-ness?” Cal asked rather coldly.
Will knew, in that moment, that nothing he could say would be safe.
“No,” Will said.
“You’re Will, right?” Sage asked, and Will nodded.
“Robbie knew you; I remember him pointing you out on the first day of class. How’d you meet him?” Sage continued.
“Uh, met him at the field,” Will said. Robbie did play football, and even though they had never played together, it was a good enough lie.
“Of course he also does sports,” Brynmor downright moaned.
“He’s got to get the thighs from somewhere,” Cal said.
Will has a brief moment of vertigo before he realizes they’re talking about Robbie’s thighs, not his own.
“Good on you for taking his class. You must’ve got in real early—all of Robert’s classes fill up—!” Cal snapped his fingers, “—Like that.”
Will made a noncommittal noise.
“Apologies, I’m Cal,” Cal introduced himself, and then graciously continued, “And this is Sage, and Brynmor.”
“You apparently already know me,” Will said.
“That we do, and now you’ll be stuck with us,” Sage said.
At that moment, Robbie finally entered the room, along with a trickle of the rest of the students, and class began.
×
“Your students think you’re hot,” Will said to Robbie later that night.
Robbie, who was watching his fettuccine with hawklike intensity, merely said, “Oh?”
“Apparently you are ‘husband material,’” Will teased.
“Sure as shit!” Robbie said cheerfully, stirring his pot.
For all that the talk had made Will uncomfortable, he had to agree with his classmates’ assessment of Robbie. “Why aren’t you married?”
“Wow,” Robbie said, finally turning to face Will. “That is an invasive question.”
“Sorry, mate,” Will said, backing off.
“Well, there is a reason,” Robbie said, in the same cheery tone he had affected moments ago, apparently careless with his concern. “And you know who it is.”
“You’re in love with Dream?” Will exclaimed.
That would make total, utter sense. Will can see it now—Dream was absolutely not the kind of dude to get married and have a little domestic life, and Robbie was pining. Oh, this was rich.
“I’m—I love him, yes,” Robbie said, and turned off the burner and picked up his pot of noodles and carried it over to the sink. “But marriage—pssh.”
“He doesn’t look like the kind,” Will said.
“I’m fairly certain he isn’t,” Robbie agreed.
“You’re not even dating. That’s—Well, I never quite understood,” Will said.
Robbie poured the pasta into the strainer, and a cloud of steam billowed in front of his face. When it cleared, he was leaning on the counter and looking avidly at Will.
“Marriage is commitment. And I,” Robbie said with emphasis, “cannot do commitment.”
And that was all he had to offer on the matter.
×
Will was leaving Robbie’s class the next day when he caught sight of Dream waiting in the small lobby outside the classroom hallway. Will gave him a small wave, which he immediately felt awkward and stupid for, considering Dream saw it but did not return the gesture.
“Who’s that?”
Will jumped at the voice which had sidled up next to him. It was Cal, the goth.
The past few classes had somehow found Will being dragged into senseless conversations with the three friends who sat in front of him. Will could not admit he felt entirely comfortable with any of them, but it was nice to have someone to say good morning to.
Cal and Will were of a height: thus Cal’s voice rang right in Will’s ear. It was unbearably creepy. That’s probably what Cal was going for.
“He’s uh,” Will said. How did he explain without incriminating himself. “Just. Let’s go.”
“Mm. Oh, I see,” Cal said, and Will swiveled his head back to Dream.
Robbie had come out of his class, and this caused Dream to finally stand up and stride over to him.
Dream reached forward and took Robbie’s hand, interlacing their fingers. Robbie’s face was broken in a wide smile, and his gait was uninterrupted by the hand-holding.
“So our dear Mr. Glad is dating someone, it appears. And you know the someone,” Cal said.
Will was fucked.
“’Know’ is a strong term,” Will said weakly. “I’ve got to get to class.”
“Oh, I’ve got nowhere to be. I’ll walk with you,” Cal said, and followed through on his threat.
Will glanced at Cal’s outfit for the day (black boots, mess of black hair, artfully ripped shirt, copious amounts of black eyeliner) and wondered what his classmates would think.
“Sure,” Will said.
“So who is he?” Cal asked.
“He’s Robbie friend, believe it or not,” Will said, because that was for sure the best way to describe Dream and Robbie’s relationship.
“And how’d you meet him?”
“He had come to one of Robbie’s matches.” Another lie.
“Huh. Opposites attract,” Cal murmured.
“Oh, I think they’re quite alike—they’re both weird as fuck,” Will said without thinking.
“And how do you know that?”
Shit. Shit.
Will plastered on a smile. “That’s a secret.”
Cal narrowed dark eyes at him. “Oh?”
“My mom always said it was poor form to gossip,” Will said.
“And yet,” Cal said. Then, “Do you have Discord?”
“I’m not giving it to you,” Will refused.
“So you do.”
Will sped up, but Cal matched him pace for pace even as they pushed through the doors to the campus lawn.
“I will get it from you,” Cal threatened, even as their paths diverged.
“No,” Will exclaimed, and practically ran away from the man.
The next class period, all three of them cornered Will and needled it out of him.
Will got added to a groupchat named “Robbie’s Favorites” and before he got a chance to look at the members the man himself appeared and class began.
Later, Will went through the names in the groupchat.
Calvary Is Cumming
🖤 they/them
godsweakestLink
🥺 I am crying
THE DEVIL
💟 love u
Will stared at the usernames for a solid minute before wondering what the hell he had gotten himself into.
Calvary—that had to be Cal. Will clicked on the profile and found it to be completely empty except for the pronouns. Which, again, was something Will would have to get used to. He had no idea which of the remaining two were Brynmor and Sage.
Will: hi
THE DEVIL: love the UN will
THE DEVIL: very original
godsweakestLink: stop making fun of him, bron
So THE DEVIL was Brynmor, then.
Will: u guys are wierdly persistent
Will had experienced so much weird shit through Robbie in the past few months that he was truly beginning to be unphased by it all.
Calvary is Cumming: I already told them all the details, Will.
Will: oh did you
THE DEVIL: so profs type is hot goth twinks?
godsweakestLink: apparently
Will: I think Robbies type is “not his students”
godsweakestLink: let us thirst in peace
godsweakestLink: spoilsport
Will shut off his phone.
He had completed most of his work for the week, but this was the moment that Robbie and Dream decided to come home.
“Hey, Will,” Robbie greeted him.
“Robbie, your students know about Dream,” Will told them both.
“So?” Dream asked, taking off his ravenlike coat and draping it over one of the island barstools.
“So? They’re interrogating me about how I know you. I don’t think I can keep that we’re roommates a secret for long,” Will said to Robbie.
Robbie was in the middle of toeing off his shoes. Dream crossed the room and tiptoed into Will’s space, glancing down with his eerie blue eyes at Will’s phone.
“And what stories have they fabricated of me?” Dream asked.
“Um,” Will said. “You’re a hot goth twink.”
Dream pursed his lips. He did, Will could admit, fit the bill.
“Don’t tell him what that means,” Robbie groaned from the kitchen, where he was fetching a glass of water.
“I know what it means,” Dream said. “They can do better.”
In the background, Robbie choked and spluttered on his water.
Dream straightened, and Will breathed out easier once Dream left his personal space and padded over to Robbie.
Dream leaned against the counter and waited for Robbie to catch his breath.
“You do?” Robbie asked him.
“Of course I do,” Dream assured him. Judging by the look on Robbie’s face, this knowledge was not assuring.
“Robbie? What am I supposed to say? I got stuck in a groupchat with Sage and her friends,” Will complained.
“That—” Robbie pointed a finger at Will. “—Is your own fault. And Sage uses they/them pronouns.”
“Okay, with their friends—the same ones who think you’re husband material,” Will said.
“Oh!” Robbie’s eyes light up. “I see.”
“Husband?” Dream echoed.
Robbie dodged around Dream, snagging his hand on Dream’s hip on his way around the kitchen island. He approached the couch. “What do they say?”
“Gossip is bad form,” Will said, holding his phone to his chest.
“Gossip always happens and I happen to love it,” Robbie said.
“More importantly, what are they saying about me,” Dream emphasized. He had followed at Robbie’s heels like a rather large, pale, bony cat.
Will untucked the phone from his chest and peered at the groupchat.
Calvary Is Cumming: ...and he’s gone
godsweakestLink: sorry will
godsweakestLink: actually, I should ask-- are you okay with Will? Is that what you go by? And pronouns?
“Sh—They’re asking my pronouns,” Will said dumbly.
“Boring,” Dream pronounced.
Robbie smacked him. “Not boring. They are being polite.” He had perched himself on the arm of the couch.
“Nobody’s ever asked me my pronouns,” Will said. He didn’t know what to think about it. He’d always just used he, and that was fine.
“Always a first for everything,” Robbie said.
Will: he is fine
“I’m sure if you give them more time they’ll come up with better stories about the two of you. God knows I’ve got a bunch,” Will said.
“Are you blackmailing me?” Robbie asked jokingly, leaving the couch behind.
Dream had wandered over to the fridge and opened it, peering inside at the cheese drawer. Robbie followed behind him, like a comet’s trailing flair, pulled by the magnitude of Dream’s presence.
Dream straightened up, a mozarella stick hanging between his teeth, and Will had a moment of his brain leaving him, as he covertly snapped a picture.
Dream, backlit by the light of the fridge, teeth shining, hair sticking up in a million places. Robbie, reaching out a hand which was destined for Dream’s waist. Both of them smiling at each other.
Will had a wicked thought.
He opened the groupchat, and sent the picture.
Calvary Is Cumming: WILL HOW DID YOU GET THIS
godsweakestLink: is that the goth
THE DEVIL: why is he eating mozarella. Rob can do better
Calvary Is Cumming: WILL EXPLAIN
Calvary Is Cumming: are you IN robs house??????
Will shut off his phone.
Dream whipped his head around at the motion, one pale hand reaching up to take the now half-eaten mozzarella stick from his mouth.
Shit.
Dream grinned. The action exposed his gums in a way that should not have been possible given his bone structure.
The hair on the back of Will’s neck rose.
“So,” Dream said, “they are making stories. Of us, Hob.” He turns sharply towards Robbie.
“Oh, you’d like that,” Robbie said, like that was a totally normal thing for a person to say. He leaned in closer.
Will took that as his cue to leave.
×
Will had to turn off notifications for the groupchat, which had now been named WILL KNOWS.