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Opening week was going well. Really well, in fact. Henry had been nervous, but then, he was nervous about most things, even when William tried to reassure him. (Sometimes especially then.) As it turned out, this time, his anxiety had been for nothing... because everyone loved Freddy. Henry still couldn't quite get over the way faces would light up when that "SHOWTIME" button was pressed, when the curtain would open and the band would be in full swing. Not just children, but parents too... the same sorts of people who'd called him strange in college, called his animatronics off-putting, couldn't resist the magic of the show itself.
Sometimes that cheer was hard to take, actually. Inexplicably so. And then there were the parents who were angry about something or other, about price or their kid not having a perfect birthday, and felt the need to take it out on him. The last guy had even cornered Henry in the bathroom about it. Asshole. Didn't help the anxiety; not one bit.
Henry had said he was going to make sure the evening delivery was fine, but they'd both known it was an excuse. The delivery didn't need his help — the workers were bringing the stacks of half-proofed pizza dough directly from the back of the refrigerated truck right in to the walk-in coolers. Henry was just standing there, arms resting on the metal railing just outside the kitchen door, propped open. So when Henry heard the telltale signs of William's shoes clicking down the hall, towards the doorway, he wasn't too surprised. Of course William would come check on him.
"You're being missed out there," William said brightly, his voice before Henry saw his face.
"Really." Henry doubted that. Charlotte, Sammy, his wife, they were back home.
"Uh huh." William slid up beside him, leaning against the same railing. He was so close their sleeves touched. "Freddy's eyes keep sliding back and forth."
Henry couldn't help himself; he laughed. That broke through the anxiety. Will was good at that sometimes.
"You know, I programmed him to do that," Henry said, finally glancing sideways to the other man, an eyebrow raised with some amusement. "It's not like we want him staring straight ahead the whole time."
"Of course, of course." William put his hands up, as if relinquishing the point. Then his hands went to his back pocket, and he retrieved a small box of cigarettes. He popped it open with his thumb, pulling one out, a lighter already in his other hand. Henry was watching his fingers, not realizing that he was.
William realized.
"Anyway— thought you'd like to know we haven't had any issues in the bathrooms tonight," William said lightly, then put the cigarette to his lips, lighting, inhaling.
He didn't care for smoking. But that wasn't at all the point.
Beside him, Henry exhaled a sigh of clear relief. The plumbing issues in the building had been unending since their soft open, and they'd had guys out to look at it several times already. The plumbers had sworn they'd fixed the issue with the toilets for good now, but it had just been one more thing for Henry to worry over.
"Yeah?" he asked. "Thank god."
"Mmm." William glanced to him from his peripheral. Testing. "...Faucet pressure's still terrible. But—" The corner of his mouth turned up, and he pulled the cigarette from his mouth, offering it in two pinched fingers to Henry as he exhaled a thin stream of smoke. "I still say lighting over the mirrors is sublime."
Henry was still for a moment. Then he reached over, took the cigarette. There was no way to do so without their fingers touching, not really. It took every shred of impulse control William had not to show any reaction to that touch on his face.
"Well," Henry muttered, shaking his head. "That's something." He put the cigarette to his lips. William watched every second of it. Henry inhaled, the cherry glowing red hot as he did. "If I'm ever murdered in there, at least I'll die with good lighting." He was still thinking about the angry parents, being cornered by the sink.
William laughed, like he wasn't jealous of the smoke Henry was exhaling because it had gotten to curl inside his lungs.
"Oh, it won't come to that," he said, reaching over to pluck the cigarette back, bring it back to his own lips now that it had touched Henry's. This was sacred. A ritual. And Henry had let him in because of it. "It would be the easiest place to clean it up, though."