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It was just a video.
Just a video.
That was all Will was repeating in his head as he opened his eyes to see James stood there, holding two sides of a floor-length wedding gown, all he was repeating as he let his eyes linger too long. It was what he was repeating in his head when he felt his heart skip an unwanted beat.
It had started off fine, perfect even. They were reviewing silly little items off of Facebook Marketplace, they were joking around like usual, like two best friends with nothing else going on between them would joke around.
That was what they were exactly; the only way to describe them would be two best friends with nothing else going on between them. They made jokes, sure, but so did everybody. It wasn’t gay.
Will wasn’t gay.
But James was in a dress, and God, for a moment he thought he might have been.
It didn’t fit him, not perfectly, it wasn’t even zipped up yet, but James looked so oddly confident in it that Will tried to chalk how he felt up to adoration of the man’s confidence. James had really been getting more in touch with himself as of late, and Will was beyond proud, really. He’d seen James at his worst, now at his best.
And now in a dress. A wedding dress, at that, which wasn’t any better or any worse.
James had said something about him standing too long, and Will had scoffed and wiped his palms on the shirt he was wearing when James, and the camera, had glanced away.
James had said something about Will zipping the dress up, and he felt like a teenager all over again.
It was just for content. It was all for content. James would make a gay joke, Will would scold him for it and smile just a little at the absurdity, and they’d move on just for James to make another in a matter of minutes.
Will had helped, he’d tried zipping up the dress in far-too-close proximity, which was something he’d never thought he'd say in relation to James, considering they had shared a bed. He wasn’t able to, he’d lifted James’ arm up and James had shot a remark saying that Will was manhandling him, getting too into it.
God, maybe Will was too into it.
The mere feel of James in his hands as he tried to zip the dress up was too much, and with the comment on top of it, he’d walked away completely, grinning just a little despite himself. It was just a video.
James wore it for a minute or two longer, genuinely seeming to appreciate the feel of the fabric around his waist, and Will couldn’t bring himself to look at the other for too long out of fear of blushing like a guy with his first crush.
He wasn’t into lads, never had been, he’d only found his eyes looking James over far more times than he’d care to admit. His gazes might linger, sure, but he’d started using James’ excuse of, ‘it helps him concentrate’ as of late. Everybody around him seemed to know this wasn’t in any way true, he hardly looked at George Clarke when he spoke and still seemed to hear him fine.
So why was James in a dress fucking him up so bad?
The cameras had been stopped for a moment so the next few items could be lined up and prepared, and Will leaned back in his chair, shutting his eyes.
“You know, I might buy one of these.” James had spoken up, having finally taken off the dress, holding it over his arm as if he were being careful not to break it. Like it was his own.
“Yeah?” Will responded, looking at James and sounding far too excited. He cursed himself inwardly and James smiled, a little too smug, just about biting back a comment.
“Yeah. Looks very… nice.” James hummed, looking down at the white dress that just looked like a tacky bunch of fabric to Will.
“Looks like shit to be real with you, lad.”
“Oh, shut up, Will.” James had scowled, shooting him a look that wasn’t at all laced with malice. “It was pretty.”
God. Yeah, it was, and Will hated to admit it, but the model did a lot to influence his opinion. On anybody else, he likely would’ve hated it.
Will told himself the knot in his stomach was just irritation at the man’s teasing, the look he was giving Will. But he knew it wasn’t, it wouldn’t be.
He saw it too vividly; James still in the thing, veil tumbling forward, lace brushing against his stupid smirk. He saw himself stepping in, tugging the zip all the way up, knuckles brushing warm skin as he pretended it was nothing . He imagined James laughing, saying, Steady on, Will, in that easy way that left Will’s heart doing things it had no business doing, in the way that it had never seemed to before.
And it wasn’t just the dress. It was just James now, he had no excuse, his hand broad and rough against fabric meant for soft palms and delicate curves. Those same hands Will knew far too well. They had grown calloused from guitar strings, cursed to late nights scrolling, designated to shoving Will out of the way when the camera needed him more in frame. Hands that had grabbed him, steadying, anchoring, God knows how many times before.
Will’s thoughts slipped where he didn’t want them to: James’ hand not on the dress, but on him. The weight of the hand at his wrist, his shoulder, his chest, sliding lower.
“Christ,” he’d muttered, too quiet, too sharp. He raked a hand through his hair, tried to laugh it off even though his throat caught on it. Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. He’s stood there holding a bit of bloody polyester, and you’re sat here blushing like some schoolboy with his first crush.
But it didn’t stop. His mind went odd again, too much, supplying him with pictures of James waiting in the dress, at the end of some aisle, all smug and bright and holding his hand out for Will to take. The image pressed at him, hot and heavy, until his chest ached with it. Until it felt like if he let himself blink too long, he’d lose the thin layer of denial he was trying to hold on to for his own damn sanity.
He scowled, forced a scoff, leaned back like the whole thing bored him. It’s just content. Just for laughs. It was just a video.
But he could still see James with the fabric in his hands, still hear his voice calling the dress “pretty,” still feel the ghost of where their hands had brushed when Will tried to zip it.
And the reminder was now burned deep into his mind, the memory photographic and the feelings feeling far too real for his liking.
Will wasn’t gay, so why was his mind so intent on fixating on the sight of his long-term best friend in a wedding dress, looking far too good for his own good? He hadn’t felt this way over James… in a while (which was a lie, a huge one, and he knew that distinctly. He just refused to admit it.)
Will wouldn’t have been feeling this way if it were just james in any other item of clothing. Maybe it was just the dress that was doing it for him.
The dress he’d likely never see the other in again, and he hated the pang of disappointment he felt at the revelation.