Chapter Text
Will glanced at the piece of paper in his hand, then up at the building in front of him. His taxi was long gone, his bags deposited on the sidewalk with him. Heavy, sweltering New York heat settled into his skin, and he felt like he was going to sweat through his shirt.
He wasn’t used to cities like these. Biloxi was big, spacious, with stretches of water. This place seemed like it was trying to climb into its own throat.
In front of him was a pub - The White Talon - and supposedly, his apartment was above it. How he was supposed to get there was beyond him. He’d been given an address, a move-in date, and nothing else.
He grabbed his backpack, filled with the most important documents that couldn’t be lost, and left his bags and boxes on the side of the road to duck into the graciously cooler air of the pub.
The relief of the temperature was short-lived. Three men crowded the bar counter, two in employee’s uniforms, one in a silk golf shirt that looked out of place in the slightly unfinished, industrial feel of the space. The employees were shouting something, and one of them slammed his palm down on the counter with a thud.
The man in the golf shirt turned as the door swung open. “And who the fuck is this?” He held his palm out, gesturing to Will. He didn’t shout, but his voice cut through the air, his face smooth and cold.
“How should I know?” A tall man with broad shoulders and dark curly hair to his chin barked back.
There was a silence as they stared at him. Belatedly, he realized this was a cue. “My name’s Will Graham,” he said. “The new tenant? Upstairs?” He pointed vaguely to the ceiling.
The man in the golf shirt paused, looking past him out the window, seemingly noticing the boxes and bags out there. He looked back at Will. “Of course you are.” He turned back to the two men. “Were you going to tell me you found a new tenant? What happened to the old one?”
“He left,” the other man, a short, portly man with bright eyes and reddish-brown hair said.
“Well, what wonderful news. The answer to your money troubles is here.” The man in the golf shirt glanced back at Will. He had brown hair that was swept back from his face and silvering at the temples, and he was tall, with sharp, angular features and a wide mouth. Tattoos darted over his arms, a noticeable pinup piece on the side of his neck. He had a faint accent that wasn’t New York at all, unlike the other two who seemed to be natives of the city.
Will glanced back and forth between them. The red-haired man grumbled, reaching under the counter and digging through what sounded like a loaded junk drawer. He slapped a pair of keys down on the bartop. “Here,” he grunted. “I’m Josie, that’s Murph.” He jabbed his thumb at the man with dark hair, who nodded. They seemed very angry, but not with him. That, at least, was some solace. “Door’s around the back in the alley. Hours for the pub are posted outside. Rent’s due the first of the month.”
The silver-haired man watched this interaction unfold. He tapped his fingers on the counter. “You’ll pay it to me,” he said. The two men stared at him. Will, who had moved forward and picked up the keys, raised his eyebrows, more than slightly uncomfortable.
“That’s not the –”
The man turned to Will, glancing down at him. “What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a professor,” Will said. No one said anything right away, and he added, “Of psychology. At Lehman College.”
With a nod, the grey haired man returned his attention to Murph and Josie. “He’s a professor of psychology at Lehman College. Already, I trust him to pay on time more than I do you.”
“That’s more than twice –”
The man clicked his tongue, waving them off with a sly, uneven smile. “I need to show my new tenant the place. If you’ll excuse me.” He walked away from the bar, clapping Will on the back as he headed outside. “Need a hand with your bags?”
Will could feel the brewing anger of the two men behind him. Feeling a bit like he was jumping out of the frying pan, he reluctantly followed the man outside.
The man was on his phone, combing his hair back. He stood a few inches taller than Will, and as he swept his gaze to the side, catching Will in it, he noted that he had a very intense presence. He pulled his lips to the side and whistled, pointing at the boxes, pulling the phone from his mouth. “Are you stupid? Don’t leave things out here.” He returned to his phone, rattling off something in another tongue. Italian, Will recognized.
Will didn’t speak. He gathered a few boxes and bags in his arms, standing with difficulty. The man pointed towards the alley. Will glanced at the boxes at his feet, then back at him. He covered the speaker with one hand. “I’m watching them. Move your ass, I don’t have all day.” He flicked his hand, shooing him away.
And so Will unlocked the alleyway door himself, trudging up the stairs, unlocking the second door at the top. The apartment was a bit dim, a studio with just enough room for an old couch, a TV, and a bed shoved into the corner. But to him, it felt like a relief.
He returned back to the sidewalk to collect the rest of his things. The man was there, glaring down at his phone now, stabbing more buttons with his thumbs.
“I didn’t catch your name,” Will said, extending his hand.
The man gazed at his hand, tracing it up Will’s arm to his face. There was intense annoyance there, but also a kind of humored surprise. He took his hand, squeezed it briefly. “Nigel.” He held onto Will’s hand a moment, frowning, taking in his appearance with some faint curiosity. “Are you old enough to be a professor?”
Will took his hand back. “I’m twenty-six.”
Nigel breathed in through his teeth, shaking his head. “Point stands.” He seemed to have come to a decision. Slipping his phone into his pocket, he scooped up most of the remaining things on the street, waiting as Will gathered the rest, following him to the stairwell. “What brings you to New York? Are you an artist type?” His voice echoed in the small space, piercing and lyrical with his accent.
“No, nothing that interesting,” Will said. “Just here to teach. I do classes on, um -” He adjusted a box. “- criminology and profiling.”
Nigel shrugged. “Exciting stuff,” he said blandly.
They reached the top, and Will pushed in through the doorway. Nigel dropped the boxes unceremoniously just inside the door, leaning his arms onto either side of the frame, glancing around the room. He rubbed his nose with the back of his wrist, his gaze halting on Will. “You look like you could use a drink.”
Will laughed. He had an odd affect when he laughed, like it was rehearsed or on cue. A mechanism to disarm people, to give him time to think. “It was a long drive.”
“From?”
“Biloxi,” Will said.
“That is a long drive. Strange move, Biloxi to New York. Country boy to big city, hm?” He raised his eyebrows. “You have an accent.”
“That’s from Louisiana,” Will replied. He pulled at his collar, feeling his shirt stick to his skin as he cast about for some sort of window unit or air conditioning. He found it finally, stumbling over a box to turn it on. “My dad’s a fisherman,” Will continued. “I followed him from boat yard to boat yard.”
“Do you fish?” Nigel wiped sweat from his forehead.
Will laughed again. “Yes, but just as a hobby. Not as a, ah, profession.” He shoved the window open, grunting with the effort of lifting it with his shoulder.
“No shit,” Nigel said.
“You have an accent, too,” Will said.
“I’m Lithuanian.”
“Your name doesn’t sound like it,” Will gritted out. The window shoved loose and opened.
He shrugged. “A name is just a name.”
“As in, it’s not your real one?”
Nigel fixed him with an intense stare. Will seemed unaware, casting about for the box that held his standing fan. Nigel bent at the waist exaggeratedly until he caught Will’s attention, and his eye. “Is there any particular reason you don’t like looking at me, Mister Graham?”
Will blinked, frowning. “What?”
A smile twitched onto Nigel’s face at the sight of confusion in the young man’s eyes. “Too attractive, perhaps? Hard to look away once you start gazing into the eyes?” He waved his fingers in the general vicinity of his face.
Will laughed, but this time it was louder, more genuine. It was a pleasant sound, if a bit ill timed. “No,” he said.
Nigel’s face stilled, a playful expression of cold insult. “You are not saying I am too ugly.”
“No,” Will agreed. He ripped open a box, finding the fan, unwinding its cord to the nearest outlet. “I’m, ah, not fond of eye contact,” he said over his shoulder.
“I see.” Nigel finally pushed off of the doorframe, stepping into the small flat and collapsing onto the old leather couch in the middle of it. The window unit was just behind him, and he tipped his head back, letting the cool air wash over his face. “Will it just be you in this place, professor man? Or do you have a nice woman to warm your bed?”
“Just me,” Will said, flicking the fan onto high and standing in front of it.
Nigel mused. “What a shame. You’re young, strong, good job.” He turned his head to look at him, his hand disappearing into his pocket, emerging and tapping out a cigarette from its pack. “Shall I find someone for you? Maybe someone with their nose in a book, like you.”
Will frowned, glancing at the cigarette, and at the faint, challenging glint in Nigel’s eyes as he watched Will’s disapproval bloom. He lifted the cigarette to his lips, but did not yet light it. “I don’t have my nose in a book all the time,” he said.
Nigel ignored him. “Or maybe a party chick, huh? Someone to get you out of your shell. You might need that.” When Will only shook his head, he grinned, taking a lighter out and coaxing the flame to bite into the cigarette’s end. He took a long drag, exhaled, and pointed at Will with the lit end. “You must lighten up, Mister Graham. You’re lucky you found me.”
“Oh, yes, lucky,” Will said dryly, eyeing the cigarette. “And who are you, exactly? Do you own the pub?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Nigel replied lightly.
“Do you own this apartment, then?”
“In a way,” Nigel repeated.
“Can you please put that out?” Will snapped, watching ash drop onto the wood floors.
Nigel’s eyebrows arched. He stood, slowly making his way to Will’s side of the room. Will watched his approach, silent. Nigel halted when he was standing in front of him. He took a deep draw of the cigarette, then exhaled, just over Will’s head. He bent his head to look down at him, and his voice shifted, no longer conversational and casual. “Don’t ever tell me to put out a cigarette.” He tilted his head, flicking the cigarette, letting ash fall between them. “Okay?”
He dropped the cigarette on the floor, stepping on it to put out the sparks, then turned and left.
It was a less than favorable first impression of your landlord, Will thought.