Chapter Text
The apartment felt heavier than usual when Will walked in. Carlton’s presence, usually something he could ignore with enough background noise, now seemed to fill every corner with tension. Lately, everything had been sharp edges—snaps of anger, slammed doors, and words that cut too deep to just brush off. Will had tried to keep his distance, keep his cool, but catching Carlton in that bar… seeing him close to someone else—someone other than him—it had broken something that maybe he hadn’t realized was still whole enough to hurt.
Will had learned to pick his battles, mostly, but Carlton had been… cruel. Calling him names, mocking him, using sarcasm in ways that weren’t playful, and somehow always making it land right where it stung. Will knew he deserved better, knew he should be angry and vocal, but it was exhausting. He felt like he was gasping under a weight that shouldn’t have been his.
Then, today. Today Carlton had thrown something into the trash. Will had been passing by, and for some reason—maybe instinct, maybe a last shard of hope—he bent down. The thing Carlton had tossed wasn’t crumpled, wasn’t dirty, not even opened. It was a folded letter, sitting in the trash like it was nothing.
Will froze. His fingers hovered over it, unsure. A letter. Written. For him. From someone else?
The trash can smelled faintly of stale coffee, but Will barely noticed. His mind was spinning. Carlton had thrown it away. Why? Why would he do that? Was it something humiliating, a cruel joke, or… something worse? Will didn’t want to imagine, but he couldn’t help it. The thought of someone—anyone—writing to him, trying to reach him, only to be thrown away like garbage by Carlton… it was maddening.
He held the letter now, careful not to tear it, careful not to let Carlton see that he even noticed it. The handwriting on the envelope was familiar. His own name, written in Mike’s handwriting. Will’s stomach did this weird flip that he hadn’t felt in a long time, a mix of dread and… something else. Something dangerous, tender.
Anger bubbled first—at Carlton, at himself, at the universe for letting things get this complicated. How dare Carlton just throw it away? Will imagined storming into the living room, yelling, shaking Carlton by the shoulders. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” He could picture Carlton’s indifferent smirk, his dismissive shrug, and the surge of frustration that would follow.
But that was later. Right now, the letter in his hands demanded something else. Curiosity, terror, hope—all tangled up so tightly in his chest it was hard to breathe. He could feel the paper under his fingers, the weight of words waiting to be read, and for the first time in weeks, a small, stubborn spark of… anticipation.
His mind raced, imagining every possibility. Could it be an apology? A confession? A warning? A joke? Every scenario made him tense and trembling in equal measure. He knew opening it could change everything—or nothing—but there was no going back once he did.
Will took a deep breath. His thumb brushed the envelope’s edge, shaking a little. He could hear Carlton’s distant voice somewhere behind the apartment walls, laughing at something else, oblivious. Will gritted his teeth, swallowed, and pressed the envelope to his chest for a second, feeling like it was the last lifeline in a storm.
He had to know. He had to.