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Dark as midnight, six-pack Coors Light
You don't look the same
He knew this was a bad idea. Not the party; Simon obviously had the best intentions, hosting for the Euros.
No, the bad idea was letting James tag along.
Will should have known better than to believe James would be on his best behavior.
He’d seen it coming, like a train speeding down the track at full bore, whistles and alarms that he’d turned a deaf ear to for his friend.
Past my bedtime, blue and red lights
Come take you away
Now, because of Will, James is in the street outside Simon’s house at the late hour of god knows when, making a scene from the dirty gutter clagged with last night's rain and leaf slop, six beers deep from sneaking most of them, eyes dark as midnight and acting like he’s not the same James that walked in at the beginning of the night.
He’s also slurring words Will’s never heard before. He’s heard James’s self-deprecating jokes and such; things he’s picked on about himself that Will usually smooths over when they’re together.
Someone inside calls the boys in blue. Will begs them not to, but just like himself when it comes to James, his voice is lost among several others as a paddy wagon pulls up within the hour, James roughly dragged from where he’s slumped over on Sam’s knee.
Hate to see you like a monster, so I run and hide
Hate to ask, but what's it like to leave me behind?
James begs for him, despite Sam saying he’s going to get him out, not to worry, just stay quiet as it’ll make him feel worse, but James isn’t listening - dragging his feet and resisting arrest as he begs for Will to help him, his tone going from desperate to upset to angry, an inevitable wheel that Will knew he wouldn’t remember tomorrow.
Cowering in the living room behind a curtain while their mates watch it all unfold isn’t fair to anyone, least of all the drunkard on the street screaming his name, but Will can’t do much else. When James gets into this state - uncontrollable, monstrous, difficult - Will always runs.
He doesn’t want to imagine what it must feel like for James to leave him behind in whatever world he’s drunk himself into, given the number of times his name is used.
I won't be, no, I won't be like you
Fighting back, I'm fighting back the truth
When it’s over, Will doesn’t go home; he also doesn't pick up another bottle either. While anyone in their right mind would drink those visuals away, Will can’t. He won’t.
He already knows he’s in for it, if not from the Sidemen that just witnessed his plus one being dragged away in cuffs, he knows he’ll hear it from Ieuan or Aby or Mikey or Chris or any other person who gets wind that James has made a fool of himself again.
It’s the same every time. James needs help, James is destructive, James is going to get you hurt one day, get you killed for starting a fight, you can’t keep letting him go on like this-
He’s fighting that wave back like a drowning man these days.
Eyes like yours can look away
But you can't stop DNA, no, you can't stop DNA
Most of the party looks away from him pointedly when he finally manages to show his face again. He pays them no mind, just curls up on Simon’s couch and stares at the screen till his brain blue screens, not even celebrating the win like everyone else.
Eventually, everyone’s gone home or retreated into rooms he has no business being in, other than himself of course. He could go home, forget the whole thing and black it out of his memory, but he also doesn’t do that.
Instead he gets a cab to the nearest police station, signs James out of the drunk tank and with Sam’s assistance, takes the 2 hour haul to Brighton to hand deliver his now sleeping and smelly so called ‘best friend’ to his own bed.
By the time he gets back on the train and settles into his own flat, the sun is enveloping the horizon in yellow, pink and orange streaks that colour Will’s face through the gaps in the blinds as he sits gingerly on his couch as his head bows and his shoulders shake as he sobs in silence.
He tries not to blame James for them. Tries not to blame James’s father for sharing his DNA and making James the way he is. At least, not as much as he normally does for once.
Twice a year (month), you come in crashing
Nice to see you too
He doesn't know exactly what therapist James is seeing, but the next time he comes round to Will’s office to film, he’s looking a hell of a lot better.
And the time after that.
And the time after that.
Lean, lighter, less clouds in his eyes, still the same wisecracks. Will hopes it sticks this time, for the better.
He’s also more receptive to physical touch that he used to be; hugs, handshakes, shoulder pats - Will thinks for a moment James has been replaced by a clone, but the thought is fleeting. James is just…better.
Not all the way there, but better.
Will will take what he can get.
Johnny Cash and backseat laughing
Always ends too soon
The office visits vary in nature and size.
Sometimes they’re only for a few hours before James has to go to some studio or meet with some person.
Sometimes they last the whole day and they’ll spend it cracking jokes, listening to music (most of it is old school, but James doesn’t seem to care, so Will won’t either) and just naturally being Will and James.
Then there are those days where James stays behind after having a little too much fun, missing his train, shacking up with Will, constantly on his security camera system that makes Fort Knox look like a playground as he aggressively monitors Otto from afar.
Sometimes, he gets a rideshare back.
Other times, Will can feel the soft breaths and snores of his mouth against his collarbone as they sleep side by side in Will’s shoddy bed.
It feels like it’s never enough and not enough at the same time.
Hate to say hello 'cause I know that it means goodbye
Hate to ask, but what's it like to leave me behind?
The mornings are also as bad at those nights, Will left with the yearning of a horny Shakespearean teenager as he drives or walks James to the tube or station, hugging him goodbye before he disappears again.
Saying goodbye at this point just feels like it’s pointless, same as everything else, so he doesn't anymore.
James notices. “You okay?”
Will just looks at him.
How can he say that his heart breaks a little more every time he leaves? That he’s too afraid to say anything as James is so non-committal that it might be taken as a joke? That his sobriety is making Will see the boy he fell in love with all those years ago? That he’s hurting him without his knowledge?
That seeing him trying to kill himself fucked Will up too?
I won't be, no, I won't be like you
Fighting back, I'm fighting back the truth
It takes everything in Will’s power not to unload on him in that moment, the latter just shaking his head and producing a smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Ya worry too much, Jimbo.”
He knows James can see he’s lying however and it hurts a lot when James gets that look on his face, all squinty and curious, but it’s soon brushed over like it was never there. Will feels a traitorous small relief at that, followed by an almost drowning type of guilt that feels like the alcohol James used to consume, burning bright and painful in his chest.
Eyes like yours can look away
But you can't stop DNA, no, you can't stop DNA
He floats through their last filming session of the week in a haze, similar to when James used to drink and only snaps out of it when Ieuan and Aby get his attention to figure out scheduling for the next week before he and James depart for the station.
Before he leaves, however, James hit him with the one-two punch of not only being bi (which he already knew, it was kind of obvious), but also asking him out specifically, which makes him stand there like an idiot for far too long before he murmurs a yes.
Does James have any idea how much fire he’s playing with right now?
Seems he doesn’t care, as James’s face lights up like he just electrocuted him with a taser (a fond video idea from years past) before he kisses his cheek and leaves him standing on the station feeling like the worst person in the world.
Are the pieces of you in the pieces of me?
I'm just so scared you’ll who I'll be
They don’t start slow.
Will should have asked him to, maybe at first, but before he knows it, they’re attached at the hip. Music tours, concerts, events, videos. It’s like nothing changed and everything changed at the same time and Will’s struggling to catch up.
Their friends say he’s starting to act like him. Will doesn’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing anymore as James is…James.
He’s kind and funny and considerate - there are pet names, Will’s always hated pet names, unless they come from James’s mouth - always showing up to wherever he is composed and ready. Some days he has a touch of depression or artistic angst, but that’s okay because it pulls the attention away from Will, who, to his own closeted terror, is coming undone.
2 months, then 3, then 6 and suddenly, James is asking him to think about moving down to Brighton with him, getting out of London and seeing how it feels.
They’ve lived together before, so that’s not an issue, but Will’s brain races and sticks and it becomes all too much and eventually, it’s not too long before he has a seizure and blacks out, the world disappearing in another haze.
When I erupt just like you do
They look at me like I look at you
Mikey is the one who finds him, unconscious in the ruins of an apartment that looks like a pack of feral dogs have torn it apart. He’s the one who rides with him to the hospital, he’s the one who watches them clean Will’s bloodied hands as Will recovers from seizing and he’s the one who waits as Will talks to the psych they bring down from 4 floors above.
He’s also the one who has to call James afterwards and tell him not only is Will in hospital, but that Will doesn’t want to see him right now.
James ignores that, of course, showing up like a bat out of hell and demanding Mikey let him through, but Will watches through the window in the door as Mikey (and George for backup) steers him away, one of them saying something that makes James freeze with the most heartbroken expression on his face before he crumples into a chair, head in his hands.
It’s almost like looking in a mirror from several years ago.
I won't be, no, I won't be like you
Fighting back, I'm fighting back the truth
Eventually, Will is allowed to go home and he waits several days before texting James. He answers immediately of course, with frantic thumbs and gentle questions.
He asks for a FaceTime, Will asks him to come by.
He’s there in an hour and a half, which isn’t surprising as he was visiting his sister. Will apologises for having to force him to cut the meeting short, James said Hannah didn’t really care and sent her well wishes. Then, there is silence and not the nice kind. It’s charged.
Soon enough, Will talks…and talks…and talks…and doesn’t stop.
It’s like he’s just popped a pimple or something, all the gunk rushing out at once. He talks about how proud he is of James, placating and assuring, but it only lasts for so long before he manages to get into the awful stuff. The enabling, the defences due to the unrequited love, the way seeing James barely coherent felt like he was being stabbed.
“Seeing you like that, Jimbo-” He stares at the wall, not wanting to look at James’s face. “-I just…I don’t know what I would have done if I lost ya. If I let ya drink yourself into a coma.”
“Will…” James’s voice is near tears and he gathers the slightly smaller man into his arms, practically crushing him into a cube. “It was never your fault that I was like that. It was never your fault that I had problems. You were just trying to hold me together when it wasn’t your job; I should have never let you or anyone else be the one to do that. That was all me.”
It’s almost cleansing in a way, how Will and he cry together after that.
Eyes like yours can look away
But you can't stop DNA, you can't stop DNA
Will remembers this conversation several years in the future when he and James get their first call that their eldest is in the drunk tank for the night in Falmer.
Their youngest children, thankfully, are asleep none the wiser and their second eldest is more than happy to hold the fort as they bundle themselves in the car and drive to the closest police station to the University of Westminster, arriving just as the moon hangs high in the sky, highlighting the grey hairs and wrinkles that have sprouted up over the years.
It’s clear that their son is completely out of it, as he balls his eyes out seeing them.
Instead of chastising the poor lad, Will simply lets James take the lead in steadying him so they can get him out to the car, gather his belongings and apologize to the police and argue in whispers at the front of the car whether or not they’re taking him back to his flatshare or taking him home.
It’s only when their son is curled up in his childhood bedroom in Whitehawk and they’re sitting on their bed, that Will realizes his husband’s shoulders are shaking.
Shuffling over, Will puts an arm around James as the latter ploughs into him, burying his face in his chest as sobs brokenly, clutching Will like a lifeline as the night passes slowly.
Eventually, James emerges from his self-imposed cocoon, looking at Will with red rimmed eyes and an almost mythic amount of self-guilt. “I did that, didn’t I?”
Will knows exactly what he’s trying to say, but doesn’t push it, stroking James’s back. “Do what, love?”
“Made him that way.” James chokes on the words like they physically slice him. “I made him a drunkard like he was. Fuck. Fuck, I’ve passed it down, I’m just like my father-”
“Jamie.” Will stops him before he can spiral more, kissing between his eyebrows as James’s eyes close around more tears. “He’s 18, love. A fresher in uni for crying out loud. He’s going to get drunk like this a lot more before he graduates. It’s typical teenage boy behavior.”
“What if it’s not, Will?” What if I’m so fucked up that he or worse, one of our others ends up like I was?” It’s almost as if he’s speaking his worst fears into existence and it makes Will’s heart ache for him.
It wasn’t like Will hadn’t touched on it, as the kids grew up. It wasn’t like they’ve had a million discussions in both couples and individual therapy about that happening. Hell, it took them years, a decade, a little more than that, to even think about having kids; he isn’t shutting James down in the slightest, he’s trying to open him back up.
“Then we’ll help them.” Will simply says, resolute in its delivery. “We’ll help them through it, like we help them through everything, like you helped yourself.” He squeezes his partner in everything - life, work, business. “You aren’t your Dad, Jamie. You never have been.”
James’s breathing evens out after that, looking up at Will like he’s hung the stars in the sky outside their bedroom window. “Thankyou.”
It’s second nature for him to snark back, make a joke out of it, make James laugh, but something warm and fluid flickers before he smiles softly. “You’re welcome, Jimbo.”
They fall asleep like that as the sun rises, intertwined, as they’ve always been.