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Maybe you should take up writing, Nick had once told him offhandedly, after a particularly poor rehearsal. Will hadn’t been entirely sure if it was supposed to be a pointed remark or an actual suggestion, but since it couldn’t hurt him, he had taken Nick up on it.
They haven’t been talking as much as of late, especially not when there was work to do. Neither of them wanted to admit it, but they’ve been growing apart. More often than not their playful bickering turned itself into the not so playful kind. More often than not Will found himself wondering what was he still doing with this shitty troupe, and all those people, when he could be doing anything else, having so much potential.
But then came the nice moments, when his and Nick’s playful battles of wits were just playful, and when they spent long evenings together talking. And Nick would be ridiculous, like he always manged to be, but it was that very adorable kind of ridiculous. That ridiculous that made Will want to just stare at him for hours and listen to his absolutely ludicrous rants. And then maybe kiss him. And then maybe listen to him some more.
Those were the moments all their quarrels and disagreements suddenly seemed to equate to nothing. But it was also that unfortunate time when Will realised, despite everything, and mostly despite himself, that he was just a little bit in love. God, it was embarrassing, immensely so. He would do anything just to not think about it. But sometimes when Nick smiled at him, or said something endearing, or just kissed him, Will knew. He knew he was in love.
And yet he also knew that loving someone didn’t necessarily mean that you belonged together. So when sweet words turned into arguments, he was anything but surprised.
And then Nick would say shit like the writing thing, which, actually, in hindsight was definitely supposed to be spiteful. But no matter if he was just bitter when he'd said it, he had been right, taking up writing was definitely something Will should’ve done a long time ago. And he had not the faintest idea why he hadn’t tried it sooner, when it might have been as well an experience tailormade for him.
The mere feeling of it, it was addictive, it was intoxicating, it was sweet. He could do it for hours, hidden somewhere, just about anywhere, mostly somewhere out, when the evenings were warmer, and when the weather would be of courtesy.
Then he let nature take him in her embrace and guide him through his painstaking process.
And when the scent of chamomile filled his lungs, and the gentle summer wind hit his face, and the rays of the setting sun slid down the paper, words began to live. And suddenly, Will could feel them vibrating in his skin, as they itched to get out. They were just as present in state of the world as the lazily crawling beetle that was trying to climb his shoe, or the hedge sparrow tweeting softly among the branches above him. They were in him, around him, he could sense them, he just wished that it also meant that putting them down became an easier job. Which unfortunately, it didn’t. Like skittish butterflies they escaped right before he could grasp them.
He allowed himself to stay still, then, and patiently waited for them to drift closer, and for his mind to stop racing from one notion to another, and after a while, though that while could sometimes really be a while, they came driven by natural forces and landed on the pages of his notebook.
Oftentimes that bit about patience could be so unbearably tough, but Will bravely suffered through it, because that resulted in, well… the thing that he was really doing this all for.
It was the sweetest, that part, when he finally finished, when he finally let all his thoughts out, and filled with that blissful satisfaction he could reread and reread his words over and over again. And, fuck, he was good. He was really really fucking good.
He loved them, actually, he loved words. And not only his, no, he loved the entire idea of them. It was so idiotic really, to love a concept, to love something that didn’t even exist in the material plane. If anyone ever admitted to him of the same, that would damn sure get a raise of an eyebrow out of him. But he couldn’t help it, they were just too exhilarating to not fall at least a tiny bit. It absolutely thrilled him when they formed just the right sentences, in just the right ways, he adored when he could experiment with them to create new meanings and new phrases, and, oh, the variety of them, the amount he could choose from, he always knew that there was enough of them that when one of them was failing him, in one way or another, he could easily find a substitute that would satisfy him. He loved all of that, and secretly he hoped that this peculiar feeling would never fade away. Because as frustrating and irritating it was, it was also very addictive. He consoled himself with the fact that, at least, it wasn’t as humiliating as getting attached to a person.
That was what he was doing right now, actually, he was writing. Or, at least, attempting to. It was a warm day of May and the sun, although still in the sky in its entirety, was getting closer and closer to the horizon. He sat hunched under an apple tree, the long grass surrounding him, tickling his skin. For the past hour he had succeeded in completing ten perfect lines, and six that were up to careful modification, but weren’t too bad either. The last line was, well, Will could definitely do better. But everything could be fixed. Maybe the day would be kind enough to him to linger for a little longer, so he wouldn’t run out of light and time to salvage that disaster.
But it became obvious that all those plans were of no use as soon as he noticed a figure heading towards him.
In the distance Nick threaded through the greenery, rather determinedly staring at Will. He was looking slightly weary, probably after a long day of work, but it didn’t really take away from his annoying handsomeness. Will allowed himself to admire him for that minute that took Nick to get across the place.
When he eventually arrived he stopped before Will, panting just ever so slightly.
“What are you still doing out here?” he asked, more with curiosity than anything else, although his words did ooze a bit with irritation. He leaned against the tree, for a moment directing his gaze at the sky. “It’s getting late.”
Will pointedly gestured at his notebook that was laid out in front of him. “Writing.” He moved slightly to the side and patted the ground next to him. “Come on, you want to see it, don’t you?”
Nick huffed, maybe a little amused. “Let’s say I do,” he said, and bracing his hand on Will’s shoulder he lowered himself to sit down. “You have been doing a lot of that lately, haven’t you?” He raised a questioning eyebrow at Will, while he took over the notebook from his hands.
“You suggested it.”
That made Nick flush somewhat, probably because, again, it had not been an actual suggestion. “Right,” he just responded and looked away.
Will decided to be merciful and left that without a comment, instead he flicked Nick in the shoulder and only a tad impatiently said, “Read it, Nicky.”
“I’m reading, I’m reading.”
Will observed him attentively, as Nick actually finally looked at the pages, waiting for him to make any kind of verdict, although, really, it was obvious what kind it would be.
After a minutes or two, at last Nick teared his gaze away from the paper to direct it at Will. The expression on his face betrayed his feelings, but it didn’t seem like he was trying to hide them anyway. “Will, that is- that is really good.” There it was. The verdict.
“I know,” Will said, not without a touch of smugness. “Isn’t it just?”
Nick once again scanned the words, something akin to awe still lingering in his eyes. But then his gaze stopped at the bottom of the page. “Although that last line…”
Will groaned. “Don’t.” He pointed at Nick. “Don’t speak of it. I was about to fix it, when you came disturbing me.”
“Do you want me to go?”
“When did I say that?” Maybe it wasn’t in his initial plans, but now that Nick was here, he could as well entertain Will for a while. Also he needed someone to tell him what a good job he’d done. Not that he was intending on admitting that out loud. And if Nick’s compliments mattered to him just a tiny bit more than anyone else’s, that was nobody’s business.
His question merely got him a shrug. “I thought you implied it. It’s not like I’m helping you with anything here.” And oddly enough it sounded a little like a dare, like Nick wanted Will to make up an excuse for him to stay. And, oh, of course, Will was going to take it.
He shuffled closer, their legs and arms now touching, and slid his hand under Nick’s chin. “You know I need a muse, honey,” he purred.
Nick didn’t seem especially impressed by that. “I’m hardly your muse. Did you ever write anything about me?” he asked sceptically, an eyebrow raised.
“Maybe not yet, but it doesn’t mean you don’t inspire me.”
“Do I ever actually inspire you?” That question was awfully sceptical as well.
Will leaned in even closer, just to make his point clearer. “Of course you do. Especially when you kiss me senseless, fills me with so much inspiration,” he murmured softly.
Nick rolled his eyes, but despite the light around them dimming, it was hard not to notice that his cheeks grew a darker shade. Really, how could anyone resist something so sweet? Will kissed him without a second thought.
A short kiss it was, but nice nonetheless, just something that Will needed for his heart to get going. He smiled into Nick’s lips, to which he got sort of a dazed beam as a response. Satisfied, he recoiled and sat back. It was hard to break eye contact with Nick, though, now that he looked so endearingly besotted.
And in that lovey-dovey captivation, blindly, Will searched for his notebook with his hand, and upon finding it, at last he let himself tear his gaze away to once again reread his accomplishments of the day. “Jesus, I’m amazing,” he muttered to himself cheerfully. ”With this I will definitely get to the top. Don’t you think, Nicky?” He looked at Nick again, who appeared to have been still staring at him.
His eyes were slightly misty, when he gave Will a smile and said, “Definitely, you will.” And he said it so… so sincerely.
For the first time this evening it was Will who could feel himself warming up.
He hated when this happened, he was never prepared enough for those kinds of occasions. Nick suddenly would get all sweet and would look at Will like that. And it was not him who had to suffer the consequences of those actions.
But, thank goodness, the bastard was kind enough to fix it by adding, “But, obviously, I’ll get there before you.”
Will huffed. “So that’s a competition now?”
“I wouldn’t say so. Just the natural course of action,” Nick replied, with an expression that implied that this was totally obvious.
“Oh, you think so?”
“I’ve been a writer for longer than you were.”
Sometimes Will wondered how someone so naïve had survived so many years on this earth. He suppressed an eyeroll. “The world doesn’t measure your greatness in days, but rather in the feature of your work,” he said matter-of-factly.
Nick made a face. He muttered something under his breath that sounded dangerously close to fuck you and your stupid pretty words.
Actually, it certainly had been that, but even if it hadn’t, Will still couldn’t help himself and replied, “By all means, please do.”
Nick opened and closed his mouth and then opened them again. “Later,” he finally said, averting his gaze. But he was smiling when he said it, he was definitely smiling.
Will grinned.
For a short heavenly moment Nick’s eyes sparkled with something that kind of made him look like he wanted to make that later a now, but then his just shook his head and cleared his throat. “Well, alright, when we’re both at the top then, at the same time,” he resumed their earlier musings.
“That could get confusing.”
“What?”
“I’ve lost track of what we’re talking about here, honey, could you remind me?”
“Will!” Nick reddened properly. “You know perfectly well what I’m talking about.”
“Do I?”
That question went ignored. “As I was saying, we will be both at the top…”
“…probably not speaking to each other anymore.”
At that Nick frowned. “Why?” he asked, sounding genuinely bewildered.
Will shrugged. To him it seemed absolutely obvious. Maybe they were speaking concepts for now, but he could be realistic about it. “We probably won’t be able to stand each other. Or you won’t be able to stand me. Of course, I’ll be above that.”
“God, Will, why the hell are you saying that? That’s so depressing.”
“Wouldn’t it happen though, Nicky?” Will poked him lightly in the arm. “You know how we are.”
Nick furrowed his brows in a moment of reflection. Then apparently coming to some sort of conclusion he sighed. “I guess we are a little competitive,” he admitted.
“Mhmm.”
“But does that necessarily mean we won’t be able to stand each other?”
“I mean, probably.”
To Will’s concern Nick appeared to have been honestly dismayed by the idea. He chewed on his lip, as his eyes darted elsewhere. Will nudged him again a few times, hoping it would help. It didn’t really. “Nicky?”
Finally Nick looked at him and then sighed with resignation. “You know, who the fuck cares? We’re still nobodies with no money or fame.”
Will made a face. “Now that is what I call depressing.”
Nick seemed to have ignored that as he leaned a little closer, just so their arms touched. “Well, for what it’s worth, I for once am glad we still can stand each other.”
For some reason those words caused Will’s chest to hurt in an unfamiliar way. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, just odd. He tried to ignore it. “Probably not for long, though. You’re already annoying me,” he chirped playfully.
“You are annoying me too. Every fucking day,” Nick replied, but his words were anything but sharp.
“Well, that went quickly.”
They stared at each other for a moment, both pretending like they weren’t biting back smiles.
“You know, Will, this conversation is really stupid,” at last Nick said.
Will gave him a pitying look and then leaned his head against his shoulder. “Oh, Nicky, Nicky.” He tutted softly. “Do you have a better idea for one then?”
Nick’s eyes brightened a little, and he reached and brushed a lock of hair behind Will’s ear. “Maybe we could stop talking for a while and I could kiss you?” he asked hopefully.
Will raised his eyebrows. “What a notion, really, so imaginative.”
“Fuck off. It’s not that you’re opposed to it, are you.”
Well, fine, if Nick was right about something, it was unfortunately this. “Oh, god, obviously I’m not.”
“So I thought.”
Will slid his fingers between the buttons of Nick’s shirt, tugging him closer. “What are you waiting for then?” he muttered practically against his lips.
At that Nick smiled and then finally closed the distance between them. God, Will loved him.
===
When they eventually left the idyllic premises of nature, it was well after midnight. A little dizzy and blushy, they headed towards the town, every now and again the backs of their hands brushing together. It was really quite a nice day, quite nice few hours. That ridiculous poetic part of Will wished it could always stay that way, him, Nick, and his words. But wasn’t all that too simple? Too blissful? When he knew that there were greater things awaiting him?
Feelings, feelings, feelings. Poets always spoke of those. He spoke of them too, although not always willingly. Bothering his head with such emotional matters has never done him any good, so he tried to limit any of the similar musings to the bare minimum. In the end it all merely irritated him. Feelings, feelings, feelings. Who the hell had the time to trouble themselves with something so absurd?
That’s why he needed to get all that to stay in the background. Preferably he just had to forget about it altogether. And that was what he was going to do. Soon.
Very soon.
But maybe not yet. For now maybe he could still give feelings a thought or two. He needed something to inspire him after all.