Archive of Our Own

“And he was lurking just outside the house?” man number one asks for what feels like the hundredth time since he arrived.

“I told you he was standing right in front of our door. Totally out of it,” man number two hisses back, stealing nervous glances in his direction. It’s clear that of the two of them he’s the one used to taking the backseat. There is some sort of nervous energy to him, jittery fingers that keep running through his hair or grabbing onto the satchel around his shoulder.

“We don’t have time for this. We open in three weeks!”

“Well, what was I supposed to do? Leave him out there?!”

He watches the whole conversation with detached fascination. They seem upset about something, though He can’t quite figure out what. Perhaps it’s the ominous drumming making the walls tremble or the way the world starts spinning every other second. Coming to think of it, the first seems to be oddly concurrent with the pulsing behind His eyes. Hm.

“What is he doing here?” man number one hisses. Despite being a lot shorter, it’s clear he’s the older of the two. The black curls on top of his head have begun to grey at his temples and there are wrinkles around his eyes. His features share some similarities with the other man, though. Perhaps the two of them are related. Hm.

“I don’t know. Ask him,” number two whispers urgently.

For a moment, a quiet battle is fought, their whispers growing in intensity until an insistent pushing begins. Ultimately, the older one seems to get the shorter end of the stick, because he is the one to be shoved forward to awkwardly clear his throat.

“Will,” he says, his arms swinging nervously, “w-what are you doing here?”

He blinks. Will. That must be his name then, he thinks. It’s a nice name. It feels right. Like people have called him that before. “I- I don’t remember,” he says honestly.

Number two peeks over the other one’s shoulder. “I told you he doesn’t remember,” he says triumphantly.

Number one shrugs him off with a glare. He gives Will an eyebrow that makes Will believe he is not entirely convinced by Will’s statement.  “Well, what do you remember?” he asks.

Will frowns. He opens his mouth but finds that there is only gaping emptiness where he knows his memories should be. He tries to concentrate, to conjure anything other than that dark void, but comes up empty again.

Green light. Ink on parchment. A house. Darkness.

The images are gone in a flash. He blinks. “I-I don’t know,” he says, for the first time feeling slightly unsettled. The beating inside his ears speeds up.

“You have to remember something, right? How would you have found your way here otherwise?”

“I don’t know,” Will repeats, gripping at his hair. Why can’t he remember?

Man one stares at him for a second, before bursting into laughter. “Oh, I see what’s happening here! You’re trying to fool us!” He takes a step forwards, pointing an angry finger at Will’s chest. “Well, jokes on you, that’s not going to happen.”

Will looks up at him, eyes wide and fearful. “I’m not pretending!” he insists.

The man growls. “Sure. How very convenient.” He laughs “You just so happen to forget about everything that could incriminate you. The things you stole.” He steps even closer, looming over Will. “The people you betrayed.”

Will finds himself face to face with the fury in the man’s eyes and is suddenly overcome by an intense terror. He doesn’t know what any of this means! Why can’t he remember anything?

Some feral part inside of him urges to run away, to hide out somewhere safe, but he doesn’t know where this safe is supposed to be.

His eyes fly to the second man, hoping for any kind of help. “I-” he stammers, his breath picking up.

At that, a weird look passes through the first man’s eyes. Abruptly, the anger falls from his face. “You-you really don’t remember…?”

Will frantically shakes his head. “No,” he says, digging his shaking fingers into his legs. “Who-who are you?”

For a moment, the man seems unsure what to do. He eyes Will warily, like one would regard a dangerous animal. Finally, he seems to come to a decision.

“I’m Nick,” he says. “And this is my brother Nigel.” He gives a curt nod in the direction of the second man. “We’re playwrights.”

Will waits for recognition to hit him, but there is nothing about the men or names that strikes him as familiar. His mind stays resolutely blank. He’s glad to find he was right about the similarities between them though.

He wets his lips, rolling a second, scarier question in his head. “A-and who am I?”

It’s the second man who answers now, his eyes wide. “You’re William S-”

“Smith,” Nick cuts him off. “William…Smith.” He awkwardly clears his throat. “You work for us.” Something about the way he says it sounds just a tad too hectic.

Unlike with his first name, the sound of his last name triggers no echo inside of Will. And working for two playwrights? Does that mean he’s a writer too? Something inside his chest twitches. He could be a writer, he thinks.

The statement produces an entirely different reaction from Nigel, who draws in a sharp breath. “Nick-” he hisses, “what are you doing?”

Nick shrugs, his features exaggeratedly determined. “Setting things right.”

“What- but-” If possible, the jitter in Nigel’s hands grows even worse. The colour drains from his cheeks until he looks about ready to puke. “But, Nick, if-if Shakespeare-if his troupe finds out…. we’re all-we’re all dead.”

Will follows their conversation with anxious confusion. It’s very clear that there is something they aren’t telling him. He wonders who this ominous Shakespeare is. Maybe someone Will got in trouble with at some point?

Nick drags his brother away to the other side of the room, lowering his voice. Will is unsure whether he thinks they are being inconspicuous when they are still standing only a few feet away from Will. “Calm down, Nigel. Just trust me on this, okay?”

Nigel shakes his head urgently. “No, Nick, this-this is wrong. Shakespeare is such an influential man. We-we-”

Nick grabs his shoulders. “It’s all going to be fine, okay?” he whispers. “We’re not doing anything to antagonize Shakespeare. We’re…we’re just bending the truth a little.” The latter part sounds a lot harder, almost as if he’s trying to convince himself too.

Nigel still seems exceedingly upset by the idea, but he presses his lips together and nods.

Nick gives him a last squeeze before turning back towards Will.

At the look in his eyes, fear settles over Will like a suffocating blanket. Every of his instincts is screaming that this is not how things are supposed to be. But what is there to do? He can’t remember anything, so there is no one else to turn to. Not until he can get back his memory anyway.

Nick’s teeth flash dangerously as he smiles. “Well, Will, I think there is work we need to get back to.”

“And this is where I work,” Nick says, pointing at the table in the back of the room, which seems less an actual table and more so a place where all their half-written pages are kept. He laughs, rubbing his neck. “And by I, I of course mean, we.”

Will stares down at the mess, trying to remember if any of it seems familiar to him. All that endeavour gives him is a swimming headache, though. He furrows his brow in frustration.

Nick studies his expression, something like guilt flickering in his eyes. “Why-why don’t you sit down?” he suggests, guiding Will to sit on the concerningly instable looking chair. He schools his features back into a mask of badly feigned annoyance and indifference as he reaches out for Will’s head.

Will jerks back almost automatically, his fingers twitching. “W-what are you doing?"

Nick rolls his eyes, holding up his hands in a pacifying gesture. “Just wanted to make sure you’re not going to die on my kitchen floor,” he says, motioning for Will’s head. “May I?”

Will eyes him warily, trying to calm his racing breath. Reluctantly, he nods.

Nick’s hands are surprisingly gentle as he combs through Will’s hair, presumably looking for headwounds or any other anomalies. He then moves onto Will’s face, tilting it with just a hint of his fingers resting against Will’s jaw. When he finds nothing out of place, he gives a satisfied nod.

“Seems all alright to me,” he hums. “Do tell me when you’re feeling worse, though.”

Will can only nod as he tries to not choke on his heartbeat. The other man’s touches linger all over his skin. Will isn’t sure he likes the feeling.

Nick too seems to be overly aware of the sudden tension in the air, as he straightens himself with a cough. “I don’t think the landlord would appreciate having to get rid of a corpse,” he jokes half-heartedly.

He then points at the splashes of green all over Will’s sleeve. “What’s that?”

Will frowns. He raises his arm, trying to get a closer look at the stains he failed to notice before. They’re speckled all over the fabric, tainting it a deep, sickly shade of green.

Green light dancing on the walls. Red on parchment. A house. Darkness.

He swallows. “I-I believe it might be ink.”

“Green ink?” Nick hums, unconvinced.

Then he shakes his head. “Speaking of ink, though – we should get back to work.” He steps around the desk, grabbing a few of the parchments seemingly at random.

Will watches him, feeling entirely out of his depth. The image of the stains still lingers in the back of his mind, filling him with a weird sort of dread. He tries not to think about it. “So, you want me to-to…write?” he asks carefully.

Nick looks at him, nodding unusually eager. “Yes.” He frowns. “You do remember how to do that, don’t you?”

Will nods slowly. He does. He doesn’t understand why, but he does. Perhaps it’s the same reason he remembers how to walk and talk. They all seem to be activities deeply ingrained in his routine. Maybe that’s why whatever caused his amnesia couldn’t take them away from him too.

“B-but I don’t remember anything else,” he admits.

Nick claps his hands, smiling brightly. “Well, you’ll have to come up with a new idea then, won’t you?”

He seems weirdly unconcerned by the fact that one of his main writers might have forgotten the play he was supposed to work on. Will can’t remember anything about his job, but he’s still pretty sure that the writing process isn’t supposed to work like that. Isn’t there a rough outline that all writers should stick to?

He tells Nick as much. “B-but what exactly is it we were working on? I can’t just write something at random. Do you want a play or a sonnet or-” He gestures at the mess before him. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve been working on so I can-”

“No!” Nick rips the pages from under Will’s hands with surprising urgency. “You can’t look at those. Never look at those.”

Will flounders. “But why, I mean-”

Nick glares. “I don’t trust you around them. I-”

He is interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. “Nick?” a voice calls.

Will only gets a quick glance at what he thinks is a woman, before Nick pushes him behind the table. “Stay here,” he hisses. “Just come up with…something.”

“I’m here,” he calls then, hurrying towards the voice.

“Who’s that with you?” the woman asks.

There are some hushed words, before the door opens again, Nick apparently shoving the woman outside. The plaster is thin, though, so Will can still hear their muffled voices through the wall. He listens with bated breath, half of him hoping for an explanation of what the hell is going on. The other half is absolutely terrified at the idea of learning something he doesn’t want to hear.

“Will is here,” Nick is saying just now.

“William S-”

“Yes!” Nick interrupts her. He sounds weirdly panicked by the mention of Will’s name.

Once again, Will gets the feeling that there is something more to his presence here. Still, he supposes it’s a good sign that the woman seems to know him too. So, Nick and Nigel were telling the truth about that at least.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Her voice is not angry exactly. She seems more surprised.

“He is working for me,” Nick answers.

“He’s working for- what? Why?”

Nick coughs. “He- I-…He might have - kind of – lost his… memory…a little,” he admits sheepishly.

There is a terrifying pause. “What? Nick! Are you insane?!” She makes a strangled noise. “We can’t keep him here! What about the troupe? What about-”

Nick shushes her again. “I know, I know, Bea,” he tries to appease her. “I know I need to tell him the truth about- about…Shakespeare.”

And there is that name again. An uncomfortable tingling runs over Will’s back.

Nick’s voice hardens. “But after everything that man did to us, I think we deserve this at least a little.”

The woman, Bea apparently, makes a sound which implies she doesn’t agree with him at all. “No matter what Shakespeare did,” she growls. “Nick, that still doesn’t give you the right to do the same.”

Nick lets out a frustrated sigh. “What am I supposed to do, Bea? He doesn’t have anyone else.”

She growls. “Nick, you know as well as I do-”

“And you know as well as I, that they’re not an option. Tell me they wouldn’t take advantage of him the same way. Maybe even worse.” He pauses. To Will’s ears it sounds a lot like he’s searching for more grounds to rationalise his decision on. “Look, Bea, we just need to get this play over with and then everything will be fine, I promise.”

For a while, there is only heavy silence.

“Fine,” she says finally, letting out a long-suffering huff. “But you have to watch over him.”

Nick chuckles. “I promise.”

The conversation leaves Will’s head a swirling mess of thoughts that don’t want to make any sense. He’s now absolutely certain that Nick isn’t who he pretends to be. That Will isn’t either. And all of it seems to be connected to this Shakespeare character somehow.

Will doesn’t know how he and Shakespeare came into contact, but their relationship seems to be a source of mistrust between him and Nick. The only thing he doesn’t know is who he is supposed to mistrust.

It’s clear that Nick doesn’t like him very much. In fact, it’s probably fair to say that he hates Will. Does this mean that Will should hate him too?

It would make sense, especially considering the nature of their relationship. Will vaguely remembers something about people hating their employers. That is if Nick actually is his employer. Will’s not sure he trusts their word on that either.

At the same time there is a different feeling stirring deep inside his gut. It’s like a magnetic pull, an instinct more than actual knowledge. Something that tells him he doesn’t want to disappoint Nick under any circumstances. He’s not sure what that is supposed to mean either.

His eyes burn holes into the empty parchment before him, his mind frustratingly blank. Then they fall onto the notes Nick hastily put aside earlier. Surely one look can’t hurt? It’s not like he’s trying to steal them. He just needs something to kick his brain back into motion. A little inspiration.

He picks up the first few pages, slowly deciphering the messy scrawl. His mind absorbs every word with surprising vigour. They all sound wonderfully weird, eliciting a feeling of pure delight beneath his stomach. It’s like taking the first sip of water after roaming the desert for weeks. With every line his thirst increases, his eyes moving faster and faster until he-

Abruptly, the pages are ripped from his hands. “I should have known!”

Nick’s eyes are ablaze with fury. It’s as though the dam of guilty restraint from before has broken, unleashing a flood of emotions that are hurling toward Will with unstoppable force. “So, is this what you wanted all along?” Nick laughs. It’s an ugly, deep, guttural sound. “Is this even real, you losing your memory, or just another one of your tricks?”

“I-” Will stammers. “I just wanted to have a look.” Fear grips his throat, squeezing until he can’t breathe any longer. The earth is swaying and he doesn’t know where to turn. He blinks, gasping for breath.

At that, the fire in Nick’s eyes dims, still he keeps firm hold of the paper. “Well, have a look at something else then,” he snaps, making off with the pages. Probably to store them somewhere far away from Will.

Will is left feeling like he’s just reenforced some perception inside of Nick. He's not sure what that perception is exactly, but he fears it might be something bad. It feels like repeatedly driving a stake between them - painful and wrong.

He wonders what their relationship was like before. What Will must have done to hurt Nick like this. He wonders if he’s a horrible person.

The urge to run grows almost unbearable. It’s itching all over his skin, telling him to hide, telling him to get as far away as possible. But he can’t do that.

So instead, he grabs the quill from the table, forcing back the tears that want to spill from his eyes.

“Can I get you something to eat?” Bea asks, bustling around the kitchen like it’s entirely normal for her husband’s amnesiac co-worker to be standing next to their dinner table like a lost puppy.

Will feared their interaction might get awkward when Nigel and Nick excused themselves to rehearsals earlier - especially considering the conversation he overheard yesterday - but Bea seems to be taking it all in stride. Her posture is open and, unlike Nick, she even smiled at Will a couple of times. Will instantly likes her approachable and straightforward personality. He feels like he shouldn’t for some reason.

“I-if-if you have something left,” Will says, despite his loudly growling stomach. He can’t help but feel like he’s being a nuisance. He already had to spend the night on a sheet on the ground because there was nowhere else to sleep. Nick promised, albeit reluctantly, to get him something more adequate for the next night, though.

It’s enough to tell Will that this arrangement is not a regular occurrence. He assumes it was made to keep an eye on him, so he doesn’t get himself killed or into any more trouble. He’s not sure which alternative he prefers.

Part of Will is grateful for their hospitality because he’s pretty sure he would have had to spend the night on the street otherwise. Another part can’t ignore how reckless it feels to sit at their table when the room constantly seems just a second away from exploding. That part of Will is still waiting for Nick to strangle him in his sleep or smash his head in with a rock.

“Of course. There’s always something left for you, love,” Bea says softly.

Will doesn’t comment on the argument he overheard this morning where Nick refused to have his breakfast despite Bea’s stoic insistence. He’s pretty sure he knows the reason for Nick’s refusal anyway. He isn’t blind to the way Nigel devoured his dinner yesterday and the way the conversation instantly quieted when the younger Bottom returned from the basin outside.

Bea scoops some liquid from the big pot over the stove into a bowl, which she hands to him. Will stares down at the watery green slime inside of it and feels all hunger leaving him instantly.

The thing is, he obviously knew that the Bottoms aren’t exactly well off – it’s exceedingly visible in their small house, held together more by sheer desperation than actual structural integrity. The clothes that, while perfectly functional, look well-worn and just a little bit out of style.

But now, as he stares at the regurgitated pulp they call food, and imagines how his presence will affect their rations, he feels something as heavy as lead settling inside his stomach. Still, it’s too late to go back he supposes. So, he forces a smile onto his lips and takes a first sip.

He wonders if he’s poor too. He’s seen the leather he wears. It looks smooth and well refined. He thinks it unlikely, though, that he should have more money than his employer. Or is he just more interested in his appearance than Nick? Did he get the money through someone else? Does he have another job? Might the money be the reason that Nick is angry with him?

None of it seems to be making sense. His head is spinning again.

“It’s really good,” he says between two sips, trying not to gag.

Bea laughs. “You don’t have to lie. I know it’s terrible.”

Will forces a grin. After the uneasiness between him and Nick, her candour feels like a fresh breeze. Maybe she can help him bring light into the dark? He frowns. “C-can I ask you something?”

When she gives him only a nod and a raised eyebrow in response, he lets out a deep breath. “S-should I leave? It’s just- I-I don’t know what’s happening and I- I don’t know. It seems you all don’t like me very much.”

Bea sighs, wiping her hands on her apron. “Look,” She falls onto the chair opposite of him. “None of that matters, okay? You need help and you can stay here for however long you need it.” It doesn’t escape his notice that she doesn’t answer his question.

He looks down at his feet. “Does he hate me for something I did?”

Bea sighs, taking his hands in hers. The contact is unexpected, but surprisingly soft and careful. “You and Nick have a very…complicated relationship.” She seems to consider her next words carefully. “He’s bad at forgiveness and even worse if it’s about people who mean a lot to him-” she shakes her head. “And I-I think this should come directly from him. You two should talk.”

She squeezes his hand, giving him a stern look. “But please don’t ever feel like you need to leave because of that. On nobody’s account.”

Will nods, feeling a lump forming inside his throat. His head is still spinning with confusion, but the anxious thrumming inside his veins has quieted down a bit. Where he felt like a complete outsider before, he now hopes he might have found an unexpected ally.

He gives Bea’s hand a squeeze in return and goes back to eating his cabbage soup.

Will struggles to keep up with Nick’s pace as the other man hurries through the busy streets of London. Nick seems less than pleased by this turn of events. For a while, he even looked like he might suffer a nervous breakdown when it turned out that Will was the only one available to help him carry his latest script versions to the theatre. Even now, he keeps sending nervous glances right and left as if fearing someone might jump them at every turn.

Their relationship is still strained…to put it mildly. They barely talked a word these last couple of days. When they did, their interactions were short and Nick’s tone clipped. He always seemed just one wrong word away from unleashing his anger. Even now, Will can see it simmering beneath the surface. Anger and something else - guilt?

Will wonders how that might relate to the history Bea hinted at. Does Nick feel guilty for what happened to Will? Or is the guilt caused by the secrets Nick is keeping in regard to that Shakespeare character?

The London air is brisk and filled with its usual stink and smell. Will’s not sure why he remembers the awful smell of London in every detail when he can’t even remember his own name. Perhaps there is something very memorable about it.

Nick turns another corner and Will tries to keep up despite the heavy bags of parchment slung over both his shoulders. The exertion has left him sweaty and out of breath, which makes him wonder if he never did any physical work before.

Maybe that exhaustion is the reason he doesn’t see the person coming at him from the other direction. Not before it’s too late anyway. With a loud ‘oof’, two bodies collide and Will has only mind enough to pull the papers to his chest before falling face first into the mud.

He splutters when he comes back up, spotting the person he collided with in a similar state. The young man is in the process of dusting off his coat when his eyes widen almost comically. “Will?”

Will blinks, desperately trying to tie some sort of emotion to the face staring back at him. It’s handsome, quite young, with long eyelashes. For a moment, the image of a dark tavern flashes through his mind, but he can’t pinpoint if what he’s seeing is an actual memory or just imagination.

At the lack of recognition, the other man’s expression sours. “Of course you don’t remember,” he spits. “It’s Henry.”

Will frowns as more images rush past his eyes. There is laughter, and the taste of cheap ale on his tongue. “I-yes of course. We were at the- The White Horse together,” he stammers.

Henry scoffs. “Well, I’m glad you still remember the name of the tavern.” He pushes himself back to his feet, now looming over Will. “Shouldn’t have been surprised really, should I? After what you said?”

Will laughs nervously. If only he could remember what he said! He gets the distinct feeling it wasn’t anything particularly nice. He wonders why he keeps doing that. Does he like making his own life a lot more complicated?

The other man crosses his arms with a sour expression, and Will anxiously eyes the muscles bulging under his shirt. He slides backwards until his back meets solid wall. His eyes flitter to the side, searching for a way out.

“It always has to be about the great Shakespeare, hasn’t it?” Henry spits.

And there it is again - that name. It seems that wherever Will goes, Shakespeare is never far off. “I-” he stammers as the distance between them keeps shrinking.

Then, suddenly, the man is yanked back, revealing a fuming Nick behind him. Even if Nick is a lot shorter than Will’s attacker, his anger manages to make him look intimidatingly big. “Is there a problem here?” he asks, forced casual.

Henry’s jaw flexes. “I don’t think so. Not that it would be any of your business anyhow.”

Nick straightens, pulling himself up to his full hight. Will never thought that he could look any angrier than he did during their first fight several days ago. Clearly, he was mistaken, for Nick’s mood now seems almost explosive. “I think it is kind of my business when you’re bothering my employee.”

Henry raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “He works for you? Don’t you think it’s the other way around?”

Nick releases a barely restrained breath. “We’re writing partners.”

Something flashes across the other man’s face at that. He looks back and forth between them, and, this time, something seems to click. Perhaps he recognises Nick? Could their partnership be infamous in London’s literary circles?

“I see,” Henry purses his lips. “Didn’t know I was trying to interfere with a taken man.” He bares his teeth. “See you around then, Will.”

With a curt nod and another glare in Nick’s direction, he turns around and takes off towards the next junction.

Will is still sitting in the mud, utterly confused by the entire conversation. Was Henry trying to lure him away to work for someone else? Is that why Nick reacted so intensely?

The man in question lets out a deep breath, finally turning towards Will. For the first time in days, their eyes meet.

Nick’s face is a battleground of all kinds of different emotions. In the end, though, concern seems to win out. “Are you okay?”

Will has to swallow at the unfamiliar kindness in his voice. “I’m fine,” he insists, even though he doesn’t feel fine at all. His ass might be only slightly bruised - the emotions inside of him, however, feel like they might drown him any second.

“You sure?” Nick asks, frowning.

He offers Will his hand, which Will takes with a grunt.

“I’m fine,” he insists, as he’s pulled back to his feet. He tries to ignore the tingly feeling Nick’s fingers leave all over his skin. Also, the weakness that takes a hold of his knees at Nick’s insistent questioning. He forces himself to look away, just so he doesn’t land on his back a second time.

He doesn’t understand. He sees the feelings clear as day in Nick’s eyes and doesn’t understand how Nick can switch between them so easily. How he can be concerned and soft one moment and cold and angry the next. How he can still feel anything for Will when he has apparently more than enough reason to cut ties with him forever. It doesn’t make any sense.

Yet, Nick is soft when Will needs him to be. Yet, Nick looks out for Will when he doesn’t deserve it.

For a moment, Nick seems to struggle to regain control of himself. He nods, also averting his look. The concern is shoved back deep into his eyes, replaced by a familiar hardness.

He turns away, his voice flat. “We should keep moving. I won’t be late because of you.”

Will aches to make it better, to keep this other look on Nick’s face forever. He just wants Nick to see how hard he’s trying. He wishes he could make it up to him somehow. He-

The idea strikes Will like lightning, crackling all over his skin. He freezes. Maybe there is a way to make things right.

He just needs to get his hands on those notes again.

“Nick?” Will asks carefully.

“Huh?” Nick asks, from where he is half-slumped over his writing. He seems, if possible, even more tired than he did a few days ago. There are dark rings under his eyes. He needs to blink them several times before they finally focus onto Will.

Will shuffles closer, his heart beating out of his chest. He clutches onto the pages in his hand like his life depends on them. “I-I have something to show you,” he says, placing them onto the table carefully.

Nick looks at the pages, then back at him. His mouth twitches in irritation. “What is this?”

Will worries his lower lip. “I-it’s what I wrote from-from your notes. The ones I had a look at.” He flinches at the words, half expecting another outburst.

Instead, Nick sighs.

With defeated weariness, he reaches for the pages. He seems reluctant at first, shuffling through them with a confused furrow between his brows, before, slowly, his expression shifts to something unreadable. He doesn’t say anything for a very long time.

Will can’t help but hold his breath. The room is so quiet that he hears his own heart beating.

Finally, Nick looks back up. “T-this is good, Will.”

Will’s breath hitches. Something warm erupts inside his chest. Something that feels dangerously addicting. “Y-you think so?”

“Yes,” Nick nods emphatically, his eyes still glued to the pages. “Really, really good.” He huffs a disbelieving laugh. “I never knew you could write like that.”

Will can’t help but blush at his words. He picks at the skin on his fingers. “B-because you never let me try?” he asks, carefully.

For a moment, the words hang between them dangerously.

Then, Nick sighs, resting the papers back onto the table. “I-I’m sorry, Will. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I understand now that you only wanted to help. It’s just-” he sighs again, even deeper.

His shoulders sack. Suddenly, he looks much older than his age. “We-we had a fight. B-before you left.”

Will frowns. He drops onto the chair opposite Nick. “Is that why you were surprised to see me?”

Nick nods. “I-I thought this would be the last place you would want to come, honestly.” He chuckles darkly.

Will hums. He wants to believe that Nick is telling the truth this time. If he tries really hard, he thinks he can remember the ghost of an emotion inside his chest - something hot, boiling and desperate. “W-was the fight connected to…Shakespeare?”

Nick freezes. “Where did you hear that name?”

Will shrugs. “You and Bea talked about him,” he admits. He studies the way Nick’s expression twitches at the mention of the man. “Who is he?”

Nick lets out a deep breath, staring into the half distance but seeming miles away. “He-he’s also a playwright,” he starts. “He’s a very influential writer. We-we butt heads sometimes.”

“We used to be friends, a long, long time ago.” He chuckles bitterly. “He exploited me, stole my ideas. Now he’s famous and I’m not.”

Will scowls. “He sounds like an asshole.”

Nick laughs. There is a twinkle in his eyes that Will thinks he likes. “He is,” he agrees. “But he’s also very charismatic. Charming. Thoughtful if he wants to be.” He hums. “That’s what makes him so dangerous.”

His hands start to reorganise the pages before him. “He used to be very different when he was younger. A big dreamer. Talented.” His eyes flicker. “You-you remind me of him a lot actually.”

Will hums. He’s not sure how to feel about the comparison. None of these things seem to apply to him. Not right now anyway. “A-and he’s the reason we fought?” he asks.

Nick nods. “You stole my ideas and gave them to Shakespeare.”

“Oh.” Will doesn’t know what to say.

So, he is a bad person then. Finally, Nick’s reluctance around him seems to make sense. He was afraid Will was going to betray him a second time. And that meeting with Henry must have been like Nick’s worst nightmares come to life right in front of his eyes.

Will’s head swims. He can’t understand how the old him could do something like this to Nick- to his family. They are such lovely people who have taken such good care of him. How could he ever betray them?

Nick seems to notice his spiralling, because his features soften. “It’s fine, Will. It’s- it’s forgotten, okay?”

Will shakes his head. “H-how can you say that?”

Nick rests his hand on Will’s arm. “I can say it, because you’re not that person anymore. The old you would have never done this,” he motions at the pages Will gave him. “So, I know, okay?”

He gives Will’s arm a firm squeeze “Why don’t we finish this up for today, hm? Maybe have a glass of wine?”

Despite feeling far from reassured, Will doesn’t protest, when Nick guides him back towards the kitchen.

Internally, though, he makes a solemn vow: he is going to help the Bottom’s no matter the cost. He doesn’t care what that Shakespeare might do to him. He’s not going to back down. That much he owes them. Because after everything that’s happened, he wouldn’t know how to repay them otherwise.

“Good morning,” Bea greets, when Will stumbles into the kitchen the next morning.

She smiles when he only gives a dazed blink and unintelligible mumble in return.

It is a beautiful morning. The sun is shining and the room is filled by the smell of something heavenly sweet. “Come, have breakfast,” she says, gesturing to the table, which Nigel is already sitting at.

Will wordlessly falls onto one of the unoccupied chairs, nodding in thanks when she places a divine looking porridge in front of him. His stomach growls happily.

“This is great,” he says after some energy has returned to him with the first few spoons. It really is. It’s savoury and sweet and just the right amount of crunchy. Much better than the boiled cabbage soup they’ve been having for the last couple of days.

Next to him, Nigel nods fervently. “It’s amazing, Bea,” he agrees.

“Thank you,” Bea says, ruffling Nigel’s curls before moving on to do the same to Will.

Will feels something stirring deep inside of his chest at the contact. Something warm and unfamiliar.

“The patronage for the troupe was extended today, so I thought we should celebrate,” Bea explains.

“And don’t forget the new play we’re doing!” a familiar voice cuts in as the door swings open. “Good morning family!” Nick smile is almost as blinding as the morning sun. He leans down to press a kiss to the crown of Nigel’s head. For a moment, it seems he’s going to do the same to Will, but then he stops himself at the last second, patting his shoulder instead. Will’s heart still beats double time.

“And it’s all thanks to this guy here.” Nick gives his shoulder a friendly squeeze.

Will blushes at the praise. “Oh, I don’t think.”

“Speaking of which,” Nigel says, shoving the last bit of breakfast down his throat. “I need to get to rehearsals. I have this new extract that Will and I worked on last night. I want to show it to the guys.”

Nick nods, as his brother collects his belongings and rushes out the door. He then turns to his wife. “Good morning,” he says, leaning in to kiss her.

Will watches awkwardly as they keep going for several seconds, hands rested on each other’s hips. When they finally break apart, they keep staring into each other’s eyes with an expression so loving it almost hurts to look at.

Will’s chest squeezes. He clears his throat. “If-if you want to have some alone time I can leave,” he suggests weakly.

Bea turns to him, smiling softly. “Nonsense, pet, it’s your home too.”

Will feels himself blushing again, their warm looks almost too much to take. He’s never felt like this. Well, he probably has at some point - they have been working together for some time after all - but not since he can remember. It’s like everything has finally slotted into place. And although his past still remains a mystery, he finds himself feeling grounded in the man he’s becoming. In who and what matters to him.

“I need to be off to the market anyway,” Bea announces. “You boys have fun.”

A few minutes later, the door falls shut behind her once again, and Will is left only with Nick’s silhouette illuminated by the morning light. Looking at him now, Will is shaken by how happy the other man seems. He looks younger too. The wrinkles on his face are still there but there is a sort of glow to him that Will has never noticed before.

Nick sits down at the table with him, fetching himself a bowl of porridge. For a moment, they just eat in companiable silence.

“You-you know about yesterday,” Nick suddenly starts.

Will nods slowly.

“I-I didn’t want to make it feel like you needed to stay here. I-I really meant what I said. I forgive you.” Nick glances up at Will. “So, I just wanted you to know that you should feel free to leave whenever. I would be happy to help you settle back in if that is what you want. We-we don’t want to keep you here.”

Will sets down his spoon, mulling the words over in his head. He could…leave. After weeks of longing for this exact scenario it feels weird to admit he doesn’t really want to anymore.

It’s true that their last conversation made him feel a sort of guilty responsibility. But this morning has also given him a different perspective on things. He still thinks he owes it to them, not only out of a sense of responsibility but also because they’re his…friends. His family. The people who gave him a home and showed him kindness when he didn’t know who he was. And, no matter what might be out there, he finds himself not wanting to leave that behind.

“I-” he swallows. “I want to stay,” he says.

At that an unbelievingly bright smile breaks out on Nick’s face. “Okay,” he says, his eyes glimmering with something Will can’t quite place. They wordlessly return to their breakfast, the morning sun bathing them in its warmth.

Nick doesn’t declare how he feels about Will’s decision, but Will is pretty sure he knows either way. And he himself has never felt surer about anything in his entire life.

“I can’t write this,” Will sighs, resting his forehead against the pages in front of him in the faint hope that his thoughts might pour onto them in some meaningful order.

Nick hums from where he is diligently working through various revisions. He doesn’t look up. “Well, I’m glad to know that your amnesia didn’t make you lose your taste for the dramatic.”

Will scoffs. “You try writing about something you can’t ever remember experiencing.”

Nick rolls his eyes. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Will isn’t sure he agrees. The longer he searches for the right phrasing, the more the words seem to evade him. His brain buzzes in frustration. He huffs again, unhappily.

Nick sighs. “Do you want to talk it through?”

Will bites his lip, suddenly unsure. He doesn’t want Nick to think he’s not giving it his best. Not that Nick would throw him out if he were. No, he thinks they’re long past that. But Will wants to be a help, not someone who takes up even more of Nick’s time. More pressingly, he wants Nick to give him that stupidly soft look again.

“Is that what we usually do?” he asks carefully.

Nick’s expression flickers. “Sure,” he says, smiling tightly.

Now it’s Will’s turn to hum. He picks up the pages he wrote, showing them to Nick albeit a little reluctantly. “So, it’s the scene where Benedict confesses his undying love for Beatrice and they share a passionate kiss. And I know what’s supposed to happen afterwards, but I don’t know how to write the parts leading up to it.”

Nick raises an eyebrow. “You mean you don’t know how to describe the sexual tension between them?” he asks.

“I mean…yes,” Will says, blinking in confusion as Nick tries to suppress a grin. “What’s so funny about that?”

Nick laughs. “Oh, I’m sure you’re going to understand at some point.” He chuckles, skidding to Will’s side of the table. His hand brushes Will’s as he takes the quill from his fingers. Once again, Will is overcome by that weird tingly sensation.

“Let me see.” Nick bites his lips and Will finds he can’t really look away.

Nick’s body is warm next to his own and so, so close. Will swallows, trying to concentrate on what’s happening on the pages.

“So, what you want is for them to stare into each other’s eyes for a while,” Nick says. He chuckles. “They always do that, don’t they?”

“I don’t know,” Will breathes, staring into Nick’s eyes. They’re a fascinating shade of brown. How come Will never noticed this before? Or maybe he has and just can’t remember?

“And then there needs to be this spark between them. They touch perhaps,” Nick says.

Will tries to nod. Actually, he is too occupied by the way Nick’s arm rests against his own. Whenever Nick moves, Will feels as if he’s been sat on fire. He doesn’t know what’s happening to him. “Do they?” he asks, breathlessly.

At that Nick looks up. He studies Will’s expression for a while and something thoughtful settles on his features. His eyes fly to Will’s for just a second. He swallows. “They do, don’t they?”

The weird crackling in the air is now almost unbearable. It makes Will’s hair stand on edge in a way that isn’t entirely unpleasant. For some reason, he finds he can’t move his eyes away from Nick’s lips. They just look so perfectly nice and soft.

If the slow forward tilt Nick is doing is anything to go by, he might be experiencing a similar problem. Finally, the distance between them is so small that Will can actually feel the heat of Nick’s breath ghosting over his face. He smells of an intoxicating mix of wine and home.

They hover there, none of them daring to move another inch, yet pulled towards each other like magnets.

“Is this also what we usually do?” Will can’t help but breathe. His voice sounds strangely rough and airy. Maybe it’s because of the light-headedness he’s suddenly feeling.

Nick’s breath hitches, his eyelids fluttering. “Sometimes,” he says. Then he dives forward, pressing their lips together.

Despite their earlier closeness, Will can’t help but let out a noise of surprise. Nick’s lips are soft and warm. They push and pull in a way that makes Will feel like he’s done it a million times before.

Will’s mouth reacts almost instinctively. It’s like he knows what movements will elicit the best reactions from his partner. Their contact is easy and intimate.

That is until Nick starts deepening the kiss. His hand settles against the side of Will’s face, careful and gentle, and Will feels stars erupting inside his chest.

In comparison, Will seems inadequate and awkward. His neck is stiff, trying to meet Nick in all the right places but only managing to be too eager when he shouldn’t and unresponsive when he should. His hands hover uncertainly, first trying to settle on Nick’s shoulders but quickly finding it an impractical arrangement.

What he lacks in skill he more than makes up for in interest though. He tries to pour every ounce of gratitude into his movements - for how Nick allowed him into his little family, for how he gave Will a chance despite his, obviously, lacking writing skills. He tries to kiss like he must have done it many times before - appreciative and with every bit of the happiness he’s feeling.

For a while, everything is fine. They keep exploring each other’s mouths, sighing contently whenever there is enough air to. Then, Nick moves closer, laying a possessive hand on Will’s upper thigh. Will can feel a tingly feeling starting to spread from where they are touching and something in his lower abdomen twitches. The sensation is weirdly exciting but constricting at the same time. His heart stutters.

Nick’s hand repositions, moving even higher, and suddenly the feeling grows too much. Will freezes, his fingers digging into the fabric of Nick’s shirt.

Nick, oblivious to his situation, continues to palm at the bulge inside his pants.

Will swallows. “Nick,” he tries, feeling somewhere between overwhelmingly agitated and dizzyingly high-strung. He’s not sure what’s happening to him. They have done this before, Nick said so. Why then is he suddenly so sure that he hasn’t?

“Nick,” he says again, with steadier voice. When the other man still doesn’t react, he pushes him away by his shoulders. “Nick, stop,” he says.

To his credit, Nick stops immediately, giving Will a concerned look. “What’s wrong?”

“I-I-“ Will stammers, trying to put words to the confusing feelings inside of him. “I don’t know. It-it feels…strange,” he says.

An expression of hurt flashes across Nick’s face at that, but he manages to hide it pretty quickly. “Oh,” he says, tonelessly.

“I-I don’t think we’ve done this before. I-” Will tries to hold onto the thoughts but it dissolves before he can properly comprehend it. Everything around him begins to spin. His head starts throbbing, a loud sound right between his temples.

“Will, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. I-”

Will stumbles to his feet, the pain in his head now blinding. He closes his eyes, trying to get a grip on reality. Words, faces and places keep appearing before his eyes, only to disappear again. With each of them, the pain seems to intensify. Then suddenly with one bright flash – he remembers.

For a moment, all Will can do is stare at Nick who is hovering a few feet away, looking intensely worried. “I-” he stammers, trying to integrate his new memories into the mess of old ones.

He looks up at Nick, and two different men seem to be looking back at him. A wave of raw emotions washes over him. He feels fear like he’s never felt before. He feels a deep sadness he can’t really remember yet. But most of all he feels anger. Anger red and hot and so very familiar. So much more familiar than the quiet happiness they shared over the last couple of days. An anger that finally seems to make sense.

A sob tears from his chest. “You-you lied to me,” he says, unbelieving. “Everything you said was a lie.”

Nick’s eyes widen. “Will, I-”

“You lied to me!” Will screams, taking a threatening step towards the other man. His chest is an ugly and confusing mix of emotions. It hurts, thinking that the one place where he finally felt safe, like he was making sense, turned out to be just as much of a lie as everything else. Who is to say if Nick actually meant all those things he said? He was probably just trying to keep Will close so he could better milk him for his success. It hurts in a way Will wishes it wouldn’t.

“You made me do your work for you! You kept my identity a secret from me!”

“Will, I can explain. I-” Nick stammers.

“You tried to steal my work and publish it under your name!”

At that, the expression on Nick’s face shift. It’s a snap change - where his features were marked by worry only a second ago, a familiar annoyance takes root. Nick chuckles darkly. “Oh, haven’t I heard that one before, Will?”

His jab only stokes the fire inside of Will’s chest. “You-you tried to take advantage of me! Tried to kiss me!”

There is a history there that Will doesn’t fully understand yet. He sees a younger, more hopeful Will stealing a kiss from Nick after a successful rehearsal. He sees a younger, outraged Nick pushing him away and storming off. He feels the deep dark pit that threatened to pull him in afterwards.

What right does Nick have to do this to him now, when he was the one to turn Will down all those years ago?

He notices with a certain satisfaction the uncertain step back that Nick takes. “Oh please, as if you don’t do that to every half-decent person you see on the street.”

Will seethes. “Not if they’re someone who conveniently forgot about our whole history together!”

Nick rolls his eyes. “Tell me you have never brought home some poor drunken girl that would have never said yes if she was sober.”

Will halts. He remembers the reputation he has. He remembers sitting around in dimly lit bars, several girls to either side. He remembers being asked if they could share a room for the night. He doesn’t remember anything afterwards though. The details are fuzzy but there is something about the memories that doesn’t seem quite right.

Nick, of course, chooses to interpret his silence as agreement and laughs. “So, what is it, Will? It’s different, when it’s me? Am I that disgusting to you?”

Will doesn’t respond. He feels like he can’t breathe anymore. The roof is coming down on him.

So, he turns around and he runs. He runs, out of the door, into the dark streets. Through parts of the city that seem only vaguely familiar, hoping that his feet will carry him a way he only half-remembers. He runs until he can blame the breathlessness on the exertion and he doesn’t have the energy to cry any longer.

Still, he is not fast enough to outrun the memories that haunt him.

The night outside the windows is dark and stormy, much like you would image this kind of night to be. Shadows flicker across the study walls, only a single candle burning to illuminate the desk and the person sitting at it.

Will is drunk. He often is these days. Sometimes because it’s fun, other times because it’s the only way to cope with the exhaustion of writing. More often than not because it’s the only way to stop his thoughts from wandering.

Today they’re wandering anyway. Wandering the same way, he wandered earlier, to an all too familiar house and the all too familiar people living inside of it. One all too familiar person in particular.

Will stares down at his half-filled parchment and can’t even bring himself to cry. He’s used up all the tears he can shed for Nick Bottom. Now the only thing left are words. Words over words. More word than he can count. Will has modelled so many characters after Nick that it’s honestly a miracle that nobody has caught up to his ridiculous heartbreak yet. Still, he finds himself working on another sonnet about the one person he can never forget.

And oh, how Will longs to forget. He longs to forget those horrible things Nick said to him, the horrible words Will said in return. But more than anything he longs to forget the times before that - the times where Nick used to look at him with warmth in his eyes. Where his hands used to linger on Will’s just a second too long. Where he would laugh at Will’s jokes as if he was the cleverest writer in all of England.

It’s funny, Will thinks, how happiness can sometimes be much crueller than actual tragedy. Many times, he thought about taking a knife to his chest and trying to cut out whatever thing tethered his heart to Nick. Maybe if he stabbed it, it would finally stop beating for the other man. He can’t bear the deep darkness consuming him any longer. He can’t bear to spend another night agonizing over what might have happened if things had been different. He can’t keep going on like this.

With a final deep breath, he picks up the book next to him. It was hard to get a hold of, but if you’re William Shakespeare, nothing is impossible. Its golden cover feels cold under Will’s fingers and the light of the fire dances ominously in the gems embedded into it. The pages are old, worn and drenched in a sweet smell, that doesn’t seem quite right.

The page he is looking for is already opened. The last weeks he’s found himself staring at it more times than he’d like to admit.

With the sort of crude determination only too much ale and pure desperation can give, he picks up the knife next to him. Just one small incision is enough to dip his quill into. The cold metal burns in as it touches the wound. Blood drips onto the parchment.

When Will begins to copy the mysterious lines, their colour begins to turn a sickly green. A breeze rustles through the room as if something ancient were stirring beneath him. Still, Will keeps going. There is no going back now.

His hands start trembling as he feels something dark unfurling inside his chest. His head sways, suddenly overcome by a spell of heavy dizziness. For a moment, he can’t seem to recall what it is he’s doing. The next, his emotions hit him like a tidal wave.

“Wait,” he mumbles, as the lines begin to slip from his mind. He thinks something might be wrong, though he can’t really hold onto the feeling.

“Wait,” he mumbles again, trying to stop his hand from moving. To his great horror, he finds it impossible. The quill just keeps writing by itself.

This is not how it’s supposed to work, he thinks weakly. He’s supposed to forget Nick, not forget everything about himself! He tries to hold onto his memories, but he can feel them fraying at the edges. Darkness creeps closer as the panic inside of him grows.

 The last thing he sees, before he’s finally pulled under, is green ink on parchment and the lingering image of Nick’s house burned into his mind.

Then there is nothing.

Will lies on the plush cushions of his bed and wishes it were the uncomfortable threat of the blanket on the Bottom’s floor instead. He misses waking to the sound of Bea bustling around the kitchen. He misses workshopping ideas with Nigel during dinner to the repeated eyerolls of the rest of the family. He misses falling asleep on his notes only to be stirred awake by Nick draping a blanket around his shoulders.

It’s pathetic, it’s stupid and he really hates himself for it. He’d much rather hate Nick. In some way he thinks he does. He hates Nick for lying to him. He hates Nick for never fully embracing the role of manipulative asshole, for giving him glimpses of that kind and thoughtful man beneath. He hates Nick for playing him, for kissing him in the one moment where Will didn’t know any better than to go along with it.

He shudders, pressing the cushions closer to his churning stomach. Just thinking about the kiss makes him want to disappear down a deep dark pit of despair. He doesn’t know what to think. He hates himself for the enjoyment he felt in those first few seconds. He isn’t sure whether he should be embarrassed about what followed, or just absolutely livid that Nick dared to take advantage of him like that.

Which still might be the thing Will struggles to wrap his head around the most. He just doesn’t understand why Nick did it. Will knows that Nick doesn’t feel the same way – he’s made that more than clear over the years. So why then this sudden attack? Was he simply trying to demonstrate his power over Will? Was it a manipulative tactic to keep Will his tame and loyal pet? Or might his opinion on Will have changed? Did the forced proximity bring feelings to the surface that-

No, Will presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. He can’t even think about that possibility! He can’t let himself go down that rabbit hole. Not again.

The book and parchment still sit on his desk - undisturbed just like everything else inside his house. It seemed no one had even been looking for him. Will doesn’t know how to feel about that either.

He stares at the green ink, wondering if he could bring himself to do it again—and if this time the spell would extinguish his light for good.

It didn’t take him long to figure out what happened. The spell was supposed to delete every memory Will held of Nick. Turns out Nicholas Bottom has had a lot more influence on William Shakespeare’s life than Will likes to admit. It’s not just that Will seems to have been thinking about Nick almost constantly, it’s also the fact that without Nick, Will would never have become this. Without Nick’s help, and later also Nick’s contempt, Will would never have had the tools to make it.

In many ways, William Shakespeare is a product directly shaped by the mistakes of Nick Bottom. So when Will tried to delete Nick from his mind, he consequently also deleted all memories of William Shakespeare.

Will regards the blood spilled all over the pages and finds it hard to breathe all of a sudden. Long, ugly sobs wrench from his throat, until all he can do is gasp for air against the withering pain inside of him. He doesn’t know what to do. How is he supposed to carry on, find his own way, when all paths seem to be leading back to Nick?

Suddenly, the room seems too small, the walls closing in on him. Will stumbles to his feet, bolting towards the door. He was originally planning to catch a breath of fresh air, hoping it would appease his aching lungs. Unfortunately, his plans are interrupted by the collision with another body.

“Master Shakespeare?”

Will blinks up at the face of a woefully familiar looking man. This time he doesn’t need any help to recall his name. Henry. He remembers running into him in a tavern some months ago.

The man’s brows furrow as he takes in Will’s appearance. “Is everything all right?” Will doesn’t like the sly tone that resonates between his words.

Will nods, then shakes his head. “Yes- No -everything is fine,” he says, forcing a smile. “I was just on my way to-”

“Should I get someone for you?” Henry asks, feigned helpful. “Perhaps that friend of yours from last time?” His words practically drip with venom.

“No!” Will shouts perhaps a little too panicked. He chuckles. “I-I mean- No. It’s fine.” He runs a hand through his hair. “We-we’re not really working together anymore.”

“Oh.” Henry’s lips twitch. “That’s a shame. I thought you two were a real match.” He doesn’t actually sound saddened by the news.

Will almost burst out crying. It’s not fair, he thinks, that even after everything Nick did, Will should still feel the urge to protect him. He should have been over Nick, the moment the other first lied to him.

Why then does he feel like his chest is being split open? Why does he want to feel the texture of Nick’s lips against his? Why does he want to return to that house where everything was a lie yet so much happier? Why is it that his worst rival, of all people, is the only person Will has ever been happy with?

“Me too,” he whispers. Then, impulsively, he leans forward, pulling Henry into a passionate kiss.

The kiss is nice in the way that most kisses with an experienced kisser are. Will’s heart is empty, though. He doesn’t feel any fire, and he doesn’t feel any desperation either. All he feels is the hollow darkness consuming him from within, aching for the one person Will can never truly possess.

Henry seems oblivious to this fact, however. He gives Will a smug smile. “Do you want to come back to my place?” he suggests.

Will let’s go of his shirt. “No,” he says, like all the times before.

He leaves without another word.

It’s only several days later that Will walks by The White Horse again. Even from a distance, he can see a small crowd gathered in front of it, cheering and clapping at what seems to be a fight. Will rolls his eyes and briefly considers taking a different route, when he spots a familiar head of dark curls amidst the people. He stops.

The head disappears and the shouting grows in volume.

With a long-suffering sigh, Will steps forward “What’s going on here?” he asks, projecting what he hopes is his best imitation of nonchalance.

The ruckus stops as the people part around him, allowing Will to finally catch a glimpse of the person in their midst. Nick is on his knees, spitting blood into the mud. Half his face is painted a worrying shade of purple and one of his eyes is swollen shut. He looks a sorry state. His eyes flicker up to Will, his jaw muscles flexing. He doesn’t say anything.

“M-master Shakespeare!” There are several attackers, all looking rather young and sheepish. A wiry boy, who appears to be their leader, steps forward, sticking out his chest. “We were merely protecting your honour again this man here, Sir!”

Will looks down at Nick. “Well, I don’t think your ‘help’ is needed any longer,” he says. “So, if you would kindly leave this man alone.”

“But, Sir!” One of them protests, before Will silences him with a glare.

“Leave, I said!” At his words, the crowd scatters like a pack of frightened rats. Some shoot him venomous looks over their shoulders, which Will answers only with a cheerful smile and wave.

“Well, well,” Will says, turning back to Nick, who, after their departure, has sacked in on himself like a sack of potatoes. “Having a night out, are we?” He offers Nick his hand.

The other man only glares. “I could have handled them myself,” he growls, trying to push himself back to his feet but failing miserably.

“Of course, you could have,” Will drawls, before grabbing Nick under his arms to hoist him up.

The problem is that Will never really figured out how to stop caring about Nick. Nick and him are very similar in that regard, he supposes. Even hatred never stopped Nick from involving himself in Will’s affairs.

With some effort, Will manages to manoeuvre them over to a stack of crates, where he sits Nick down with a groan. Afterwards, he tries to assess the damage. “Are you alright?” He prods at the purple on Nick’s face.

Nick slaps his hand away, intensifying his glare. “I’m fine.”

Will hums, unconvinced, trying to turn Nick’s face so he can repeat the process with a different bruise. “That’s what you get for hanging around such seedy establishments, I suppose.” He grins. “Don’t you know Nicholas, that only the truly desperate come here?”

Nick scoffs. “Oh please, like you don’t come and go here,” he murmurs. “I’ve seen you hanging around that guy. Henry. And those beautiful ladies.”

Will uses his sleeve to try and wipe some of the blood from Nick’s face, which the other comments only with another slap to his wrist.

It’s funny, he thinks, how Nick accuses him of being the one to sleep around, when there has only ever been one for Will while Nick was the one to marry another. But, of course, marriage has always been something entirely different.

“Nicholas, don’t tell me you’re jealous?” He grins. It’s different to be back to their old dynamic. It feels…wrong somehow. Seeing the familiar anger superimposed on the same face that had been so gentle to him these past few days, leaves him at a loss for what to do. Except for what he always did – pushing back.

“I’m not jealous,” Nick laughs. “I’m just pointing out how hypocritic it is of you to be angry about what happened when you keep doing the same thing to other people. Tell me, Will, how many people did you kiss, trying to get your hands on their work?”

“So, you admit you only did it to steal my work?” Will smiles slyly.

Nick’s face grows an angry shade of red. “That’s not what I’m saying! I’m saying that you only joined our acting troupe to emotionally manipulate me so you could pass my work off as your own.”

“Oh, like you emotionally manipulated me into believing I was you employee so you could pass my work off as your own?” Will gives Nick’s cheek a pointed poke. “Really, Nicholas, I have to wonder what your plan was. Don’t you think people would have noticed William Shakespeare’s absence at some point?”

Nick blushes. “I admit that might not have been my finest moment.” His lips fall back into a scowl. “But at least I don’t make a habit out of doing it! I’m not the one dragging half-conscious people home with me!”

Will hums. “You’re implying, I try to sleep with people, who have forgotten who they are?”

Nick growls, looking down at his feet. It seems Will has found a sore spot then.

“I think it’s hypocritic of you, Nicholas, seeing as it was you who turned me down all those years ago saying you were ‘married’.” Will grins. “Say, what has happened to that marriage now?”

Nick raises his chin defiantly. “Well, I just happen to know my wife a lot better. And know what she is comfortable with.” His eyes sparkle angrily. “Anyway, it’s different because you were just pretending to be in love with me.”

The implications of his words do not escape Will’s notice. He forces his hands to stay steady as he starts inspecting Nick’s bloody hands. “So, what happened to me being a shit actor?”

Nick scoffs. “Lucky shot. Also, I was emotionally impaired.” He fiddles with his fingers, his voice growing smaller. “It was pretty convincing though.”

Will looks up at him. “Maybe because I wasn’t acting.”

Nick scowls. “Well, neither was I.”

For a moment, the words just hang between them and neither seems to know what to do about them. Will can almost feel the electricity running through the air.

He tries to distract himself by wrapping a handkerchief around Nick’s busted knuckles. “What did you fight about anyway?”

Nick’s eyes fall back onto his hands. If Will isn’t mistaken, his cheeks turn just the slightest bit of red. It’s hard to tell through all the bruises though. “This boy called you a whore and… I-I might have lost it a bit.”

Will raises an eyebrow. “You mean the thing you accused me of several times already?”

Nick sighs, finally looking up. Will is wholly unprepared for the regret swimming in his eyes. “I-I’m sorry, Will. I still don’t really understand what happened, but that doesn’t change the fact that I lied to you and that I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

Will swallows thickly. He feels himself being dragged back towards dangerous places - places he swore he would never let himself return to. But then, what’s the point of staying away when he will be miserable every other place too?

He forces a smile before taking a deep breath. “It’s okay. I-I mean- it’s definitely not.” He laughs. “But it’s very hard to stay angry at you when you’re looking like this.”

Nick chuckles before immediately wincing in pain. “C-can I ask you about it? What happened, I mean?”

Will runs a hand through his curls, feeling embarrassment burning in the back of his neck. “I-“ he clears his throat. “That was sort of the first time I did that,” he admits.

Nick scowls. “That was definitely not the first time you kissed someone,” he objects, before flinching, “Sorry, I didn’t mean-”

Will smiles faintly. “No, I am an experienced kisser. Thank you for noticing. But-” he hesitates. “But none of the…the other things.”

“Oh.” Nick seems honestly appalled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know- I-”

“It’s fine.” Will breathes out deeply, feeling a weight lifting from his chest. He laughs. “Truth is…I was kind of hung up on this man, so I- I couldn’t see myself being with anyone else.” He looks deep into Nick’s eyes.

“Oh,” Nick repeats. “Who- I mean- who-”

Will hums, closing the distance between them until their thighs are barely touching. “He’s a pretty annoying guy. A writer, if you can believe it.”

Nick coughs. “So, you and this guy- you-”

Will rolls his eyes with a sigh. “I am giving you all the signs, Nicholas. Can you please kiss me?”

“Oh,” Nick finally seems to catch the meaning of his words. “Oh.” Then he frowns. “A-are you sure?”

Will growls. “Yes,” he says, pulling Nick in by his collar.

“Okay,” Nick nods frantically, before surging forward to push their lips together.

It’s different this time. Somehow even better, which Will never thought possible. There is so much energy in their meeting that, for a moment, Will fears he might explode. Where their last kiss was built only on the feelings buried deep inside his stomach, this one is grounded in his dreams, in the fantasies that kept him up at night. It’s years of history and hopes of a possible future. It’s desperate and so, so incredible. It’s…home.

Will notices with something like soft fondness, the way Nick tries to keep his hands to himself this time. It’s a little clumsy, but he’s pretty sure he’s never felt so appreciated before. It makes his chest want to burst.

They break apart and Will can’t help the grin that spreads over his face. “I think-” he pants, “that inexcusable thing you did?”

Nick hums against his neck.

“…I might be able to forget about it.”

Nick rolls his eyes. “You’re impossible,” he says, before moving in for a second time.