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The first time Anthony sat in Will’s lap, it was for a bit.
Everything with Anthony was for a bit.
He dropped into the chair sideways while one of the cameras was still rolling, dramatic sigh, all dead weight and long limbs. Will barely reacted beyond shifting automatically to stop him from falling. Anthony leaned back against his chest like it was totally normal.
“Comfortable?” Will asked flatly.
“No,” Anthony said. “Your body is shaped weird.”
“Then get off me.”
Anthony stayed exactly where he was.
The comments loved it.
After that, it just became part of the rhythm of things. Anthony was touchy in the same absent-minded way some people bounced their leg or cracked their knuckles. A hand on someone’s shoulder when he walked past. Fingers tugging at the hood of a sweatshirt. Leaning into people without thinking about it.
But with Will, it was constant.
Anthony would hook an arm around his neck while reading something over his shoulder. Rest his chin on Will’s shoulder to annoy him. Fix his hair after they took headphones off, pushing strands back into place with quick, careless fingers.
“Your hair looks insane,” Anthony muttered once, puffing it up.
“It always looks insane.”
“Yeah, but now it looks… weird.”
Will snorted without looking up from the editing software.
Sometimes Anthony grabbed his waist to move around him in the kitchen, even when there was plenty of room. Sometimes he leaned against him so hard the couch cushions dipped sideways. Sometimes he talked with his hands and forgot they were there, fingertips drumming against Will’s knee while he explained something.
Will got used to it.
Or maybe he already had been.
That was the thing about Anthony. He made closeness feel casual. Unimportant. Like breathing. Like background noise.
So nobody questioned it.
Not even Anthony.
+++
The problem started on a weeknight.
No cameras. No streaming. No audience waiting to clip things into compilations with titles like “five minutes of anthony and will acting married… or divorced”
Just them in the goffice at nearly midnight.
Anthony sat cross-legged in his chair, scrolling through comments while Will exported footage across the room. The goffice was dim except for the monitor light and the cheap lamp in the corner that made everything look softer than it really was.
“You seeing these?” Anthony asked. “Somebody said I look like I smell like wet denim.”
Will didn’t look away from the screen. “Do you?”
“Your betrayal is crazy.”
“Take a shower then.”
Anthony clicked his tongue at him but smiled anyway.
Silence settled again. Easy silence. Familiar.
Will finally pushed back from the desk with a tired exhale. “God. My eyes hurt.”
“Skill issue.”
“Shut up.”
He crossed the room, stopping behind Anthony’s chair. Anthony barely noticed at first. He was still scrolling, still half-reading comments aloud under his breath.
Then Will’s hand landed lightly on the back of his neck.
Not roughly, or joking, just there.
Anthony froze.
Will’s fingers brushed against his hair, absentminded almost, pushing it away from where it curled against his hoodie collar. A tiny gesture. Thoughtless.
The kind of thing Anthony did to him all the time.
“You missed a spot,” Will said quietly.
Anthony blinked. “What?”
“There’s-” Will rubbed his thumb near Anthony’s shoulder. “Chip crumbs or something.”
“Oh.”
Will brushed them off.
Then he rested his hand there for one second too long before stepping away.
That should’ve been it.
It wasn’t.
Because suddenly Anthony could still feel it.
Like the touch had stayed behind somehow. Warm against the back of his neck. Pressed into his shoulder.
Weird.
Weird.
Anthony stared too long at the same comment on his phone.
“You good?” Will asked.
“Yeah.”
His voice came out slightly wrong.
Will noticed. Of course he noticed.
Anthony stood abruptly. “I’m gonna get water.”
“You hate water.”
“I’m evolving.”
Will gave him a suspicious look as Anthony escaped into the kitchen.
He stood there for a full minute staring at the fridge.
Nothing had happened.
That was the stupid part.
Will touched him all the time too, technically. They shoved each other around, wrestled over controllers, bumped shoulders in hallways. Physical contact wasn’t new.
So why did that feel different?
Anthony rubbed a hand over his face.
Because it had been gentle.
Because there’d been no performance in it.
Because for one horrible second it felt careful.
+++
After that, Anthony became hyperaware of everything.
Will’s hand against his back while squeezing past him.
Will knocking his knee against Anthony’s under the table.
Will reaching over him for something and accidentally brushing his arm.
Every touch landed too hard now, charged with something Anthony couldn’t name without sounding insane.
Which meant Anthony’s solution was obviously to avoid all of them completely.
Poorly.
He started sitting on the opposite end of couches. Started stepping away when Will got close. Started keeping his hands to himself with visible effort, like he’d forgotten how to be a person.
Will noticed within two days.
“Why are you acting like I’m gonna get you sick?”
Anthony looked up too fast. “I’m not.”
“You flinched when I touched your shoulder.”
“I did not.”
“You literally recoiled.”
“I adjusted.”
Will stared at him from across the kitchen island, unconvinced.
Anthony focused aggressively on opening a bag of chips.
There was a long pause.
Then Will walked around the counter and stopped beside him.
Anthony immediately went still.
God. That was embarrassing.
Will leaned against the counter, close enough that their sleeves touched. “Seriously,” he said. “What’s your deal?”
“No deal.”
“You’re being weird.”
“I’m always weird.”
“Different weird.”
Anthony ripped the chip bag open too hard. “Can you stop psychoanalyzing me for like ten minutes?”
Will’s expression shifted slightly at that.
Not hurt exactly. Just confused.
Anthony instantly regretted it.
Before he could fix it, Will reached over and took the bag from him.
Their fingers brushed.
Anthony pulled his hand back on reflex.
Will blinked once.
Then he laughed softly through his nose, not amused.
“Oh my god,” he said.
Anthony’s stomach dropped. “What?”
“You’re making it weird.”
The room went quiet.
Will looked genuinely baffled, like this entire situation had snuck up on him too.
Anthony opened his mouth. Closed it again.
Because the worst part was that Will was right.
It was weird now.
Not because Will touched him.
Because Anthony couldn’t stop thinking about it afterward.
Couldn’t stop replaying the feeling of Will’s fingers at the back of his neck like it meant something.
And maybe that realization showed on his face, because Will’s expression changed again. Subtler this time. More careful.
“Oh,” Will said softly.
Anthony looked away immediately. “Don’t.”
“Anthony-”
“Seriously. Don’t make this a conversation.”
“It already is.”
Anthony laughed once, short and nervous. “Cool. Awesome. Love that for me.”
Will stayed quiet.
Anthony could feel him looking at him, which somehow felt worse than being touched.
Finally, Will said, “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
That should’ve helped.
Instead something twisted unpleasantly in Anthony’s chest.
“Yeah,” he said quickly. “Obviously.”
Will frowned slightly.
Anthony hated himself a little for that reaction. Because what had he expected? A cinematic confession in the kitchen while he was holding a half-open bag of chips?
Be serious.
Still, he couldn’t stop the disappointment from flashing across his face before he buried it.
Will noticed that too.
Of course he did.
For a long moment neither of them spoke.
Then Will sighed and leaned back against the counter beside him. Close again. Not avoiding him.
“You know,” he said quietly, “I touch you back like once and you have a crisis.”
Anthony groaned, covering his face. “Just kill me.”
“No, this is funny now.”
“It’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny.”
Anthony peeked through his fingers. Will was smiling slightly. Small enough that it didn’t feel mean.
“You’re evil,” Anthony muttered.
“Probably.”
Another silence settled.
Less sharp this time.
Anthony slowly lowered his hands. “I’m not having a crisis.”
“You like, fled the room.”
“I was thirsty.”
“You stood in front of the fridge for five minutes staring into space.”
Anthony stared at him. “How do you know that?”
“I came in to get a drink. You looked haunted.”
Despite himself, Anthony laughed.
Will smiled properly this time, and something warm twisted in Anthony’s stomach again.
Different now, though. Less panic. More inevitability.
“Oh,” Anthony said quietly, mostly to himself.
Will tilted his head. “Oh what?”
Anthony looked at him for a second too long.
Then he reached out automatically, instinct, habit, muscle memory, and fixed the collar of Will’s hoodie where it had folded inward.
This time, when his fingers brushed Will’s neck, Will went still too.
Anthony noticed.
And suddenly he didn’t feel quite so alone in it anymore.