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Will knew it was a risk, coming in here like this, but it was Martin.
Hartley had stayed back at Fellside Grange, claiming that Will was just going to get himself into trouble. Visiting Martin was worth risking trouble, though; Martin was Will’s favourite person (well, alongside Hartley, but that was different; Hartley was his brother), and besides that, the way Martin’s father treated him (or, rather, had him treated, because he knew as well as anyone how disinterested Sir Humpfrey was in his son) was abhorrent.
Martin didn’t have any siblings to keep him company, and he was almost never allowed in the village. He didn’t have one mum, let alone two (oh, Will knew his maman was his actual mum, but in practice… well… the adults were all sort of mixed together, weren’t they? besides, his maman loved him, and everyone deserved a mum who loved them). He wasn’t even permitted a pet, which Will thought might help him a lot.
No; all Martin had was Will and Hartley, and if Hartley wasn’t going to help, Will had to take matters into his own hands.
The stupid butler wouldn’t let him in to see Martin, so he waited until he thought the servants were probably at supper to come up the back stair to Martin’s room.
He called Martin’s name as he crept into the room. Martin reached for him; it made Will’s heart stutter a bit in his chest. Will embraced him, heart pounding in his chest at the closeness, and sat down on the bed beside him. “I missed you all day,” he admitted. He explained about the butler and the back stair and asked, “Are you terribly ill?”
He should have known better than to expect Martin to say anything other than, “I’m fine,” and when Will put the back of his hand to his forehead, Martin swatted him away and said, “None of that.”
“At least you’re well enough to be cross with me,” Will said. He couldn’t help but grin; he only felt even more painfully fond when Martin told him to suck eggs. He didn’t reply to that directly; he asked, “Will anyone be coming in here to check on you?”
Martin confirmed Will’s suspicions that no one would — that Will just had to leave by morning — and that was enough for Will to decide to stay as long as he could. He kicked off his shoes before laying down on top of the covers next to Martin.
He really was beautiful. He looked like something out of a painting, between his blond hair and his beautiful grey eyes that Will could hardly ever look away from. There was something refined about him that was utterly absent in Will, and as long as Will didn’t think about it (or about having to use the back stair to see his best friend) too much, it was fine.
“Shall I tell you a story?” Will asked. It was better than thinking too much. Stories were nice. They were comfortable, and he knew Martin liked even the most ridiculous ones he told. Besides, sometimes Martin would even fall asleep, and when he was asleep, he never scowled (Will liked his scowls, of course, but he also liked seeing him calm and peaceful).
Martin went on about how he wanted a happy ending. Will teased him for being picky, though, truthfully, he liked happy endings sometimes, too, poking him between the ribs. Martin gasped, and somehow they were wriggling against each other.
He wasn’t sure whether he was imagining the hardness pressing up against him, but there was nothing to it. There was nothing to this. They were just boys, after all; it was perfectly innocent. Even if Will couldn’t help but think about kissing Martin, he wasn’t thinking about doing anything more than that for ages, probably.
And Martin definitely wouldn’t want that from him, anyway. To him, Will was just a friend. His best friend, of course, and someone he loved more than anyone else, but still… a friend. Not a lover. Not someone to share a future with.
Martin would marry some compliant little debutante from Debretts or whatever it was and have pretty little aristocratic (were baronets aristocratic? Will admittedly didn’t entirely know) children.
But Will would be there. As his best friend. He’d never leave Martin’s side, ever.
Even now, as Martin turned his back to him, Will stroked his cheek and told him that it was all right. “I’ll always stand by you,” he promised. “Though anything. No matter what.”
He wrapped his arm around him and pulled him close.
When Martin didn’t say anything — of course he didn’t; it was Martin, and it was feelings, and Martin didn’t like to admit he had feelings even when he was well — Will started his story. “A thousand thousand years ago…”
“Just say a million,” Martin murmured. From anyone else it might have annoyed him, but from Martin…
No; Will wasn’t going anywhere at all. He was going to stay right here. Forever.