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Wolfgang comes to him a while after new year’s eve - it could be just a few weeks, or several months. Will doesn’t know anymore, doesn’t even bother to keep track of time. It only gets him frustrated, angry, tired, he’s so damn tired.
Wolfgang comes, and for a moment, Will thinks he’s drunk. The effect of the heroine has passed for about an hour or two, now, so the connection is clear, but maybe it messes up for the first few hours, ‘cause Wolfgang stumbles when he appears. Then, he straightens his back, shakes his head, and looks at Will laying on the couch. Grins slightly, winces, and his eyes soften in a way Will hasn’t seen those blue eyes, so similar to his, do.
Thing is, they don’t need a lot of words. From the very beginning, from the first time they saw each other, there hasn’t been a lot of words exchanged between them, and that’s okay. Wolfgang’s always struck him as the type to act rather than to say, so when Wolfgang nudges his foot with his knee, a barely-there bump of their legs, he simply bends them so Wolfgang can sit on the couch, and then he lowers his legs again, letting them fall onto his sensate’s lap. And it’s okay.
The warm hand Wolfgang keeps on his ankle is okay, also.
Will knows many things, and Wolfgang doesn’t have to tell him. Besides being connected to him, Will also has the advantage of having been - of being - a cop. He notices things. He sees the slight cut on Wolfgang’s upper lip; the way his nails are as short as they can be from biting them off, short and dirty from fighting or from fleeing - doesn’t matter; Will can see that there’s relief in the way Wolfgang’s shoulders fall with a sigh, and wonders what does it mean that it’s to Will that Wolfgang comes when he needs- He doesn’t know what Wolfgang’s seeking here. Can’t get that, not without Wolfgang talking to him.
Will closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Lets it out.
He supposes Wolfgang will speak when he feels like it.
The warm hand on his ankle stays where it is, and Wolfgang’s other hand comes to hold one of Will’s in his. Wolfgang doesn’t speak, but Will opens his eyes and looks at him - really looks at him, takes in the tiredness in the bags under his eyes, the trembling lips, the eyes that keep avoiding him.
Now, Will acts on instinct alone, doesn’t think, only acts. He pulls Wolfgang by the hand, tugs at him until their eyes lock and Will can throw back a slight grin, himself. He makes as much room on the couch as he can, and he knows it’ll be a tight fit, especially for two grown men, but he moves anyway, and then he’s got Wolfgang with him, and he’s got his knees glued to the back of Wolfgang’s, and his nose is pressed to the short blonde hairs of Wolfgang’s nape. The body in front of his relaxes almost instantly, barely seems to mind that if they move one inch they’ll fall off the couch, only sighs in peace, and Will just knows that Wolfgang’s slept in far worse places than a small couch.
Will wraps an arm around Wolfgang’s torso to keep him in place. Suddenly, it’s all so very clear. “I got you.” It’s just a whisper, really, low and quiet into Wolfgang’s ear, but the blond nods almost imperceptibly, a shiver running down his spine. Allowing himself a small smile, Will closes his eyes and waits for Wolfgang’s even breathing lull him back to sleep.
It’s not until he’s barely asleep, barely even there, gone enough that if he doesn’t know better, he’d think it’s a dream, that Wolfgang replies. “Danke.”