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Cecil Markowitz; red hair, bright eyes with always a devilish smile in them. He flitted across any room, deadly and kind-faced. He was a boy with a garage sale personality and a hug like a pair of old sneakers.
Will was grateful for him. He was.
Cecil had been Will’s friend long enough to know that for certain. He’d also been his friend long enough to know Will’s deadname, Will’s favorite pair of underwear, and Will’s worst mental health days.
Today was one of those days.
Ignorant to this, Cecil snuck quickly through the room, hidden feet on sacred cabin room carpet, heart aflutter with a scare yet made. He loved making Will jump. All he had to do was yell,
“Boo!”
He had grabbed Will’s shoulders - thin, gentle, pale, pink, freckled - to frighten him more, but something was wrong. Tense, drawn, bunched - something was wrong.
Will looked sick.
Cecil had seen Will sick.
Cecil took his hands off of Will Solace immediately.
“What’s wrong.” Voice soft. No questions made.
No questions answered. Will isn’t home. Cecil sees Will’s blue eyes and blinks blinks blinks; where did Will go? His body seems so empty.
“Will, are you there?”
Will turns his head away from the voice - gentle, gentle - and does not speak.
Complete nonverbal dissociation.
That was new.
Will looked sick.
Cecil grunted, tapping his tappable chin and grinning a damnable grin. Smiling made it easier. Will liked to laugh.
“Where are you, big guy?” Cecil asked Will’s body absent-mindedly. “A fight?”
Will scrunched harder.
“Did you and Nico have a fight?”
Will scrunched harder.
“Did you and Nico have a very bad fight?”
Will’s eyes - bright, bright like an animal’s - met Cecil’s and he did not shiver. So icy cold and terrified, both of them. Cecil looked into them though he felt fear.
“I love you.” He said, because Will has borderline personality disorder, and it needs to be reminded. “You’re my closest friend and I like buying you things.”
Will’s mouth opened, maybe smiled.
“I love you.” He said again. “Nico loves you.”
Will turned away again. His eyes are gone. He is uncertain. He looks at his hands and Cecil hears, Am I real?
“He loves you.” He said again.
Will looked worse.
“Do you want me to read?”
Nothing.
“Music?”
Nothing.
“Alone?”
Will hit the table with his knee, jumping. His voice is still gone. He said nothing. He got up, walked, sat, walked, grabbed his hair. Pulled it. Pulled it again. Pulled it again.
“I’m here,” said Cecil. “I’ll be here until I wanna leave.
Will nodded. Together, they waited.