Chapter Text
In another life, where none of this happened, maybe things would’ve been different.
I was ready—I was so ready, and I was proud of myself for finally being ready.
Why couldn’t you be ready too?
—
“Do you think you’re imagining it?” He asked in a thick accent.
“I’m not sure.” Will replied, his hands slightly shaking in front of him. He crossed his arms to stop them.
“What makes you doubt yourself?”
“I don’t know, Ivan. I just—“
“Richardson.” The man corrected him, although his face remained in that calm, almost eerie, expression.
“Richardson,” Will repeated, slightly nodding his head and taking a deep breath. “It just feels so… familiar. Like I’ve heard it before—I mean, I did hear it before.”
Richardson leaned forwards and refilled Will’s cup of tea. “He’s dead, Will.”
“I know he is.” Will closed his eyes and nodded. He pushed against his nose bridge with two fingers, trying to make sense of all of this. “It just… it just sounds and feels like him.”
“It might feel like him, but it isn’t. He’s gone.” Richardson took a sip of his own cup of tea, keeping his eyes locked onto Will.
“Then what’s happening to me?” Will asked desperately. He felt like a child at this point, begging for his distress to be recognized.
Or at least addressed.
“You may be experiencing hallucinations due to stress, did you take a new job at that studio?”
“Yeah,” Will admitted. “But it’s not something big. Nicole needed some help with rendering some scenes, and I’m her friend.”
“If she’s your friend, then she understands how stressful your life already is.” Richardson said, giving Will a pointed look.
“She’s my friend, yes, but she doesn’t know everything about my life. She doesn’t need to know.” He replied, trying to keep his eyes from rolling.
“Then how do you consider her a friend? Isn’t she more of an acquaintance?”
“If we’re going by that logic, then you’re my friend.” Will said, the corners of his lips slightly quirking upwards into a smile.
“I’m your therapist, Will, I’m meant to know these things.” Richardson replied. He checked his watch before gesturing at the tea in front of Will. “Do you want to drink that, or should I take it away? Our session’s over.”
Will looked down at the tea. Having finished two cups already, a third didn’t seem attractive to him. However, he didn’t want to be rude. He picked up the cup and chugged it down before standing up and straightening his shirt.
“I’ll be seeing you then, Richardson.” Will said, heading for the coat hanger to retrieve his jacket and scarf.
“Have a good day.” The other man replied, collecting the empty tea cups.
But before leaving the office, Will suddenly remembered something. He turned around and stared at Richardson, who gave him a confused look when he noticed.
“What about medication?” Will asked, fiddling with the sleeves of his jacket. It was old and worn out, slightly bigger than his frame. His sleeves were the worst with strings hanging out of them, the rest all torn.
“Will.” Richardson exhaled, his face not being able to hide the discomfort and disappointment he was feeling.
This look made Will backtrack, his nervousness being amplified by Richardson’s glare.
“Ah, yeah.” Will pushed his glasses up and shrugged. “Sorry, um.”
He made his way to the door, not bothering to turn around and face that man any longer. “Bye, Ivan.”
—
Will gently knocked on the door with his free hand, his other tightly gripping a drink carrier with three cups of coffee.
He took the paper bag he put underneath his shoulder after knocking in his hand, trying to make himself presentable. A thought creeped into his mind while waiting for that inevitable greeting at the door: he should’ve ran a comb through his hair.
The door opened with a click.
“Will! Hey, how are you man?” Lucas said with a grin.
“I’m good, what about you?” Will responded, feeling a smile creep up on his face.
He hasn’t seen Lucas or Max in a long time, albeit it was his fault. Cancelling plans, making excuses… he doesn’t want to be around them, but also yearns for hang outs like the old times. He misses Max’s jokes, Lucas’ hugs—it feels embarrassing saying it out loud for some reason.
Lucas grew a short beard and got short two-strand twists which suited his face shape, Will observed. When he pulled Will into a side-hug, an awkward one due to the drink carrier, Will could smell his strong, camp-fire scented cologne.
His appearance made Will shrink into himself. He has to confess that, although he hates it, he cares how he looks, especially now. The difference in their clothes, their hair, their scents—it made Will insecure. He wanted his friends to look at him and feel proud of who he became, not disappointed.
“Let me get that for you, come in.” Lucas said, holding open the door for Will.
It was bigger than Will’s apartment and more cozy. A dark red couch was pushed against a wall with a bow window, where a small black puppy was curled up. Max sat on said couch with a blanket draped on her legs, a toddler sleeping in her lap.
Will recognized the kid. The last time he saw him was when he was only a newborn. “Is that Charles?” He asked, slightly bending down and pointing at him.
“Will?” Max muttered, grinning and looking in his direction. Her eyes were white and glossy, and even after decades the sight of them pained his heart.
“Hi.” Will said with a sigh. In the past, he’d often wave his hand or nod his head towards her in acknowledgment. He’s dropped that habit now.
“I’m sorry we haven’t seen each other in a while.” He said, an awkward smile unconsciously spreading across his face.
Max’s red lips grinned at him, her hands slightly squeezing Charles’ shirt as she pulled him in closer—a sign of excitement. “Yeah well you should come over more often, then I’ll accept your apology.”
Will turned his head to Lucas, who chuckled at him. He returned the action, feeling his body loosen up more. The tension he felt on the way here dissolved in the reminiscent atmosphere of their childhood.
“He brought coffee and…” Lucas raised a brow as he approached Will to take the drink carrier out of his hands, nodding towards the paper bag.
“A muffin for you, Max.” Will said, plopping the bag on the coffee table next to the drink carrier. Lucas took a cup and handed it to Will, letting the other two cool down a bit for him and Max
“Thanks,” She replied, “how is everything with you?”
“It’s fine.” Will said.
“Nothing new?”
“Nothing new.”
He held eye contact with the floor, refusing to lift his head up. Guilt dug its nails into his heart, ripping arteries in its cruel grip. He wasn’t one to lie. Ever since he was young, lying wasn’t something attractive to him at all. It was a quality that he found himself repulsed by, unconsciously criticizing others who did it. He didn’t understand the good of concealing yourself from people that trusted and loved you.
But, as all humans do, he changed. His first lie was of the painting and its significance, his second was probably to his dad when he moved in with him, and his most recent one was now.
With embarrassment, he realized that lying both has its consequences and benefits. Finally, at 15, he had to admit that the world couldn’t function without fallacies. Life wasn’t going to remain the way it was when he was 8, living with his family in a small house. Even then, he couldn’t bring himself to lie to people who don’t deserve truth—who if they did know the truth, he would get harmed by them.
This should’ve taught him; it taught Jonathan. But he didn’t grasp the concept because of two things: Jonathan would do the job for him, protecting him from those people, and those people left too fast for him to understand the benefit of lies.
His friends, Mike, Lucas, and Dustin, just pushed the notion of lying being something absolutely terrible—something unforgivable and disgusting—and so, he always perceived this act as an insulting quality to have.
But at 15, he was isolated. His mother was busy with her new job and the big move, and his brother was smoking away what he once was—what he could’ve been. He couldn’t confide in El, no, because El had to confide in him. He knew what was right and what was wrong, and he further drove the narrative of lying being a negative thing into her.
And being left alone with his feelings… lies comforted him. He had no defense to his emotions, which were trying to destroy him from the inside out. So, the lies that slipped off of his tongue brought a warmth he became addicted to. And as he tightened the cap of the bottle more and more, he became more independent and reliant on himself. And finally, he saw good in that. He saw the benefit.
It helped others, like Mike and El in their relationship, and it did often hurt him, but that warmth that he was so drunk on was worth it. He sacrificed himself so that others could find comfort in their lives; he helped Mike, he helped El, he helped Jonathan—hell, he even helped his dad. It made life easier, it made him less of a nuisance. With time, he managed to control himself, even with the tightness of the bottle. He would not explode, he would adapt.
And now, he spared Max and Lucas of worry.
But are you really fine with that, Will?
“Shit.” His fist tightened by his side. He squeezed his eyes shut and slightly shook his head, trying to stabilize himself.
“Will, are you good dude?” Lucas asked, moving forward and placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. When Will looked up to face him, he saw that his eyebrows were pulled into a frown: worry.
An awkward smile forced itself onto Will’s face. “Yes, I just have a headache.” He said, slightly nodding along with his words. He straightened himself up and took a sip of his coffee, the liquid burning his tongue.
Lucas stayed quiet, his frown still on display. He squeezed Will’s shoulder, and then it hit him. Lucas wanted Will to keep talking, to tell the truth. No, Will couldn’t do that. Silence covered the room with her thick blanket, suffocating Will. He needed to make an air pocket, to break it.
“I’m just sorta stressed out at work, and staring at a screen all day doesn’t help with it. Just gives me headaches.” He built upon his excuse, bringing the coffee to his lips again. Finally, he felt Lucas’ hand slip off of his shoulder and move towards his own cup.
“Hey, I have some pills for that if you want some?” Max said, also trying to break the awkwardness between the three of them. She moved Charles slightly away from her chest as she took the cup of coffee Lucas offered her.
“Oh, no it’s fine. I already have some. Thank you, though.” Will smiled at her, and even though she couldn’t see him, a smile paralleling his formed on her face.
Lucas grabbed onto Will’s bicep, trying to lead him to the couch. “Sit down, let’s talk.” He said, his tone light and polite. Will shook off his hand and took a step back, his eyebrows pulling into an apologetic frown.
“Sorry, but I have to keep moving. I have a client down the road.” He said, waving his hand mindlessly. This was true; in fact, the only reason he dropped by their apartment was because it was on the way to his client. Richardson told him that it was important to stay in contact with the ones that were still alive.
“Oh.” Lucas sighed. The distance that grew between them as they stopped hanging out more and more began to show its effects. It was as if every conversation they had was just a lengthy, wordy sister of small talk. Will felt that Max and Lucas probably didn’t want him to stay, either. This was clear through their lack of protest.
Lucas sunk down onto the couch next to Max, sipping his coffee. “It’s alright, you should come over more, though. We’d be happy to have you over for dinner sometime.” Lucas said, gesturing towards Max.
The movement of the couch caused Charles to wake up. He wiped his face and pushed himself off of Max, a cry on the edge of his tongue. Max tried to push him back closer to her, but he resisted, shaking his curls as he turned his head side to side.
“Shit, come on Charles.” Max muttered, putting down the coffee.
Suddenly, Charles turned his head to Will and stilled, his mouth frozen in a mid scream. He turned to Lucas and pointed at Will.
“Yeah, I know, I know. That’s Will.” Lucas said, chuckling. Will mirrored him, waving a hand to Charles. Charles held eye contact with him, ignoring his parents’ laughs. His small, brown eyes pierced into Will, refusing to wander and acknowledge something else.
Suddenly, Will felt dread. Seeing Charles actually move slightly scared him. When he was still, Will could ignore his entire existence. Ignore the fact that his friends moved on, that they progressed and he didn’t. But now that Charles was animated, proving his living-self to Will, that reminder of change being present hit Will’s mind like a sledgehammer.
They moved on. Will didn’t. Will couldn’t. He couldn’t move on with someone, he couldn’t have a child, he couldn’t let go of his therapist, he couldn’t even get rid of his jacket. Why could they change and not him? Why can’t he get something for once?
Do you resent them?
Will pressed his fingers to his nose bridge. He had to shake off this voice, quickly. He needed to let go of the past.
“Well, I’ll be leaving then. It was nice seeing you guys.” Will said, nodding towards them. Lucas stood up as a gesture of respect. Will smiled and turned around, heading towards the door.
“Hey, we’re serious about that dinner. Do you prefer chicken or fish?”
“Oh, chicken.” Will replied.
“What?”
“I can’t handle the smell of fish, it’s why I didn’t like hanging out in Mike’s bedroom. The basement was more breathable in.” Will joked, turning back around to face Lucas.
“What do you mean, Will?” Lucas asked, a confused expression on his face.
“It’s not that big of a deal.” Will said with sarcasm, fiddling with his sleeves.
Lucas turned to look at Max, whose expression mirrored Lucas’. “Will?”
Will’s heart dropped as he realized that Lucas wasn’t talking—that he hadn’t said anything at all ever since Will walked to the door. That voice… it was setting him up now. It was smart.
“I thought you said something.” Will sighed, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “I’m sorry.” Lucas opened up his mouth to say something, but Will left before he could.
Will staggered down the hallway, sweat gathering at his brows. He got into the elevator and repeatedly pressed the ‘close door’ button. When the iron doors finally shut, he ran his hands through his hair and leaned his back against the metal wall of the lift.
Ever since he started living on his own, he involuntarily began to grow out his hair. He didn’t have the extra money for a barber or the time and energy to do it himself, and so, his messy hair practically brushed against his jaw. Although, that was the least of his problems at the moment.
Just then, the elevator doors opened. Before Will could leave, somebody walked in.
Will’s heart squeezed out all of its blood as he made eye contact with the person: Lois, his ex.