emergency contact (and other poor life decisions)⸠will smith
PAIRING ⸠will smith (wsh2) x readerÂ
GENRES ⸠fluff, wsh soft, childhood best friends â idiots in love, emergency contact, drunk calls, late night vulnerability, one bed trope MY FAV
SUMMARY ⸠the three times will smith calls you when drunk, and the one time it actually matters.
WORD COUNT ⸠7.7k words
AUTHORâS NOTE ⸠sharks gameday!!! smitty beating WASHED ALLEGATIONS, smitty beating BALD ALLEGATIONS, 21 bday with the toffoliâs, hatty watch the last game?? this is will smith hopecore and he will score tn!!! (i love him i cannot deal) also longest fic soooo far yay!Â
the first time will calls you when he shouldn't, itâs at 2:47 in the morning. your phone buzzes against your nightstand far too loud and far too long enough to drag you out of sleep, the screen lighting up your dark room with a caller id you know far too well: will smith (contact name willy for nickname purposes). for a moment you just stare at it, half awake and half convinced youâre still dreaming. then your phone rings again. then buzzes a text. then rings again. which means one thing, and one thing only - will has either done something incredibly stupid, or he needs a ride home.
or possibly both. both was very possible if it was concerning will.
grabbing your phone, you mentally prepare yourself for whatever will, known resident troublemaker, has gotten himself into, and dragged you into by default.Â
willy: Y/n. I am sloshed. (sent with Siri).
you sigh inwardly, but you can't help the smile that sneaks across your face. this boy. you were sure if you searched up the definition of twenty-one year old drunk boy will's face and golden curls would be front and center on page one.
you: will u be needing assistance ?Â
you: call me again maybe i'll answer this time
its not like this was entirely new to you. in fact, if you were being honest, it had become something of a pattern, or somewhat of an arrangement between you two. will gets drunk, will loses something important, will realizes he does not in fact know how to get home without assistance, and then, like clockwork, will calls you. you can recall the very first time it happened, back at bc when gabe perreault's sweet dulcet tones took over the phone and politely pleaded you to pick will up after one too many beers.
while youâre not entirely sure when you became the default solution to all of his bad decisions. you assume it comes with the best friend description, as for the last few years between will at the ntdp, late nights at bc, and throughout his rookie season, you two were solid constants in each other's lives. ever since your childhood you've been known as the "will wrangler," nickname a la grace smith.
but you suspect this dependency happened gradually. sometime between helping him move apartments last fall in san jose and the time he called you at midnight because he âaccidentally bought too many groceries and they were going to expire.â
either way, the result is the same.
your phone starts ringing again.
you answer before the second ring finishes, somewhat groggy but still alert.
thereâs a beat of loud music on the other end. someone yelling (asky maybe?) in the background. then, ây/n?â
his voice is unmistakably drunk. slower than usual, words slightly slurred together. signature drunk will.
you pinch the bridge of your nose as you sit up in bed. âyes. that is my name, that is who you called. where are you.â
âi told you,â he says, like this is obvious.
âyou told me youâre âslushedâ and âsnow shed,ââ you reply flatly. âunfortunately, neither of those are locations.â
thereâs a pause. âoh.â more background noise. someone laughs.
âiâm outside. it's cold. and i think someone stole my jacket. my new one! it's from zara and i was going to wear it to the game on-â
you close your eyes, cutting off the far too long rant about his new jacket. âoutside where, will.â
another pause. longer this time. ââŚthe one with the door.â you don't see his face but you know he's smiling.Â
this little shit. you drop your head back against the pillow. âfantastic.â
he laughs softly, like heâs pleased with himself. âyouâre funny when youâre mad.â
âyouâre a little mad.â
you swing your legs out of bed with a sigh, already reaching for the hoodie hanging off your chair.
âiâm tired,â you correct. âand you woke me up at three in the morning.â
âitâs not three,â he argues. you glance at the clock. 2:53 a.m.
âitâs basically three.â
he hums thoughtfully, like heâs considering this information. âi did just call to hear your voice but while you're hereâŚcan you come get me.â
not a question. not really. justâŚwill.
you pull your hair into a loose ponytail, grabbing your keys off the dresser.
âtext me your location then please.â
ââŚhow do i do that.â
you stop in the middle of your room. âwill.â
âgive the phone to someone else.â
you hear muffled shuffling on the other end. voices. someone saying âdude she sounds mad.â
then a familiar voice cuts in.
âhey,â macklin says through the phone, barely containing his laughter. âcan you come get your boy.â
you sigh. âwhat did he do.â
macklin snorts. ânothing illegal.â
that does not reassure you.
âyet,â he adds helpfully.
you rub your forehead. âiâm on my way.â
in the background, you hear will again. âis she coming?â
macklin answers before you can. âyeah, smitty. sheâs coming.â
thereâs a brief pause. then willâs voice, quieter this time. âtold you she would.âÂ
twenty minutes later youâre pulling into the dimly lit parking lot of a bar that looks exactly like every other bar in san jose that caters to hockey players with too much money and not enough sense. neon lights flicker against the windows, music thumping faintly through the walls.
and, right on cue, will smith is sitting on the curb outside the entrance. he looks exactly how you expected.
legs sprawled out in front of him, elbows on his knees, blond curls completely wrecked like heâs been running his hands through them for the last hour. someone has, in fact, stolen his new zara jacket. heâs in a t-shirt with his silver chain peeking out despite the cold, staring down at his dead phone like it personally betrayed him. looking like a kicked puppy.
macklin and a couple of the other guys are standing nearby. macklin spots your car first.
âoh thank god,â he mutters, nudging will with his foot. âyour rideâs here.â
will looks up slowly. his face lights up. actually lights up. like someone flipped a switch.
ây/n!â he says, standing up far too quickly for someone in his current state. he wobbles a little. or a lot. macklin grabs his arm before he faceplants.
you roll down the window, smirking. âhello, william. your uber has arrived.â
he grins. âyou came.â
âi told them you would.â
macklin snorts. âhe would not shut up about it.â
will ignores him completely, already making his way toward the passenger side of your car like a very tall, very drunk golden retriever.
you glance back at macklin. âhe owe you guys money or something?â
ânah,â macklin says. âjust his dignity.â
you laugh, fair, and quickly say your goodbyes.
will struggles, yet eventually climbs into the passenger seat, immediately slumping down like gravity has suddenly increased inside the car.
the second the door shuts, he exhales dramatically. âoh my god.â
you start the car. âwhat, you drama queen.â
you pull out of the parking lot. âfrom what.â
he gestures vaguely out the window toward the bar. âthey were being mean to me. and stole my jacket.â
you glance over. heâs staring at you now, very seriously. âmacklin said i canât fight a bouncer.â
ââŚyou cannot fight a bouncer.â
âyou absolutely could not! you barely get into fights on ice⌠accept that you're just a lover not a fighter.â
he considers this. âokay maybe not tonight.â
you laugh quietly, shaking your head. thereâs a moment of silence before he leans his head against the window. then, slowly, he leans the other way.
until his shoulder bumps yours. and then his head. rests there. you glance down at him briefly.
he says it like that settles the matter. you sigh, but you donât move him. instead you just keep driving, with the extreme difficulty. you sigh, but amusement settles deeper into you than actual annoyance. who would've thought - at the ripe age of twenty-one you would be playing chauffeur for your passenger princess best friend on a saturday night?
granted, there has been a number of nights where you are the one in the passenger seat, totally passed out and will to the rescue. one of those times was maybe last weekend after your girlfriends suggested getting a margarita. which turned into two. which turned into tequila shots. which turned into will holding your hair back while you became very well acquainted with the bush outside his apartment.
lets just say the arrangement between you two was more than fair.
for a minute, heâs quiet, only the quiet hum of your car and the radio playing softly filling the noise in the car.
then, like the nonstop yapper he is, will starts, âtoff started it.â
you blink. âstarted what.â
âthe one about penguins.â
âhe said penguins are birds,â he mutters.
âwill. penguins are birds.â
you press your lips together.
âiâm not having this conversation with you right now.â
he huffs, offended. âyou never take my side!â
âbecause you are wrong. and usually are wrong.â
you drive for another minute before realizing the car has gone suspiciously quiet. too quiet. you glance over. will is asleep.
head still resting against your shoulder, mouth slightly open, breathing slow and even. mouthbreather.
you shake your head softly. âlightweight.â
by the time you pull into his apartment complex, heâs still out. it takes a few attempts to wake him.
his eyes crack open slowly.
getting him upstairs is a process. a slow, slightly uncoordinated dance involving a lot of leaning and one moment where he almost walks directly into the wall. god, what are they feeding these athletes?
after a while, you finally manage to get him inside his apartment. you think you deserve some sort of medal or nobel peace prize for the athletic feat you just accomplished, as will collapses onto the couch immediately. like a man who has completed a long and exhausting journey. you grab him a glass of water from the kitchen.
when you come back, heâs blinking up at the ceiling, and you're unsure any thoughts are being processed in his mind. âdrink this.â
he takes the glass obediently. halfway through, he looks at you. really looks at you. and smiles. soft. a little dazed. âyouâre the best.â
you roll your eyes. âoh, i know.â
he shakes his head slightly. âno, like⌠you are.â
you pause. something in his tone makes you glance back at him. heâs still smiling. eyes half-lidded and pupils blown.
completely, absolutely drunk.
âiâd marry you if i had to,â he mumbles.
you snort. âwow. how romantic. if you had to.â
he nods like heâs said something incredibly profound. âyeah.â
you take the empty glass from his hand and put an advil next to him. âgo to sleep, will. don't forget you have practice tomorrow.â
heâs already halfway there. you turn off the lamp on the way out, closing the door quietly behind you. itâs only once youâre back in your car that the words replay in your head.
iâd marry you if i had to.
you laugh softly to yourself, starting the engine. drunk will says a lot of things.
ââŠâ§âË๨ŕ§ËââŠâ§â
the second time will calls you when he shouldnât, itâs just after midnight a few weeks later. not 2:47 a.m. not drunk. just⌠quiet. very unlike him.
your phone buzzes once on the couch beside you while youâre halfway through an episode of something youâre not actually paying attention to. when you glance down at the screen, the name makes your stomach drop just slightly. willy.
for a moment you assume itâs another ride situation. maybe he lost something again. maybe he noticed you stole the fancy mixing bowl from his apartment the other day. maybe he locked himself out of his apartment for the third time this month.
but when you answer, thereâs no music. no yelling. no background chaos from teammates. just silence.
his voice is softer than usual. tired and a little bit pained. you immediately sit up a little straighter.
âyeah, here.â you say. âwhat did you do.â
thereâs a small huff on the other end. not quite a laugh. âhey, nothing.â
which, coming from will smith, is suspicious. âokay,â you say slowly. âso why are you calling me at midnight if you didnât do anything.â
another pause. more silence. then- âjust wanted to hear your voiceâŚyou busy?â
and just like that, you know. somethingâs wrong. sometimes you swear you knew will better than he knew himself.Â
you grab your keys before you even answer. âiâll be there in ten.â
when you let yourself into his apartment, the first thing you notice is the TV playing game tape. paused mid-play. the second thing you notice is will.
heâs sitting on the floor in front of the couch, back leaning against it, long legs stretched out in front of him. a takeout container sits open beside him, half eaten. thereâs another one on the coffee table in front of him. his hair is still wet from a shower.
he doesnât look up right away when you walk in.
heâs staring at the screen, locked in. you follow his gaze. itâs the same clip looping over and over. him. missing coverage. goal against.
ââŚwill.â he glances over.
his expression shifts slightly when he sees you, like he hadnât entirely expected you to actually show up even though you always do. âhey.â it's despair and restraint all in one.
you drop your bag on the counter.
âyouâve been watching that the entire time, havenât you.â
he shrugs, which means yes. you walk over without another word and sit down beside him on the floor.
you know will has always been in his head when he plays, inwardly critiquing every move he makes and overthinking almost everything. it was a flaw, but something you loved about him so much.Â
for a second neither of you say anything. the TV hums quietly. then you reach forward, grab the remote, and turn it off.
the screen goes black. will immediately protests.
âno.â your answer is resolute.
âi was watching that.â
âitâs midnight,â you say, setting the remote down out of his reach. âyouâre not allowed to review game tape at midnight.â
âcoach literally told us to.â
âwarso did not tell you to spiral on your living room floor at midnight alone.â
he exhales, leaning his head back against the couch. âi feel like shit. i played like shit.â
you nudge his shoulder lightly. âyou didnât.â
he turns his head to look at you. âdid you even watch the game?â
shit. you pause, directly caught in the act. meekly adding, ââŚhighlights?â
he groans, but you catch a smile sneaking on his face. bingo.
you grin. âlisten, if you wanted emotional support you shouldâve called someone who actually understands hockey.â
you bump him again. âexcuse you, rude.â
he huffs quietly, but you can see some of the tension easing from his shoulders.
for a few minutes you just sit there. talking about nothing. you steal a dumpling from his takeout container. he complains about it. you ignore him. you then notice how close you are, how side to side your thighs are touching but how neither of you care enough to move.
without really thinking about it, you shift slightly closer and rest your head against his shoulder.
he goes still for half a second. like he noticed. you wonder if it was a little too much, but he doesnât move away. instead, after a moment, he relaxes again.
and his hand, absentminded, almost unconscious, comes to rest lightly on your knee. it felt right.
neither of you comment on it. neither of you move.
you lean into his touch, greedy for more warm contact between you two. "better?"
he turns his head a little towards you, his face inches away from your own. "much."
you stay like that for a while, just sitting on the floor. the game long forgotten. you try not to overthink it.
ââŠâ§âË๨ŕ§ËââŠâ§â
the third time will calls you when he shouldnât, itâs 3:11 in the morning. you almost ignore it.
your phone buzzes against the couch beside you while youâre half asleep under a blanket, some movie long forgotten still playing quietly in the background. you groan, blindly reaching for it, fully expecting one of your girlfriends sending something stupid in your group chat.
instead the screen lights up with a familiar name.
you stare at it, doing a quick fact check. 3:11 a.m. friday. sharks win last night. you smile, yeah, that checks out.
the call stops before you answer. then immediately-
willy: emergency contact
willy: are you still that
you blink. before you can respond, the phone rings again, this time a facetime. you answer, propping your phone up on a pillow next to you and grinning. âwill.â
the response is immediate. âhi.â
as he comes into frame, you notice he is very drunk. not just tipsy. not even âiâve had a few.â extremely drunk: splotchy cherub cheeks, messy hair, pupils blown and all.
in the background thereâs music, someone yelling, and macklin laughing next to him as will struggles to keep the phone up.
luckily for him, you were in a good mood. âwilliam charlesâŚare you drunk?â you ask.
âno.â a pause, but you see him immediately giggle.
then macklinâs voice somewhere in the distance, a flash of his brown hair. âdude youâre sitting on the floor.â
you laugh. âget off the floor smitty. where are you?â
âhere i'll show you." the camera was flipped to the back to show the bar but all you could really see was will's legs getting up from the floor after your scolding.
more shuffling. then the sound of the phone changing hands. macklin appears again, with ekky next to him.
âheyyyyy y/nâ they're both smiling, dazed, also obviously quite drunk.
mack starts, âcan you come get him, he's starting to go up to random people here and yap about his goal earlier.â you hear a very close will shout "hey!"
âdid he lose something again.â
macklin snorts. âhis ability to stand.â
you grab your keys. âiâm on my way.â
macklin laughs softly, looking at ekky. âtold you.â
and somewhere behind him you hear will say, very proudly, âshe always comes.â
this time, when you arrive at the bar, heâs not outside. walking inside, the first thing you see is a booth in the back corner filled with hockey players who absolutely should not be trusted in public past midnight.
and right in the middle of them, will smith. sprawled across the booth like a cat who has fully claimed the furniture. his blond curls are wrecked, his silver chain glinting against the low bar lights, and heâs mid-story about something (probably retelling his goal story for the 30th time) when macklin spots you walking over.Â
âoh thank god,â macklin says.
will turns. his entire face changes. ây/n!â like youâre the best thing heâs seen all night. which is saying something considering the bar has neon lights and tequila. will was drunk and still looked good, how was this fair?
you stop beside the booth, crossing your arms, feigning strictness. âhello william, up to no good i see?â
he beams at you. âyou came.â
âthat seems to be a pattern.â
macklin leans back, grinning. âhe called you three times.â
you look at will. âthree.â
will shrugs. âemergency.â
âwhat emergency exactly?â
he pauses. ââŚi forgot.â
macklin snorts into his drink. you shake your head.
âokay. up.â will immediately obeys, the compliant man he is.Â
he stands up, and then immediately wraps you in a hug. a full bear hug. arms around your shoulders, face dropping against the side of your head like youâre a pillow.
you freeze, taking in will's cologne and his tight grip around your body. sometimes, you tend to forget how absolutely clingy and needy will gets when he's super drunk. exhibit a.
âhi,â he mumbles into your hair.
macklin loses it behind you. âdude.â
you shove lightly at his chest, but not enough to actually move him. âokay, hi. personal space.â
âno.â he squeezes you again, almost lifting your smaller frame off of the ground.
you blink. ââŚyou saw me like five hours ago. i went to your game. you drove me home.â
you finally manage to pry him off of you. mostly. one of his hands stays hooked around your wrist and the other on your lower back like he forgot how arms work. the warmth of his touch makes electric shocks course through your body.
eventually, you get your thoughts in order. âweâre leaving,â you say to the group.
macklin salutes you from the booth. âgodspeed.â
the car ride is worse this time. because drunk will has decided you are apparently his emotional support human.
five minutes in, heâs holding onto the sleeve of your hoodie with one hand with a grip like a baby.
ten minutes in, his knee is somehow pressed against yours.
by fifteen minutes, his head is on your shoulder again.
âhmm.â his drunk mumble sounds extremely sleepy.
âyouâre doing it again.â
âusing me as a pillow.â
you sigh. âthatâs not the point.â
he hums quietly, clearly not listening. for a moment the car is quiet. then he speaks again, softly. like itâs just a thought passing through. ây/n, you know youâre my favorite person right.â
your hands tighten slightly on the steering wheel. ââŚwhat.â
he doesnât even look up. still half leaning against you.
âlike if i had to call someone.â he nudges your shoulder slightly with his forehead.
your stomach flips. you tell yourself immediately, heâs drunk. drunk will says things. drunk will always says things. things sober will doesn't actually mean.
still, you hate that your voice comes out quieter than you mean it to. âthatâs only because you make bad decisions..and i'm always there to help you.â
he shakes his head lazily. âno.â
âbecause itâs you.â
you donât respond to that. instead you pull into his apartment complex parking lot.
âokay,â you say. âinside.â
he groans dramatically. âyouâre bossy.â
he smiles slightly. âi like it.â freak.
getting him upstairs takes longer this time, mostly because he keeps leaning against you. like gravity has decided youâre the safest place in the room.
when you finally get him inside his apartment he makes it to his bedroom and collapses, albeit very dramatically. you bring him water. he drinks half of it, then looks up at you. eyes softer than ever, a little unfocused.
you roll your eyes. âyeah, yeah.â
he shakes his head. âno. likeââ
he pauses, clearly searching for words. âyou just are.â
you donât answer. you just take the empty glass from his hand.
he doesnât answer right away, and you're unsure he's even heard you. instead, just as you turn to leave and pat yourself on the back for a job well done, his fingers catch loosely around your wrist, not enough to stop you, really. just enough to make you look back at his form on his bed..
âdonât go yet,â he says, voice low and heavy with sleep and alcohol. his words are softer now, less sloppy, like even drunk he means this part. âstay.â
you glance down at his hand around your wrist, then back at his face. his curls are flattened on one side from the pillow, cheeks still a little flushed, blue eyes half-lidded and pleading in a way that wouldâve been unfair even if he werenât will.
which, unfortunately, he is.
âwill,â you say carefully, trying not to let your heart get ahead of itself. âyouâre drunk.â
he blinks slowly, considering that. âyeah.â
âand you need to sleep.â
despite yourself, a laugh escapes you. âthatâs not what i meant.â
he doesnât let go. instead, he shifts further onto his side, making space beside him with a sleepy pat to the mattress. âjust for a little,â he mumbles. âplease.â
you know you should say no. you absolutely, definitely should say no.
heâs drunk, and clingy, and warm, and looking at you like youâre the answer to a question he hasnât figured out how to ask yet. this is dangerous territory, the exact kind of thing that gets messy. the exact kind of thing that makes best friends start reading too much into half-meant words and late-night moments. something you and will never did.
ââŚfor a little,â you repeat, mostly to yourself.
his mouth curves, small and sleepy. âyeah.â
you sigh like this is a burden, like this is an inconvenience, like your heart isnât already halfway across the room and you made your decision the second he asked.
âfine,â you murmur. âbut if you throw up on me, iâm actually never speaking to you again.â
will smiles, all soft and dopey. âyou love me too much for that.â
the words hit harder than they should. you ignore that too. it seems like recently you've been doing a lot of ignoring feelings when it comes to your best friend.
kicking off your shoes and stealing one of will's old bc shirts, you slide onto the very edge of the bed on top of the comforter, fully prepared to keep as much space between you as possible.
that plan lasts all of three seconds.
because the second youâre there, will turns toward you and immediately tucks himself in close, one arm slinging loosely over your waist like it belongs there. his face presses into your shoulder, breath warm through the fabric of your shirt.
âpersonal space, remember?.â
âno,â he mumbles, already half asleep again. âyouâre staying.â
like that explains everything. like that settles it. somehow, with him, it usually does.
you then stare up at the dark ceiling, listening to the soft sound of his breathing evening out against you. unfortunately for you, every point of contact feels way too noticeable. his hand resting warm at your side. his knee nudged between yours. the weight of him, familiar and not, all at once.
it should feel strange. it doesnât. thatâs maybe the worst part.
slowly, carefully, like you donât want to spook either of you, your hand lifts and comes to rest in his hair. it just looked so soft and touchable.
his response is immediate, even half-asleep. he leans in closer with a quiet hum, curling into you like heâs been waiting for it.
something tight twists in your chest.
âyouâre such a menace,â you whisper, though thereâs no heat in it.
he only breathes deeper, asleep now for real. eventually, your eyes drift shut too.
the next morning, you wake up to sunlight.
for one disorienting, horrifying second, all you register is warmth and weight and a body much too close to yours. you bask in it for a moment, how wonderful it feels to wake up like this.
then memory quickly rushes back in. will. bar. macklin. emotional support. favorite person.
you blink the sleep from your eyes and glance down.
will is still asleep, sprawled halfway on top of you like at some point in the night he decided proximity was not enough and simply committed to full contact. one arm is wrapped around your middle, his face buried in the crook of your neck, hair a complete disaster against your cheek.
you should move. you donât. instead, you lie there for a second much too long, just⌠looking at him.
at the slow rise and fall of his chest. the faint crease between his brows even in sleep. the way his lips are parted slightly, completely relaxed. the way heâs holding onto you like itâs instinctual.
like itâs easy, like you belong here.
your stomach drops. oh, no. no no no. absolutely not.
because suddenly all the little things from the last few months come rushing back with humiliating clarity. the midnight phone call just to hear your voice. his hand on your knee on the floor by the couch. the way he always calls you, and you to him.
the way he always looks for you first. the dumb, drunk things he says that youâve been laughing off because that was easier than actually thinking about them.
iâd marry you if i had to.youâre my favorite person.itâs always you.
your face heats all at once. you are not doing this.
you are not becoming one of those girls who falls for her best friend because heâs clingy and affectionate and looks at her too long and says things he probably wonât even remember in the morning.
except, except you already have. thatâs the problem.
the realization settles over you all at once, quiet and undeniable: you like will. not in the casual, âheâs objectively attractive and occasionally very charming when he wants to beâ way. not in the easy, best-friend affection way. in the bad way. in the dangerous way.
in the way that makes your heart trip when he calls and your stomach flip when he leans on you and your whole body go warm at the idea that maybe, maybe, some part of him means it when he says itâs always you.
in the way that destroys year-long friendships.
you stare at the ceiling again, like maybe itâll offer solutions. it does not. all it offers is morning light and the crushing weight of your own stupidity.
because of course. of course youâd fall for will smith. and of course it would happen like this, half asleep in his bed, with him clinging to you like youâre something he canât quite let go of.
and of course, because the universe hates you, he chooses that exact moment to stir.
his grip around your waist tightens for half a second before he blinks awake slowly, head lifting just enough to look at you.
thereâs a beat, and for a moment, fear courses through your body. every wrong scenario plays through your mind: he knows, he's going to see right through you, he's going to hate you.
yet, his sleepy expression doesnât change. âmorning,â he mumbles, morning voice rough and gravelly. shit, now you were even finding his sleepy voice attractive. this was so incredibly bad.
you clear your throat, praying your face doesnât look as hot as it feels. âmorning.â
he squints at you, then glances down at the way heâs basically wrapped around you. ââŚoh.â
you let out a breathy laugh that sounds nowhere near as normal as you want it to. âyeah. oh.â
but instead of panicking, instead of jerking away or acting weird, his mouth just pulls into the smallest, sleepiest smile. âyou stayed.â
simple, dangerous. you hate how much that does to you.
âyou asked,â you manage, but it's actually the only words you manage to get out.
he hums, like that makes perfect sense, then drops his head right back to your shoulder for one more second like heâs not fully ready to be awake yet.
âgood,â he says into your skin.
and that, that is what really ruins you. because later, when youâre back in your own apartment replaying every second of the night before with a coffee going cold in your hand, thereâs no use denying it anymore.
you have, very inconveniently, absolutely caught feelings for your best friend, and you have no idea what to do with that.
ââŠâ§âË๨ŕ§ËââŠâ§â
the fourth time will calls you when he shouldnât and the one time it actually matters, you donât answer. which, in retrospect, is maybe the entire problem.
it happens two weeks later on a random tuesday afternoon. nothing dramatic. no bar. no post-game chaos. no tequila shots or macklin yelling in the background.
just your phone buzzing on the kitchen counter while youâre halfway through answering work emails. you glance at the screen.
you hesitate for a second. not because you donât want to answer. just because lately after your little realizationâŚthings have felt different ever since that night.
ever since waking up in his bed with his arm wrapped around you like it belonged there. ever since, for the last 14 days, you've been making excuses upon excuses up to will on why you haven't been able to hang or make it to any games.Â
so instead of answering immediately like you always do, you let it ring out. your phone goes quiet. you tell yourself itâs fine, that heâs probably bored. or needs help with groceries again. or wants to argue about something ridiculous like whether penguins count as birds.
then it rings again. still will. you silence it. twenty seconds later, it rings again.
you stare at it this time, three missed calls, which would normally mean something. but you sigh, grabbing your phone and typing instead.
you: if drunk, drink water and go to bed LOL
ok, cool, casual. you toss the phone back onto the counter, think about possibly going on do not disturb, and go back to your emails for about thirty seconds. then your phone rings again.
this time, macklin. your stomach drops immediately, shit maybe it was bad.
you answer on the first ring, âhello?â
âhey,â macklin says quickly.
he doesnât sound drunk. which is worse.
you stand up before he even finishes the sentence. âno,â you say slowly. âwhy.â
thereâs a brief pause on the other end. âhe tried calling you.â
three missed calls. your chest tightens, and your mind goes to the worst.
âwhat happened? is will ok?â
ânothing terrible,â macklin says quickly. âjustâhe took a hit in practice. shoulder. trainers checked him out but he kinda freaked out after.â
âhe kept saying he needed to call you.â
your heart stutters. âwhere is he.â
âlocker room hallway,â macklin says. âhe didnât wanna go home yet.â
youâre already grabbing your keys.
the arena is mostly empty by the time you get there. practice ended an hour ago. the hallway outside the locker room is quiet except for the distant echo of equipment being packed away somewhere down the hall.
you spot him immediately.
will is sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, long legs stretched out in front of him.
not drunk. not smiling like usual. just alone and quiet⌠staring at the wall across from him and thinking. his shoulder is wrapped in ice and athletic tape peeks out from under his t-shirt sleeve. his curls are still damp from a shower, pushed messily off his forehead.
he looks up when he hears your panicked footsteps. the second his eyes land on you, something in his expression shifts.
âhey,â he says softly.
you stop a few feet away, crossing your arms even though your chest still feels tight. âyou couldâve called literally anyone,â you say.
he watches you for a second, then shrugs lightly. âi did.â
âyou.â the hallway suddenly feels very quiet, the clatter of the equipment very far away. you open your mouth, then close it again. because heâs right, he did call someone, you just didnât answer.
âmacklin told me what happened,â you say finally, stepping closer. âhow bad is it.â
âitâs fine,â he says quickly. âjust tweaked it.â
you glance at the ice pack on his shoulder, and you're both thinking about his injury that took him out a few months ago. you hesitate for a second before sitting down next to him against the wall.
neither of you speak for a moment. the silence is heavy.
eventually you bump your shoulder lightly against his good one.
âdramatic,â you mutter.
he huffs out a small laugh, and it was good to hear his giggle again. âi panicked.â
âyou get hit every game.â
âyeah but-â he pauses, then shrugs again. âi donât know.â
you glance at him. âyou donât know?â
âii justâŚâ he runs a hand through his hair. âwanted to talk to you.â
your stomach flips. dangerous territory, but sober this time. you try to keep your tone light.
âthatâs what teammates are for.â
he looks at you then. really looks at you.
âbut theyâre not you.â
that lands somewhere deep in your chest, and this feeling is exactly why you've been avoiding him for the last two weeks. you look away quickly.
for a moment neither of you move. the hallway is quiet except for the hum of the arena lights overhead. it feels strangely private, like the entire building has decided to give the two of you space.
will nudges your knee again. a small habit. one heâs had for years. you donât realize how much it affects you until now.
âyou know,â you say after a second, forcing some of your usual teasing back into your voice, âthis is technically the fourth time.â
he glances at you. âfourth time what.â
âthat youâve called me in some kind of crisis.â
he snorts quietly. âthis was not a crisis.â
âyou panic-called me three times.â
âokay,â he says defensively. âmaybe a little crisis.â
you tilt your head. âand i didnât even answer the first time.â
he shrugs, like that part never mattered. âit never mattered how many times i called, you still came.â
the simplicity of it makes something in your chest tighten. you look down at your hands.
âyeah,â you say quietly. âi guess i did.â
another small silence settles between you. âseriously though,â you add, trying to sound casual and failing slightly, âyou should probably update your emergency contact.â
âbecause apparently iâm unreliable now,â you say. âthree missed calls...and mack had to call me today.â
he studies you for a second, then shakes his head. âno.â
âno.â he adjusts the ice pack on his shoulder, then looks back at you.
âi like my emergency contact.â
your heart does an unfortunate little flip. you try to roll your eyes, but the smile still comes out. âyou like having someone who will pick you up from bars and stop you from fighting bouncers.â
âthat too,â he admits.
then he says something that changes everything. âbut mostly i like that itâs you.â
he makes the words so simple, so easy. like heâs just stating a fact heâs known for a while. you feel suddenly very aware of the way your shoulder is still pressed against his. the way his knee is touching yours. the way heâs looking at you like this conversation means more than either of you is pretending it does.
you swallow. âwillâŚâ
he tilts his head slightly. âyeah?â
your brain runs through about a hundred possible exits. jokes about how his hair looks. deflections. anything that keeps this from becoming real.
but then you remember the missed calls. and the way he looked sitting on the floor when you walked in. and the fact that every time something happens: good, bad, stupid, drunk, he calls you. always you.
so instead you say the only thing that feels honest. âwhy do you always call me.â
he blinks like the question surprises him. then he lets out a small breath. âyou really donât know?â
you shake your head. his mouth twitches slightly.
ây/n.â the way he says your name feels different than all the times before, softer. âitâs always been you.â
your heart stops. or at least it feels like it does.
you laugh weakly. âthatâs not an answer.â
he shifts slightly so heâs facing you more fully now.
âokay,â he says. âthen hereâs the answer.â
he looks a little nervous now, and youâve never seen that before. not from him, not cocky professional player will smith.
âi call you because you always pick up,â he says. âeven when you pretend youâre annoyed.â
you open your mouth to argue, but he keeps going. âand because you show up. every time.â
âand because when something happens, anything, i want to tell you first.â
he shrugs lightly. âkind of figured that meant something.â
âwill,â you say slowly.
he cuts you off. âi like you.â
just like that, no dramatic buildup, no grand speech. just will smith, your best friend, sitting on the floor of the empty arena hallway, looking slightly nervous and very sincere.
you blink, âyou like me.â
he smiles a little. âlike i call you when iâm drunk, and when iâm freaking out, and when iâm bored, and when i probably shouldnât. im pretty sure i like you a lot. and i have for basically only thought about you for the last 6 months.â
your brain is still catching up. âthatâs⌠a lot of calls.â
âyeah,â he says. âgood thing youâre my emergency contact.â
you laugh before you can stop yourself. âthat is absolutely not what that means.â
he leans a little closer. âmaybe not.â
your heart is beating so loud youâre convinced he can hear it. you stare at him for one second longer. then you sigh, and you shake your head.
âthis is so inconvenient.â
âbecause,â you say, rubbing your forehead, âi realized i liked you like two weeks ago and was planning to ignore it forever.â
will freezes. âwait.â
you immediately regret saying that. you wince, ââŚwhat.â
you groan. âoh my god, don't make it a whole thing.â
his grin spreads slowly, as you see his bunny teeth come out, dangerously. âwow.â
âwill please do not make that face.â
âthe âiâm winningâ face?â
âthere is no winning here!â
âfeels like winning.â
you shove his shoulder lightly, and he laughs. then the laughter fades into something quieter. he looks at you again.
âso,â he says after a second.
the air is comfortable but charged with something new, and you're unsure on how to proceed with this new territory. you rub the back of your neck. âthis is weird.â
he huffs out a quiet laugh. âa little.â
âweâve been friends for years,â you say. âand suddenly youâre just casually dropping the âiâve liked you for six monthsâ thing.â
âsorry,â he says, though he doesnât look very sorry. âshould i have made a powerpoint?â
you shove his shoulder lightly. âdonât push it. don't take that one good shoulder for grantedâ
âhey,â he says quietly. you glance back at him.
you blink. ââŚiâm literally already right here.â
your stomach flips, and the softness of his voice makes desire run through your body. "look who's bossy now." but you shift anyway, turning slightly so youâre facing him more fully.
the movement puts you closer than before, close enough that you can see the faint freckles across his nose, close enough that you notice the way his gaze flicks down to your lips for half a second before coming back up.
neither of you say anything. will reaches out slowly, like heâs giving you time to change your mind.
his fingers brush your wrist first, then slide down to lace loosely through your hand.
your breath catches, and he notices immediately.
his thumb brushes across the back of your hand. slow, absentminded, like heâs been doing it forever. another second passes, then you tilt your head a little.
âare you going to keep staring at me like that orâŚâ
his eyebrow lifts. âor what.â
that does it. the corner of his mouth lifts slightly in a smirk. âthought youâd never ask.â
his hand comes up to your cheek, warm and careful, like heâs still half expecting you to pull away. you donât. so he leans in.
the first kiss is soft, almost cautious. like both of you are still adjusting to the fact that this is real. like you weren't just two best friends who admitted their feelings to each other just seconds ago.
his lips are warm, a little hesitant at first, but when you tilt closer, when your hand slides up into the curls at the back of his neck that you love so much, something in him relaxes.
he kisses you again. deeper this time. much more certain. like heâs been holding back for months and finally decided he doesnât have to anymore.
you let out a quiet laugh into the kiss when his other hand settles at your waist, pulling you a little closer.
he pulls back slightly, smiling. âwhat.â
you shake your head, a little breathless. ânothing.â
âno,â he says, forehead bumping lightly against yours. âwhat.â
âi just,â you say, trying to catch your breath, âcannot believe this started because youâre bad at making responsible life decisions.â
âyou panic-called me three times.â
âand now youâre kissing me in a hallway.â
âseems like a good outcome.â
you laugh softly. then he kisses you again, quick and warm, like he just wanted another one. when he pulls back this time, youâre both smiling. the tension thatâs been sitting between you for months finally gone.
you lean your shoulder against his again.
ânext time something happens,â you say, nudging his knee lightly, âyou should probably just text.â
âcalling worked out pretty well for me.â
you roll your eyes, but your fingers slide back into his without thinking.
later that night, your phone buzzes on will's kitchen counter while youâre standing a few feet away. you glance down at it.
you look up at him from across the room. heâs already watching you from the couch, mischievous grin creeping across his face.
he shrugs. âjust checking if youâd answer.â
you roll your eyes, but you do. and somehow, thatâs always been the point.
a/n: sharks win later I CAN FEEL IT