"You're trying to get me in trouble," he continues. He pulls the tie off in its entirety and begins to swiftly tie it again.

"They card. You'll hardly be around teenagers," Levi says, pushing himself off lazily from the desk. His eyes are fixed on the movement of William's hands as he makes the knot. Quickly. Efficiently.

"You're good at that," Levi says, slowly.

"What?"

William pauses, struck by Levi's advance as much as the statement. He recovers quickly, continuing.

"I suppose so," he agrees, adjusting the knot, tugging on the tail. "I have a lot of experience."

"With knots?" Levi asks.

That's bold. Levi is getting so fucking bold. William looks at him, cocking a bushy eyebrow over the rim of his glasses.

"Yes. With tie knots. What else?"

It's fixed. He tucks the tail in, admiring what little he can see of his handiwork in the dark glass of the window.

"You know," Levi says, ignoring the question entirely, "we could just stay in. You have enough whiskey. Better stuff than Barry's got, too."

The suggestion lands slowly, working through William's mind like thick honey, sweet and seductive. Stay in. With Levi.

Like Christmas.

"No, no," he says, quickly, straightening. "We brave the blizzard with our compatriots. Come, Mr. Caldwell. We'll try this, ah, Joyce of yours."

William is, for once, not drunk. Which is good, actually, because Levi is near incomprehensible. Part of that might be his accent, which seems to have run loose of its leash without Sober Levi at the lead.

He seems to have become fixated on William's damn tie again.

"Will- William," he slurs to something just to the left of Will's shoulder. "How'd'ya get so good at tying a tie, anyway? I bet I could do it if-- now, jus'-- c'mon, now, jusshold still a sec-- dont'cha move..."

He reaches out unsteadily, missing the tie and brushing the collar of William's shirt instead. Will prays the boy doesn't notice the flush creeping up his neck at the touch. Not that he seems capable of noticing much right now, anyway.

"Damn hands," Levi mutters, half to himself. "Not like yours. You got real steady hands, y'know that?"

He swallows a hiccup.

William should absolutely be putting a stop to this. Instead, he hears himself speak.

"Steady hands?"

"Yeah. Real... real focused."

Levi's own hands have found the tie now, but they're not untying it. His fingers stroke the silk instead, almost absent-mindedly.

"Your hands are always so... steady," he repeats. "They're... they're distracting."

William smiles to himself. This shouldn't be endearing. He's just about to gently suggest that Levi start the walk back to his housing when the younger man leans in. He's close enough to smell him; tea tree shampoo and that lavender moisturizer he uses on his hands.

Too close. William stiffens and moves to pull away, but Levi sways after him, chasing his ear.

"What else can they tie?" he murmurs.

Shit.

William stands, abruptly.

"Right," he says, too loudly. The faux cheerfulness wouldn't convince anyone else - doesn't convince the patrons sitting near them that look over with expressions of mild alarm at the motion and volume - but Levi is too far gone to notice anything amiss. "That's enough of that. Get your coat, Mr. Caldwell."

His heart is pounding.

Levi blinks up at him, slow and unfocused, like it takes a second for the words to land.

"Mm?" he says intelligently.

"Your coat," William repeats, more quietly now. "Come along."

There's a pause where it seems like Levi might argue - Sober Levi might have, so used to pushing back against the professor, now - but instead, he only nods. He pushes himself up instead, overshooting it slightly and catching himself on the table with a dull thunk.

"'m fine," he mutters. "Jus'... jus', uh, floor moved."

"I'm sure it did."

He helps the boy into the coat and then, somewhat against his better judgment, assists him to the door. By the time they're outside, Levi has drifted closer; he's not quite leaning, but he's close enough that William can feel his heat brace against his own wool and warmth when they open the door to the swirling white storm.

"Hell," Levi says, voice thick with whiskey and Appalachia. "Thassa lotta weather."

"Indeed," William says, just as Levi tilts dangerously. He wraps his arm around his waist, trying not to think about the word steady.

By the time they get to Levi's door, he's glad Levi choice Joyce. Closer was better. He wishes they had stayed in, suddenly. Wishes he'd had another drink. Wishes he'd had several.

"This is yours," he says, looking up at the university provided brownstone. But Levi is looking dubiously at the stairs, and Will nods.

The living room is small, and cluttered (unexpected, for fastidious little Levi; it's something of a surprise) and smells like day old coffee. William finds the slouching old leather couch that looks like it's seen better days (three decades ago, maybe) and parks Levi in front of it.

"Sit."

Levi does, immediately, like a puppet with its strings cut. his eyes find Will's with some effort, and the older man feels something shift.

He doesn't know what he's thinking. Before he knows it, he reaches down and adjusts Levi's collar, smoothing it flat where it's twisted.

His hands are steady.

He withdraws them quickly.

"Sleep it off," he says, more brusque than he intends.

Levi hums something that might be agreement.