#smalltownwriter

Yall really out here wanting me to write some worried boys, huh? 14 is the same as 20 looking at the list now, so that one will come later but I got both 30 and 49 in this one (though post-migraine I cannot tell if it’s “good” or “written correctly” or whatever lol)

_X_X_X_X_

Will is having a shit day. The huge program that was due this morning had come at the end of a two game over time streak and was followed up by an exam in his User Interface and Design course. Some unapologetic freshman spilled half of  Will’s coffee over his favorite SMH hoodie, he’s had two hours of sleep, and the only good thing about today is no practice after class means he can just take a nap.

And, to his credit, that’s absolutely what Will was on his way to do after class. His senior year schedule, minus his feelings about the workload, is looking pretty great. There’s a several hour block where no one’s in the Haus but him. Will’s ready for it to be gloriously calm and silent when a lacrosse ball makes direct contact with the bridge of his nose. Fuuuuucking LAX bros.

Will waves off their half-hearted attempts at asking if he’s okay and instead heads directly to the Haus to assess the damage. At the very least he’s sore and has a nosebleed. It doesn’t feel like it’s broken, but that’d be just his luck for the day. Will makes a beeline for the kitchen expecting to be able to wash up in the sink, but there’s Nursey leaning against it. 

Before Will can ask for him to move, Nursey’s up and checking him over. Hands fly gently across his arms and face, never quite landing anyway and probably too anxious to be effective at checking him over. “Holy shit, Dex, what happened? Who hurt you?”

Will chuckles and reaches around to grab some paper towels. “Bold of you to assume it was a person. I should be fine, dude, I just got hit by one of the LAX bros missing a catch.”

"Okay, well," Nursey starts, still looking uneasy, "maybe you should sit down or something? And gimme your sweatshirt, I'm washing that for you."

Will does take Nursey up on the offer to sit. "Oh. Uh. Thanks, but you don't have to do that. I can wash my own shirt, Nurse."

That was apparently the incorrect answer, as Nursey follows him hands on his hips. "I'm very aware, William, and I'm equally aware I do as I please. Let me help."

Will acquiesces both because it's a generous offer after a rough day and because there’s something remarkably nice about the way Nursey uses his first name like Will’s stupid to question being taken care of. So William J. Poindexter ends up curled up on the couch while Nursey flits in and out of the room very obviously checking on Will and very obviously not in the mood to be called out about it. It’s sweet for the first five minutes; Will’s nose has long stopped bleeding, he’s been given a blanket to curl up with, and was brought a light blue gatorade for no particular reason. There’s only so much Will can really handle before it starts grating on him, though.

“If you’re gonna hang out here can you just sit down or something? Your running around is making me nervous and I wanna watch the SyFy channel in peace.”

Nursey frowns at him for a moment before sitting down on the couch next to Will. He’s a lot closer than he has to be, strictly speaking, but Will isn’t going to complain. Nursey watches in silence for a minute before mumbling, “I hate the SyFy channel. That’s not how you spell science or fiction.”

Will wordlessly hands Nursey the remote, but Nursey doesn’t change it. After a bit, Will decides to address what he’s thinking. “So. That was unexpected.”

Nursey quirks an eyebrow but otherwise seems like he’s trying to play it cool. “What do you mean?”

Will chuckles a little bit. “You being really unchill about a nosebleed, Nursey.”

“Yeah, well,” Nursey shuffles down further into the couch as he talks, deliberately still not making eye contact. “It seemed bad at the time. And I care about you or whatever. You know that.”