#will tbt

a smile. “oh yeah?” he drops her gaze, shakes his head with a chuckle. “you’re probably better off.” will spends a few moments noodling with the drive belt. as comfortable as he is with her, it’s been a little while and he’s fallen comfortably into a kind of quiet solitude. (as quiet as you can get with eight dogs in the house). people are harder to be with, expect you to say things and be someone. alana less so, perhaps because she knows him well enough that the little stretches of quiet don’t bother her. “eh, eventually. i used to, remember?” grease (well, most of it) dirties a cloth that hasn’t been white for a while and his hands come out more or less presentable. eyes flick up and he offers a conspiratorial smile. “guess i beat it into myself a little too hard.” he stands from a squat, picks the motor up, looks it over like that’ll do any good.

it clunks down on his work table and he laughs. “i wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. it’s... there’s too much dust ‘n...” will shakes his head, nose wrinkled. “you’d breathe up so much of it, your lungs would clog.” he grins at her again, over his shoulder as he tries to get the last of the gunk out of the creases in his knuckles and under his nails. “how’d you know i sleep in here?” he teases, gaze turned back on the task at hand. deciding it’s about as good as it’s gonna get, he tosses the rag onto a pile of dirties that he should’ve probably put in the wash last week. table creaks a little as he leans back on it, palms flat against rough wood. “yeah,” he says with a sigh, “it’s... it doesn’t... bite back the way...” for some reason, he doesn’t really wanna say it. like if the word profiler leaves his lips, jack crawford will appear in the doorway and whisk him back to quantico. not that any of it was jack’s fault, mind you, but... he shakes his head, laughs again: a quick, soft thing. “no, it’s all the rage these days, haven’t you heard?” he gestures in a little circle in front of his face. “grunge is coming back. or... punk, i dunno.”

@eisiramdeus​ is assaulting me with hurtful allegations that my newest OC is a floridian, so I’m here to publicily declare, once and for all, that he is, in fact-----

I swallow hard when he says it, because it lands heavier than he knows. Again. Sometimes it's nice to know I'm not the only one still carrying the weight of what happened. My chest feels tight, the way it did back in the hospital when everyone kept telling me I was safe and my body refused to believe them. I look at him and for a second all I can see is the basement, our childhood, the way his voice kept breaking through the dark when nothing else could. He never stopped looking for me. Even when I was right there, even when I wasn’t really me.

" i will not ask you where you came from i would not ask and neither would you honey just put your sweet lips on my lips we should just kiss like real people do "

Will sighed and covered his face with his hands, enjoying the darkness behind them. “Uh ... perhaps because you tend to hold you liquor better than I do?” It was the truth really, Jack was so used to drinking that surely he had to remember more than he did ... right?