Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
(surprise, bitch! bet you thought youâd seen the last of me :)Â iâm not even in this fandom any more, but i do so hate to leave unfinished business lying around... and i had 30k of perfectly good fic with like three chapters left to complete, so. here we are. me, posting yogfic, in the year of our lord 2022. god help us all. )
(also, three notes before we start: 1- this will update every sunday until itâs done (iâve got 11 chapters planned). 2- yes this chapter is similar to the oneshot i originally posted, but itâs lightly edited and significantly extended, so i donât feel bad reposting it. 3- this is the funniest thing i have ever done.)
Art credit for banner.
[ao3]
âWhat ifâ yâknowâŠâ Thereâs a pause where Parvis struggles for words. He heaves a sigh when he canât quite find them, and turns his face a little further into the comforting warmth of Willâs thigh instead. âVampires.â
âVampires?â asks Will, exhaustedly.
Itâs gone four in the morning, the sun just beginning to rise over the horizon, and heâs sat on a bench in a park with his best friend draped over him and a stranger leant against him because they all decided it would be a good idea to watch the sun rise. Heâs really not drunk enough to be able to justify this to himself â to be able to justify any of this evening to himself â but here he is.
Because of Parvis. Story of his damn life.
Parvis is sprawled out across Willâs knees, head in Willâs lap. The rest of him is draped across the bench theyâre sat on, his legs hanging off the end at an angle that doesnât look particularly comfortable but apparently works for him. Or, at least, heâs not complaining about it â though considering the amount of alcohol in his system at this point, that doesnât really count for much.
Someone apparently called Kirin is on his other side, perched on the small sliver of bench not taken up by Parvisâ sprawl and Willâs tired hunch. Heâs got an arm around Willâs shoulders, leaning against him and doing what feels like his best to crush him. The manâs a good foot taller than him, probably more, broad shouldered and heavy and very definitely not doing anything to keep himself even remotely upright. His cheekâs resting against the top of Willâs head, beard a barely-felt scratch against Willâs temple, and Willâs not entirely sure heâs actually still awake.
Part of Will is honoured that he apparently makes such a good pillow. The rest of him is rather more concerned about the way the arm trapped between the two of them is going numb.
Willâs not actually entirely sure who Kirin is, if heâs being honest. Heâs seen him around the place once or twice, recognises his face â but an impressively drunk Parvis had dragged him over to where Will had been sat in some unfamiliar bar at a little before midnight, introduced him as my new favourite person ever, and that had been it. Parvis had dragged them both around for the rest of the evening and Kirin had followed, an arm around Parvisâ shoulder and a bemused smile on his face at Parvisâ exuberance and enthusiasm.
All in all, heâs been the easier of the two to deal with, even taking the lack of feeling in Willâs arm into account.
âVampires,â repeats Parvis, and tries to dig his teeth into Willâs jeans-covered thigh by way of clarification. He fails, mostly ends up drooling a bit, and Will sighs.
âI will push you onto the floor,â he says â but itâs mostly an empty threat, one hand coming up to card through the mussed and slightly sweaty tangle of Parvisâ hair.
Parvis giggles, wrinkles up his nose, and doesnât seem too bothered by the prospect. âWhat ifâ what if Iâm a vampire, Will?â he says. Thankfully, he doesnât try and bite anyone again. âIâve got teeth. I could be a vampire. Iâd be a good vampire.â
Thereâs a momentâs pause where Will considers dealing with all the problems in that sentence â starting with why do you want to be a vampire and ending with Iâm not sure having teeth is the primary requirement there â and then just gives up. He strokes a thumb through Parvisâ hair, feels the way Kirinâs breath stirs his hair with every exhale, watches the sky fade from black to blue, and breathes.
âHe talks a lot, doesnât he?â
Kirinâs voice is thick with sleepiness, lips only an inch from Willâs ear, and Will canât help huffing out an amused noise. âHe really, really does,â he says, and canât help but smile when Kirin chuckles.
After a long moment, Kirin shifts a little, so Willâs arm is no longer trapped between the two of them. On the bright side, that means itâs no longer going numb. On the less bright side, that means the pins and needles can begin as the blood returns to it. It also means heâs leant even more against Willâs side, leaving Willâs arm nowhere to really go other than around Kirinâs shoulder â but Willâs sort of okay with that.
Apparently bored by the lack of attention being paid to him, Parvis makes a noise somewhere between a growl and a distressed kitten, and begins his inefficient attempt to chew through Willâs jeans again. Thereâs an unpleasant wet patch forming against Willâs outer thigh thatâs entirely the fault of Parvisâ mouth, but Parvis doesnât seem to notice.
âStop that,â says Will, and flicks Parvisâ nose. He sighs again when Parvis tries to chew on his fingers instead. âYouâre terrible.â
âPretty,â adds Kirin, voice little more than a murmur. Willâs not sure whether heâs referring to Parvis, the sunrise, or whatever heâs seeing behind his own half-closed eyelids â heâs still not entirely sure if Kirin is awake, or just sleeping with his eyes partially open and sleep-talking at convenient moments â but he hums in agreement nonetheless.
âOkay, youâre pretty, your face is a work of artâŠâ sings Parvis, delighted and out of tune, giggling. He rolls over onto his back so heâs staring at Willâs face, at the slowly-purpling sky beyond that and the faint scattering of stars laced through it.
âArenât you in a band?â asks Will, absently carding fingers through the short hair at the nape of Kirinâs neck out of sheer force of habit. âHow are you tone deaf and still in a band?â
Parvis giggles harder, but somehow manages to get the rest of the words out through his laughter. âYour smile could light up New York City after dark.â He reaches up vague, questing fingers over his head. Somehow, they manage to find Kirinâs face to poke at his mouth. Kirin sighs, chuckles a little, and Parvis grins wider at the rush of warm air over his fingertips. âOkay, youâre cover-boy pretty, stamped with a beauty markâŠâ
His fingers dance over Willâs cheeks, tracing out his freckles â one, two, three, too many to count â and Will feels his cheeks heat up, knows heâs probably gone bright red.
âYouâre terrible,â repeats Will, though thereâs no heat to the words, just tired affection. He threads his fingers a little higher up through Kirinâs hair to run careful nails over his scalp, and sighs at the way Kirin curls into him. The weightâs almost comforting, now, the warmth of the two people pressed up against him enough to stave off the shivers of the early-morning cold.
âI definitely need both your numbers,â says Parvis sleepily, ignoring Will completely as per usual and yawning widely. The sunâs rising, which seems like the perfect time to start thinking about sleep.
Kirin hums quietly, tilts his head a little more until his lips are pressed against Willâs temple, which does nothing to help the slowly fading blush across Willâs face. âIâm not actually sure I know where my phone is,â he admits, patting vaguely at his pockets with one hand before giving up almost immediately. âAh well. Itâll turn up. Probably. Everythingâs fine.â
Will laughs, flushes again when he feels the way Kirinâs lips curve into a smile against his skin at the noise. âParvis, you already have my number.â
Parvis blinks up at him, grins wide and slightly sappy. One of Kirinâs hands settles on his head, and Parvis leans into it â into the way Kirinâs fingers link with Willâs against the tangle of his hair, the heat of their hands sinking into his scalp. âOh, yeah,â he says, softly, and reaches up to touch two fingers to the corners of Willâs mouth. âI do.â
And then he promptly falls asleep, mouth open and drooling against Willâs leg.
Itâs around the point that Parvis starts to snore, barely three minutes later, that Will decides they really need to get back to their student accommodation. âWake up,â he says, tapping Parvisâ shoulder. âYou need a bed, and Iâm not dragging you to one.â
When that doesnât work, Will jams two fingers into Parvisâ ribs, and then grabs him around the waist to prevent him from rolling off the bench with his flailing. âUp!â he growls, detaching himself from Kirin and standing up to haul at Parvisâ upper body, ignoring the groaning noises the action produces that are somewhat reminiscent of the undead. âI swear to god, ParvisâŠâ
Kirin watches the performance with something between amusement and confusion, before getting to his own feet and stretching expansively â something Willâs very grateful for. Despite his height, Parvis is scrawny enough Will can just about manhandle him. Judging by Kirinâs broad shoulders and solid torso, Will wouldnât be able to do the same with him.
It takes a considerable amount of hauling and supporting and cajoling to get Parvis on his feet, and he only manages to stay on them by wrapping arms around Willâs shoulders and leaning heavily against him. This close, his breath smells of cheap alcohol and something sweet, probably the coke heâd been mixing with whatever he was drinking, and Will wrinkles his nose in distaste. âYouâre disgusting,â he informs Parvis, wrapping a reluctant arm around his waist to stabilise him.
âAnd youâre pretty,â retorts Parvis, swaying forward until their noses nearly touch, giggling at how red Will turns â whether from embarrassment or annoyance, he doesnât know and doesnât really care. âPretty, pretty Willy StrifeyâŠâ
âThatâs not an insult, Parvis,â mutters Will, pushing his face away and trying to ignore Kirinâs poorly-muffled laughter.
As if suddenly reminded of Kirinâs continued existence, Parvis perks up a little, prodding Willâs shoulders with the fingers of the arm thrown over it. âOh, yeah! Whatâs happening to him?â he asks, hanging off of Willâs neck and waving a hand in the vague direction of Kirin.
For a brief second, Will is annoyed â apparently, heâs now responsible for the strange man that Parvis picked up, purely because heâs the most sober, which doesnât really seem fair. But Kirinâs spinning in circles, peering at the skyline in a mystified and distinctly non-sober fashion, so itâs a fair enough question.
Will sighs, and turns to face Kirin, Parvis swaying like a counterweight against his hip. âWhereâre you staying?â he asks, and Kirin shrugs.
âIâm kind of lost,â he says, apologetically â as though it remotely bothers Will whether heâs lost or not. He doesnât sound too concerned, though. âIâm sure Iâll get home fine, though. My flatâs probably somewhereâŠâ He spins in another circle and staggers, before staring up at the stars, frowning. âItâs fine.â
Will sighs, and wishes he were drunk enough to be okay with leaving Kirin to wander the streets in the early hours of the morning. âItâs not fine,â he says, exhaustedly, and grabs Kirinâs wrist to tug him along behind them. âYouâre coming with us. Come on.â
He pretends not to notice the large, slightly dopey grin that spreads across Kirinâs face, and very carefully doesnât wonder whether heâs just been played.
The walk back is, thankfully, largely uneventful. Parvis has trouble staying on his feet and staying awake, but Kirinâs steady enough to help Will hold him up. Between the two of them, he manages to walk most of the way, his cheerful singing slowly quieting down to an out-of-tune hum.
Kirin gives him a piggy-back for the rest of the short trip, draped drunk and sprawling and still humming to himself over the width of Kirinâs shoulders. Itâs an effort for Will not to stare, reluctantly amazed at the way Kirin bears Parvisâ weight so effortlessly, despite the very distinctly crooked line his footsteps make across the pavement.
The student housing flat block isnât too far, a ten minute walk from the bar theyâd been in, which itself was a five minute walk from the park theyâd all ended up in. The walk back takes them over twenty, thanks mostly to Parvisâ shambling gait at first, and then to his weight slowing Kirin down, but they do all eventually make it in one piece.
Opening the door to the building, and then the door to the flat Will and Parvis share with Xephos and Lalna, and then the door to Willâs room, is something of an adventure. For a heart-stopping moment outside the building itself, Will thinks heâs actually lost his keys â but then he finds them in Parvisâ pocket, and from there itâs just a case of remembering which key is for which door, and then remembering exactly how keys work.
He realises, as he fumbles his attempt to put the key in the lock for the fourth time, that he may be drunker than heâd thought.
When they all finally fall into Willâs room â literally, falling through the doorway when the door suddenly opens with them all leaning against it â Parvis is asleep again on Kirinâs back, and neither Kirin nor Will are particularly awake. While Will shucks off his coat and scarf, carefully toeing off his boots, Kirin heads straight for the bed, taking Parvis with him.
By the time Willâs kicked his shoes off, moving both Kirin and Parvisâ shoes out the way of the door so they wonât all trip over them in the morning, his bed has already been stolen.
Kirinâs taking up most of it, sprawling expansively across the mattress, eyes already closed. Tucked under his arm and pressed against his ribcage is Parvis, a ball of too-long limbs somehow wedged between his side and the wall.
Will sighs. He can always go and sleep in Parvisâ bed, provided heâs forgotten to lock the door to his room as he usually does â and if that fails, he can brave waking Xephos up to try and beg the blow-up mattress off of him. Not that he particularly relishes the thought of waking the other student up at whatâs rapidly approaching five in the morning.
Standing there, running a hand through his hair in faint exasperation, he jumps when Kirinâs hand curls around his wrist. It tugs him insistently towards the bed, only holds on tighter when he tries to pull his arm away. âNo,â says Kirin, plaintively. Will tries to extract his wrist again, fails to pry the bands of iron that are Kirinâs fingers away from his wrist. âNo, please, donât do that. Please.â
He tugs again â and Will, exhausted and still a little, perhaps a lot, drunk and so very done with all of this, lets himself tumble onto the bed. Onto Kirinâs chest.
âBetter,â murmurs Kirin, sounding inordinately pleased with himself, rearranging an unhelpfully ragdoll Will into a more comfortable position. He ends up with his head tucked under Kirinâs chin, curled mostly on the other manâs chest, legs tangled with Parvisâ. One of Kirinâs arms is thrown over his shoulders. âMuch better.â
Will wants to argue, to point out that this really isnât better at all. Thereâs far too many of them in a single bed. Theyâre going to overheat horrifically in the tiny room, someoneâs going to fall off the mattress, and theyâre all going to wake up in the morning with aches from being contorted into strange positions.
But Kirinâs a solid warmth beneath him, a slow rise-fall of expanding and contracting ribs, every exhale stirring Willâs hair. He has to admit to himself, before sleep takes advantage of the alcohol and exhaustion to drag him down into unconsciousness, that Kirin might just be right.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
(so, itâs... been a while since i posted anything yog - and i suppose this technically isnât even yogs, since itâs just kirin and lying - but i was digging through my yogfic folder the other day and realised iâd never posted this little snippet, which i wrote a looooong time ago. itâs set after âyour smile could light up new york city after darkâ, and is. really mostly just fluff, which is kind of surprising from me, but there you go.)
âTheyâre just so cute,â groans Kirin, for the fourth time in ten minutes, crossing his arms on the table and dropping his forehead onto them. âTheyâre wonderful, and cute, and they- they bicker. Like an old married couple! I⊠I didnât know it was possible to be so cute.â He sounds faintly bewildered, like heâs been hit over the head all too recently
Over by the kettle, Lying pulls a face, sticking their tongue out in an expression of faint disgust that theyâre glad Kirin canât see. âAnd youâre hungover,â they point out dryly, one corner of their mouth twitching upwards in amusement. âHonestly, youâre a PhD student now. Arenât you a little old for drunken revelry? Especially twice in one week.â
âAh, I wouldnât expect you to understand,â says Kirin, dramatically, eyes glittering at the way Lying rolls his eyes in response to the teasing. âYouâre above all that, arenât you? Above the silly fancies of mere mortals, the wild passions of the heart, aboveâ wine and song andâ and⊠something,â he finishes, somewhat lamely, thrown off-balance by the fact that the traditional inclusion of women in the phrase is hardly applicable in this instance.
Lying sets his tea down in front of him, and then swipes at the back of his head, a gentle clip around the ear that makes Kirin yelp at the wound to his pride nonetheless. â Thatâs the most pretentious thing youâve ever said,â they complain dryly, settling down in a chair across the table from him and setting their own cup of tea down. âAnd a load of rubbish to boot. But yes. I wonât claim to understand your strange and sudden affection for two people you hardly know. Romantic love is, I must admit, something of a mystery to me.â
âBut you love me, right?â teases Kirin, peering at Lying over the top of his mug and batting his eyelashes at them. âRight?â He laughs at the face Lying pulls, all frowning disgust and stuck-out tongue in a parody of revulsion, and blows gently on the hot tea to try and cool it.
âIf you believe that, you either have a very strange definition of love, or youâre more deluded than I thought,â mutters Lying. They canât help the way the corner of their lip twitches up at Kirinâs renewed laughter, though, at the way he has to set his tea down on the table to avoid slopping the boiling liquid all over himself as his shoulders shake. âOh, come on, it wasnât that funny.â
After several moments, Kirin eventually calms, wheezing out a slow exhale and rubbing at the corners of his eyes with one thumb. âOh, your face,â he manages, shaking his head.
Lying sighs, drumming their crimson nails against the side of the delicate, floral-patterned cup. âAnd here I was thinking you might have matured a little since I saw you last,â they said, the icy disappointment in their voice belied by an undercurrent of affection. âEvidently not.â
âYou know me.â Kirin snorts, curling his hands around his mug and then hissing when the heat seeping through it burns his palms, letting go again quickly. âI donât believe in all that getting old and sensible nonsense.â He smiles lopsidedly, blowing carefully on his tea and lifting the cup to his lips with the handle to take a tentative sip. Emboldened by the lack of burnt tongue as he swallows, he takes another mouthful, sighing quietly. âHmm,â he murmurs, thoughtfully. âSpiced rooibos?â
âWith rose and apple,â confirms Lying with a small dip of their head. They take a small sip from their own cup, letting their eyes close for a moment. There are few things better, in their opinion, than freshly-brewed tea, and it deserves to be thoroughly enjoyed. âYou like it?â
Humming softly, Kirin takes another sip, savouring the taste. âDelicious,â he says, âalthough Iâll admit to still being fond of citrus. Thereâs nothing quite like lemon tea and honey.â He wraps broad hands around the cup, now warm rather than burning, and exhales quiet contentment as the heat seeps down through his palms to settle in his bones.
âHowâs the rest of university life going?â asks Lying, after a minute, thumb rubbing absently at the curve of his mugâs handle, drumming fingernails against the body of it with a satisfying pattern of clinks. âOther than the hopeless romanticism in the face of your complete and utter lack of a love life?â
Kirin winces, ducking his head a little. âOuch,â he mutters, pressing a hand to his heart. âYou wound me, old friend.â When Lying doesnât respond, though, he sighs, shoulders rounding a little as he slouches over his tea. â...Not bad?â he offers, tiredly, all the tease and banter gone from his voice. âNot bad at all, all things considered, but you know how PhDs areâŠâ
âExhausting?â offers Lying, taking a sip of their own tea with one arched eyebrow.
Nodding, Kirin lets his eyes drop to the table, moving his hands in small circles until he can stare at the swirling liquid in the bottom of it. âExactly,â he agrees. âIt doesnât help that Ridge managed to scrape his way into returning this year, somehow. Head of department said heâd promised to be on his best behaviour or something like that. Hah.â
Lyingâs eyebrow managed to arch even further, far enough it was in danger of disappearing into their hairline. âThat sounds, pardon my French, rather like bullshit to me.â
âYeah,â said Kirin, a faint note of misery in his voice. âEveryone else is used to it enough by now that they just ignore him, but thereâs this new intern in the lab I had to explain everything to, andâŠâ He groans, dragging a hand across his face. âA fun conversation, that one. Hello, welcome to the lab, by the way thereâs this guy whoâll almost certainly ruin one your experiments for the fun of it at least once, try to avoid him, though heâs probably going to introduce himselfâ Iâm this close to doing something ill-advised about him. This close.â
His fingers tighten unconsciously around the fine china of his mug, and itâs only when Lying reaches out to touch a small, well-manicured hand to his wrist that he notices how white-knuckled his grip is. âSorry,â he murmurs, letting go with a force of will and rubbing his face with his free hand. âIâm not trying to break your nice cups, I promise.â
Lying inclines their head in a silent donât worry, and hums softly, looking thoughtful as they take a sip of their tea. âDo you want me to make his life living hell?â they ask after a moment, voice deceptively sweet.
âLying, not that I donât appreciate the offer, but...â Kirin sighs, dragging a hand through his hair and dropping his elbows onto the table. âWhat are you going to do? Heâs a PhD student, andââ
ââIâm a staff member with a doctorate and tenure,â finishes Lying for him, baring their teeth in something that could, very generously, be called a smile. âI can have him dragged through the mud if I so choose.â
Shuddering a little, Kirin carefully dodges responding to the tempting offer â heâs not about to risk getting Lying fired for a bit of petty bullying, no matter how much the thought of making Ridge squirm appeals to him. âYour poor, poor students,â he mutters instead, shuddering dramatically. âIf youâre this much of a terror out of the classroom, I dread to think what youâre like inside it.â
Shaking their head, Lying scoffs. âOh, please,â they say, derisively, smile shrinking a little but still concerningly toothsome. âIf they canât handle me, how on earth are they going to handle a career in law? Iâm only doing my best to prepare the small, fragile little things for what theyâre going to be facing later on.â
âHow many have you reduced to tears so far this year?â asks Kirin, the smile slowly returning to his lips.
âAt least one per lecture â although, I must admit, itâs getting harder.â Lyingâs smile widens again, and although it looks vicious, Kirin can see a faint glimmer of pride in their eyes. âTheyâre learning.â They drain the last of the tea from their cup, and when they set it down, theyâre frowning slightly. âOne of themâs even gotten it into her head to argue with me. Nano, I think she goes by.â
Kirinâs eyebrows shoot up high enough they almost reach his hairline. âArgue?â he says, incredulously. âWith you? She must be mad.â Heâs been friends with Lying for years, now, known them ever since he was a tiny first-year undergraduate â but even heâs not sure heâd voluntarily try and argue with them.
âSheâs fiery,â says Lying, and if it werenât for long years of familiarity, heâd miss the intrigued note of delight in their voice. Lying loves someone to go toe-to-toe with almost as much as they loathe people who talk back to them. âI⊠admire her tenacity, especially for a first year.â
âOh, you admire her tenacity,â teases Kirin, smiling, ducking to avoid the swat Lying aims at his head as they rise from their seat. âHey! Hey. Be gentle with me. Iâm a fragile, hopeless romantic, remember?â
Lying snorts at that. âHopeless romantic, yes,â they say, pouring themself another cup of now-lukewarm tea from the cooling, slightly over-steeped pot. âFragile, no.â They pointedly ignore the tea cup Kirin holds out to them, nose in the air as they settle back into your seat. âGet it yourself, if youâre going to be so rude.â
Pouting, Kirin throws Lying a look intended to be deeply wounded, but he suspects Lying would probably just call pathetic. Theyâve always been rather immune to his puppy eyes. âYouâre such a bully,â he complains, teasingly, getting up and heading over to the kettle to pour himself some more tea.
âOf course.â Lying doesnât seem terribly bothered by the accusation. A small, fond smile curls the corners of their lips up when Kirinâs back is turned, aimed at the broad expanse of his back and the plaid pattern of his shirt. âHow long have you known me for? More than six years, now? Iâm honestly not quite sure what else you expect from me.â
They wipe the smile off their face when Kirin turns back around â it wouldnât do for him to see them being sentimental, even if he already knows they care â and take a careful, measured sip of their tea. âSo,â they say, when heâs settled back in his seat, peering at him over the rim of their cup with narrowed eyes. âEnough about me. Donât think I didnât notice your frankly poor attempts at deflection and changing the subject. Tell me why, exactly, I shouldnât teach Ridge, the unpleasant little piece of slime that he is, a few things about basic manners.â
Will lets his thumb hover over the the send button for a full five minutes, worrying at his lip with his teeth. Itâs just a text, he tells himself, and a necessary text at that â last time he saw Kirin, heâd practically yelled at the guy, and⊠he has to admit, he feels a little bad. Even just remembering how lost Kirin had looked makes his stomach twist with shame. The least he can do is offer an apology.
âWhatâre you doing there?â murmurs Sips from next to him, right in his ear, leaning over like the nosy son-of-a-bitch that he is to stare at Willâs phone screen.
Jumping in surprise, Will fumbles with his phone, nearly dropping it â and manages to hit send in the process. When heâs got a firm grip on it again, he stares at the screen for a long second, at the small bubble of green sitting there with his words in it. He should feel relieved, he supposes. Instead, he just feels a little sick.
âWilliam?â prompts Sips, curiously, one eyebrow raised. Heâs never seen Will look anxious like this before. Stressed, overworked, tired, pissed off⊠but never scared, never this distracted, never nervous and twitching and fidgeting like a spooked rabbit. Heâs somewhere between intrigued and, against his better judgement, concerned.
âNone of your business,â Will mutters, mutinously, ignoring Sips in favour of worrying at his lip with his teeth â before then jumping again when, ten seconds later, his phone vibrates in his hand. The screen lights up with a new text.
âAww, no need to be like that, you big babby,â says Sips, in that soft, easy drawl of his. He nudges Will in the ribs with one elbow, thankfully far more gently and far less bonily than Parvis usually does. âWeâre friends, right? Buddies. You can trust me.â
âI wouldnât trust you further than I could throw you.â Will scowls when Sips just laughs quietly â it hadnât been a joke. âNo, seriously.â He pushes his reading glasses a little further up his nose, and resists the urge to squint out of sheer force of habit as he peers down at Kirinâs newest message.
[you need more friends]
i think we probably do
Will stares at the text for a long moment, the bottom dropping out of his stomach as a wave of anxiety washes over him, and then hits the lock button. He canât deal with this right now. He needs to pay attention to⊠whatever the lecturerâs saying. Resisting the urge to curse, he shoves the phone in his pocket, picks up his pen again, and tries to focus. Whatever Kirin has to say, Will can respond during the break.
By the time the lecturer calls quick break, though, an hour in, Willâs phone has vibrated in his pocket again. Thereâs another new message from Kirin waiting for him.
[you need more friends]
are you on main campus? i need to grab lunch, we could talk there
Hesitating for a long moment, thumbs hovering over the small phone keyboard, Will resists the urge to chew on his already bitten-raw lip. Instead, he raises one hand to his mouth and chews absently on the overlong sleeve of Xephosâ jumper, and then on the corner of one thumbnail once he realises what heâs doing. This jumper isnât his to ruin, after all.
He should have given it back by now, he knows, but Xephos hadnât asked for it back, and he really hadnât been able to face the thought of his usual shirt and waistcoat today. Heâd put them on and, instead of protected, heâd felt restricted, like the waistcoat was a laced-tight corset instead. The jumper had been⊠better, soft and warm and oddly forgiving. Heâd put it on and breathed a little easier.
[Strife]
Yeah. Okay.
[Strife]
Iâm in lectures until 1. Meet you at 1.15?
The response is almost immediate â and, despite everything, oddly comforting.
[you need more friends]
:)
He stares at the message for a long minute, trying to decode the meaning behind it. An agreement? A way of saying Iâm not angry? Had Kirin just been too lazy to type out full words for a response? Heâs not sure, but the small smiley face makes some of the wound-tight anxiety in his stomach ease. When he clicks the phone screen locked and slips it back into his pocket, heâs smiling a little.
âAww, is poor little Strife lonely?â comes a loud, mocking voice from behind him.
Strife grits his teeth.
He knows exactly who it is â Smiffy, the resident punk-wannabe of the class, a first year with wildly out-of-control green hair, a heavy leather jacket, and a nose ring. The carefully cultivated rebellious attitude is somewhat undercut by the fact that Strife knows his twitter handle is @geckomom, and is mostly tweets of him cooing over the tank full of the little creatures he has at home.
âGo away, Smiffy,â he says, stiffly, without looking round, not particularly willing to play the other studentâs games today â only to groan quietly when his words are met with a familiar, heckling laugh, and a low ooooh. âAnd the rest of you, too.â He should have known that wherever Smiffy was, the others would be too.
The Sirs, as they called themselves, were the bane of his existence. A group of three loudmouthed, crude first years who were all bark and no bite, and all the more annoying for it. They swaggered around the place, throwing their weight around as if they owned the entire university.
Strife couldnât stand them.
Admittedly, Sips seemed to be the only person who could stand them. Most likely because they turned into overenthusiastic, overexcited puppies in his presence, tripping over themselves and squabbling amongst each other in what Strife found a frankly pathetic bid for attention. Strife wasnât entirely sure why theyâd picked Sips of all people to behave for â though, from the unbridled longing heâs caught on not one but all three of their faces a handful of times in Sipsâ presence, he could make an educated guess.
Either Sips was very, very oblivious, or he was playing hard to get, and Strifeâs honestly not sure which is more likely. Or more funny.
Itâs Trott, though, their nominal âleaderâ â a short, almost scrawny thing with overlong hair scraped up into a stubby ponytail and a mild overbite, covered in seemingly endless freckles just a shade darker than the warm brown of his skin â that speaks up first.Â
âWho you talking to there, Strifey?â he asks, and Strife has to clench his jaw against the urge to snap back that Parvis is the only one allowed to call him that. âYouâve not managed to find someone who actually wants to be friends with you, have you? Because thatâd be a bloody Christmas miracle, that would, and itâs only November.â
âMaybe heâs paying them?â chimes in Ross, with a wide grin. Heâs got the most unnaturally large amount of beard that Strifeâs ever seen on a nineteen-year-old â which is definitely not jealousy speaking, has nothing to do with his own thin, patchy facial hair that refuses to grow into anything useful beyond stubble â and dark, permanently angry eyes. âOoh, thatâs pretty filthy, Strife, paying someone to fuâ to be your friend. Pretty dirty. Grimy, even. Disgusting.â
Strifeâs hands clench into fists against the desk, and he becomes aware his shoulders are nearly up around his ears where heâs hunched over, curled into the borrowed jumper as if to protect himself. âFuck off,â he mutters, breaking his usual rule of no swearing on the basis that this is an emergency, and scowls at the low, patronising, threatening chorus of oooooh noises he gets in response.
Something must show on his face, because Sipsâ eyes dart between him and the three Sirs, lips pressed together into a thin line.
âHey, Kermit and company, back off,â he says, mildly, a moment later. His mouth is back to its usual, lazy grin. âJust because you canât get anyone to touch that weird⊠thing you call your dick, doesnât mean you have to shit on everyone else.âÂ
He grins as the vicious look on Smiffyâs face changes to embarrassed humiliation in the space of a heartbeat, and at the way Strife squirms at his crude words.
âHe got you good there, mate,â says Trott, sympathetically, as Smiffy flushes bright red all the way to his roots and slumps down in the lecture chair, like heâs trying to hide inside his oversized leather jacket. With the washed-out green of his hair, his crimson cheeks make him look like a particularly cheap and low-quality Christmas decoration. âPretty bad burn. Third degree at least. Might need to call an ambulance.â
Ross snickers from Smiffyâs other side, nudging him with his elbow. âOoo, heâs right though, isnât he?â he crows quietly. âMight need an ambulance anyways, just for Smiffyâs fucked-up cock. Looks all infected to me. Is it supposed to be that shade of green? Matches your hair.â
âFuck off, Ross,â snaps Smith. âYou werenât saying that last night when you were fuckinâ slobbering all over it, were you, huh? You littleââ
âIâm sorry,â calls the lecturer, voice raised and the annoyance plain in her tone â itâs only then that Sips and the Sirs seem to realise the rest of the lecture theatre has gone silent. Breakâs apparently over, and everyoneâs noticed but them. âAm I boring you? Youâre free to leave if I am.â
The Sirs shuffle awkwardly amongst themselves, staring down at the desks of the lecture theatre and mumbling mutinously in that three-voices-one-sentence way they do that creeps Strife out, looking rebellious but generally ashamed.Â
Sips, however, looks nothing of the kind. âSorry, miss!â he calls back, cheerfully, raising a hand by way of my bad. âThe first years nearly shat themselves again.âÂ
A ripple of snickering and murmuring runs around the lecture theatre at his words, and the lecturer sighs. Smiffyâs cheeks darken even further, and even Ross looks a little flushed. Trott stares determinedly down at his books, jaw clenched.
âIf you could try and pay attention, that would be great,â says the lecturer, loud enough to quieten the giggles that Sipsâ words set off. âThat includes you, Mr. Underscore.â Sheâs not scowling any more, though â if anything, she just looks resigned â and when Sips bobs his head sheepishly and shrugs in a what can you do? sort of manner, she turns back to the whiteboard with a roll of her eyes.
The rest of the lecture passes in a blur of words and diagrams and explanations, none of which Will processes properly. He thanks whatever gods may or may not be listening that this particular lecturer always uploads the powerpoint to their class page, because he barely even hears what sheâs saying, too caught up in worry about his meeting with Kirin. When theyâre finally dismissed, his bag is already packed, notepad and pens tidied away and glasses in their case, and heâs the first out the door.
âThereâs not really any space inside,â says Kirin, almost apologetically, when Will gets within hearing distance. âI meant to grab us a table, but they were all full by the time I got here. Anyways, itâs hardly private, and itâs incredibly noisy.â He winces just at the thought of it, nose wrinkling and eyes squinting a little.
Will tries very hard not to find the motion faintly endearing, fails, and eyes the wide courtyard in front of the cafe. Itâs a small area of grass and trees, undoubtedly intended to be a green space in an overwhelmingly urban campus. Instead, it just manages to look sad, and somewhat dead given the approaching winter.
âWe could sit on a bench?â he suggests. Itâs cold out, but not that cold, and theyâre both dressed warmly. Kirinâs in his sheepskin parka, the zip done up tight under his chin. Willâs in his woollen car jacket, the thick, bright red scarf that was a birthday gift from Parvis wrapped around his neck and face up to almost his ears.
Nodding, Kirin holds out one arm in a sweeping gesture, looking from the courtyard to Will. âLead on,â he says, trailing easily into step after.Â
They pick the first unoccupied bench they come across, tucked close enough to one of the buildings to avoid the wind, a tree to their left sending dead leaves floating down on them occasionally. Settling down on the bench, Will doesnât fail to notice how carefully Kirin positions himself â distance enough between them that theyâre not touching, but close enough it doesnât look like heâs snubbing Will.Â
Heâs not sure whether to be annoyed at Kirinâs attempted coddling, or touched by his thoughtfulness, so he settles for picking at the clingfilm around his sandwiches and saying nothing.
Kirin seems far more at ease, opening his half-baguette and taking a bite from the top of it. âSo,â he says, when heâs finished swallowing, and had another bite. Judging by the look of relief on his face, itâs the first thing heâs eaten all day. âWhat⊠what did you want to say to me? Or would you like me to go first with the talking.â Heâs watching Will curiously, intently, and the weight of his gaze is almost enough to make Will shiver.
âIâ I wanted to say sorry,â says Will, stiffly, clearing his throat. âFor the. The other day. I wasââ He swallows, staring down at his hands, clenched around his clingfilmed sandwiches hard enough to press dents into them. âYou were just being friendly, and I behaved in an unacceptable manner.â
He doesnât like apologies, and the words stick in his throat. He manages to force them all out nonetheless.
Kirin listens in silence, and then inclines his head. âThank you,â he says, softly â almost thoughtfully. âAlthough, given what Iâve heard from Parvis, your reaction was⊠understandable.â His face darkens at the memory of whatever conversation heâd had with Parvis, jaw tight and eyes hard. Itâs the most angry Willâs ever seen him, and itâs just a little bit terrifying. âWhat he did wasâ unkind of him, and very stupid. Iâm so sorry.â
âItâs not your fault,â says Will, almost automatically. He peels the clingfilm off his sandwich, for something to do with his hands, but his stomach is so twisted up â despite Kirinâs generous acceptance of his apology, despite the fact he doesnât seem to be angry â that he canât find it in him to start eating it.
Humming quietly, Kirin nods, and takes another bite of his baguette. âNo, itâs not,â he agrees. âBut it wasââ He breaks off, sighs quietly. âItâs all ended up as a bit of a mess, honestly, andâ although Parvis is entirely responsible for his own actions, I canât help but feel a little responsible for the circumstances, at least.â
Thereâs not much Will can say to that, really. He grunts quietly in response, shrugs one shoulder, and finishes opening up his sandwiches. Even the sight of them makes him feel a little sick.Â
Kirin, apparently, has no such concerns, given the way heâs steadily devouring his baguette.Â
The silence they sit in is far from companionable, and it itches under Willâs skin like the beginnings of a fire. His insides twist tighter and tighter, the anxiety spiralling higher in him, until something gives all at once.
âWhat do you want from me?â he asks, voice almost angry. For what feels like the hundredth time in the past few days, he canât breath properly, canât swallow past the strangling lump in his throat and the churning in his stomach. His sandwich sits in his lap, opened but incredibly unappealing.
When Kirin sighs, quietly, he doesnât have to look up to guess the expression on the other manâs face.Â
But then Kirin shifts next to him, ever so slightly, just enough that their shoulders touch. He remembers, suddenly, the last time they were like this â with Parvis laid across his lap and Kirinâs head resting against his, warm and easy and comfortable.
He wonders how, after that, they ended up here.
âOh, Will,â murmurs Kirin, quietly â and though his voice is soft, thereâs no pity in it, just an achingly endless patience and gentleness. âI donât want anything from you that youâre not willing to give.â
The world stops turning for a long second.
âNeither does Parvis,â adds Kirin, misinterpreting the stunned silence. âI know he⊠what he did upset you, and I donât blame you, it wasâ rude of him. Very rude. But it was a mistake, even if that doesnât make it any more okay, and he wonât⊠Neither of us want to push you like that.â
Itâs too close to an actual discussion, too close to properly talking about this â whatever this is. It makes Willâs stomach twist and clench with both anxiety and want. Because he wants this. He does. God does he want this.Â
Heâs just not sure he can ask for it yet.
âParvis invited me out clubbing this Friday,â he says instead, slowly, raising his head and daring to meet Kirinâs eyes. Theyâre wide, a little confused â but a little hopeful, too, a spark of something in them so different from Parvisâ manic glitter but equally bright. âIâ he said he invited you, too.â
Inclining his head in tentative agreement, Kirinâs eyes search Willâs face. What heâs trying to find there, Will isnât sure, but he doesnât seem satisfied when he says, âYes, he did. Iâm⊠busy, though, at the moment. I mightâ might not be able to come.â
Willâs might be oblivious sometimes, but he knows an out when he sees one â and this is Kirin offering him an out. Offering Will an easy way to turn him down, despite the way his face shutters with nervous, anticipatory disappointment.Â
It makes Willâs heart clench a little, but it solidifies the roiling nerves in his stomach into fierce determination.
âYou should come with us,â he blurts, before he can talk himself out of it again, before he can force himself to ignore the way Kirinâs closeness makes his heart beat faster and his skin prickle. âIt⊠it wouldnât be the same without you. And Parvis would sulk for the whole evening, if you didnât.â He adds the last few words as almost an afterthought, a way to try and deflect the attention from himself.
Kirinâs eyes grow wider at that, wider and almost hopeful. âWillâŠâ he breathes, quietly, and this time when he searches Willâs face for something, he looks like he finds it. âAre you sure? This isnât⊠Iâm not asking Parvis, here. Iâm asking you.â
âIt wouldnât be the same without you,â says Will, a little more firmly. His heart feels like a bird trapped inside his ribs, fluttering and too-fast, but the tight coil of his stomach is excitement rather than anxiety. âI would like you toâ to come with us.â
When Kirin keeps staring at him like he canât quite believe it, like Will is some strange, beautiful creature heâs never seen before, Will clears his throat quietly. âItâ and, well. Parvis really would sulk for the whole evening,â he says, truthfully â heâs seen it before, Parvis sulking when Willâs said he canât go out, or when some guy called Martyn on his philosophy course cancels on their plans together. Itâs not a pretty sight.
Kirin laughs, a little breathlessly, and pulls his eyes away from Willâs face at last. âThat he would,â he agrees, easily, shaking his head a little. âParvis is⊠quite something.â
âMmm.â Will nods, turning his own eyes down to his lap now that the tension is gone. Heâs still not sure he feels like eating, but he picks at his sandwich nonetheless, tugging a corner of crust off and pulling at it until itâs little more than crumbs â before jumping when he feels a hand touch his. Kirinâs fingers brush tentatively over his knuckles, warm and calloused, and Will shivers.
He turns his hand over, tentatively, as if heâs watching someone else pull the strings. Kirinâs palm is bigger than his â not quite enough to dwarf his hand, but close â and when Kirinâs fingers lace with his, he canât help the way he sucks in a sharp breath. âHeâ he certainly is.â
The rest of the week passes in a blur of classes and takeaway and leftover takeaway and studying. Itâs the way most of Willâs weeks do, if heâs honest. His social life could probably be described generously as lacking â or more accurately as kind of pathetic, Strifey, to borrow a phrase that Parvis is particularly fond of. In fairness to him, heâs snowed under with coursework. Enough so that, when Thursday rolls around, he only realises heâs completely forgotten about going drinking with Kirin when Parvis starts whining at him about it.
âI canât!â snaps Will, in the face of Parvisâ wheedling, slamming his hands down on his desk in frustration. Theyâve had this exact conversation three times in the last half-hour alone, and Parvis doesnât seem to have grasped that no amount of please with the vowel sound dragged out to impossible lengths is going to change his mind. âI canât, Parvis, Iâve got coursework to finish and a full day of lectures tomorrow andâ I canât.â
âBut it was supposed to be all of us going out together,â whines Parvis, draping his arms over Willâs shoulders, pressing his stomach against Willâs upper back where it sticks up over the back of the chair. He wraps his arms around Willâs chest in a mockery of a hug, resting his chin on the top of Willâs head. âAll of us, Strifey. That means you too.â
Will rubs a hand across his forehead, shrugging half-heartedly in an attempt to dislodge Parvis and sighing when it doesnât work. âI canât,â he says, quietly, staring at the lines of black type across his computer screen until they blur into squiggles. âIâve got lectures at nine tomorrow morning, andâ and even if I were willing to skip themââ Which, although he hates to admit it, he almost would be, just to see Kirinâs smile again, hear the way Parvis laughs when heâs half-drunk and buzzing manic from the heavy beat of the music. ââthis assignment is due in at midnight. I canât. Justâ stop.â
âAssignments,â says Parvis, with a dismissive wave of his hand, pressing his face against Strifeâs neck and doing something that can only be described as nuzzling. âI keep forgetting you actually have to do work. Advantages of being a first year, baby!â He laughs, pulling away, teeth flashing white in an over-wide grin. âOur grades this year only count for five percent of our degree. Ah, freedom feels so good.â
Grumbling under his breath, and trying to ignore the way his hands have curled into fists at the feel of Parvisâ laughter against his throat, Will grabs a bit of scrap paper off the corner of his desk. He balls it up, thoroughly tossing it at Parvisâ head. It misses by a mile, hits the wall rather than Parvis, but Parvis ducks nonetheless and just laughs harder. âGet outta here,â says Will, despairingly, shaking his head. âGo on, shoo. Go enjoy your freedom.â He pauses for a moment, chews on his lip. ââŠSay hi to Kirin for me.â
Parvis shoots him a mock-salute from the doorway, eyes glittering beneath barely-noticeable circles of dark eyeliner. âAye-aye, Capân. Will do!â he agrees cheerfully. âEnjoy being a nerd, or whatever.â He stumbles out the room, letting the door swing shut behind him.
A moment later, thereâs a click at the flat door opens, a thump as it closes, and then Parvis is gone.
Sighing quietly, Will turns back to his laptop and piles of paper, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. Itâs not jealousy that makes his jaw ache with how hard heâs clenching it, he tells himself. Definitely not. Not regret thatâs making his insides turn slow, unsettling backflips.
He ignores it, all of it, and forces his eyes to focus on the screen. Thereâs another thousand words to written in the next few hours, after all, and he has no idea what heâs going to say for at least half of them.
By the time Parvis gets back at some time past one in the morning, Strife has a completed paper handed in, a second assignment due in on Saturday half-finished, a far clearer desk than before, and a headache throbbing at his temples. He hits the save icon in the top-left of the window, and then again, because heâs tired and it never hurts to be thorough, before closing the window.
Caffeine this close to bed really isnât a good idea, but thereâs no way heâs going to get to sleep without something to ease the pounding in his head. Warm, weak tea and a couple of ibuprofen should do it, so he hauls himself out of his chair and stretches â wincing when his back clicks in three different places, and something in his shoulder grinds unpleasantly as he rotates it â before padding barefoot out into the corridor and down towards their communal kitchen.
Heâs barely made it two steps before the door to their little corridor rattles, and drunken singing floats through from the outside. Itâs the kind thatâs less actual singing, and more mumbling interspersed by an occasional, sharp rise in volume as the singer actually remembers the words.
âMmmnmn parts to love! Or so mnmn,â goes the song, or at least this drunken rendition of this, and Will snorts as he recognises it as one of Parvisâ bandâs. He canât remember the name of it â canât remember the name of most of them, really, heâs gotten into plenty of arguments with Parvis about how awful their titling skills are â but he remembers Parvis playing it earlier in the year, when it was still warm enough to be outside.
âMmm part that you lose- somethinâ mmmm receive!â The door rattles again, and then thumps, pulling Will out of the memory with a start. âStriiiiiife?â Itâs the distinctive cry of a drunk Parvis, and Will sighs, rubbing at one eye socket with the heel of his palm as the noise makes his headache spike. âStrifey, Iâve forgotten my keys! Let me in!â
The moment Will opens the door, Parvis comes toppling in â he was evidently leaning against it, and the sudden lack of support makes him stumble and almost fall before he rights himself. âStrifey!â he says, delightedly, when he notices Will, eyes lighting up. His eyeliner has smudged a little, and heâs wearing lipgloss that Willâs sure he wasnât wearing when he left, but otherwise looks far too composed to have gone clubbing. âHello.â
âMorning, Parvis,â says Will, quietly, smiling crookedly at him. Despite the low throbbing at the base of his skull, he canât help but be amused by the almost puppy-ish expression of happiness on Parvisâ face. âDid you have a good evening with Kirin?â
Parvis sways a little, before catching himself, taking a few stumbling steps forward and kicking the door shut behind him. The steps bring him close enough that Will can see the way his dark eyes are glittering in the low, yellowish light of the corridor, the way it makes his lipgloss shine. âWould have been better with you there,â he says, a little mournfully. âButâ yeah. Yeah. It was good. We justâ we decided to just stick to the bar. Had some drinks. Talked. It was good.â
He takes another step forward, close enough Will could count his eyelashes if he were so inclined, crowding into Willâs personal space, an odd intensity in his eyes. âWouldâve been better with you.â
This close, Will is painfully aware of where every inch of his body is in relation to Parvisâ, of how he can feel Parvisâ breath on his cheek. He smells heavily of copper and vodka and sugar and something else, aftershave Strife vaguely remembers but canât quite place, sandalwood and patchouli and a hint of citrus. Heâs still cold from the outside, the bare skin of his arms cool where it presses against Will, and itâs enough to make Will shiver â from the chill of it, from the contact, from how close Parvis is.
âThatâsâ thatâs good,â manages Will, looking up at Parvis. Heâs not sure why he isnât just stepping backwards, putting some space between them, other than the fact that his lungs have stopped working and his skinâs prickling all over, crawling static between them. His legs arenât listening to him, all of a sudden. âIâmâ glad. That you had a good time.â
Parvis sways again where he stands, leans into Will and grabs at his waist for support â and, suddenly, Will knows. He knows whatâs going to happen a split-second before it does, a kind of premonition that leaves him frozen like a deer in the headlights, powerless to stop it.
âYeahâŠâ murmurs Parvis, quietly, eyes huge and bright under his smudged eyeliner, lips shiny and half-parted as he exhales slowly. âMe too.â And Will should pull away, he really should, it would be so easy to step back, but he doesnâtâ and Parvis leans in, and thenâ
For the shortest moment, everything slots into place â the planets align, the sun rises, the world stops turning, and a thousand other awful metaphors that donât even come close to describing how right it feels. Pressed chest to chest, Parvisâ arm curled around his waist, soft lips against his⊠itâs not so different, really, from all the nights theyâve shared a bed, not so different from Parvis curled into him in sleep and breathing against his skin. Kissing him like this, in the quiet space of time past midnight, his lower lip caught lightly between Parvisâ teeth as Parvis kisses like heâs trying to devour him, feels like a natural extension.
It takes all of a heartbeat for Will to come to his senses and push Parvis away, stumbling backwards with a gasp and scrubbing at his mouth with the back of his hand.
His fingers canât seem to get rid of the taste, the copper-sweetness of Parvis on his lips, nor the way the pit of his stomach feels hot and molten. âWhat the fuckââ he snaps, because anger is easier than confusion, than trying to process whatever this is. âParvisââ
Parvis stumbles back a step from the force of the shove, wide-eyed and lost, before his expression crumples into something dark and angry. ââŠWell,â he says, the word alcohol-thick and exhaustion-slurred. Thereâs still an edge to it, though, hurt and amusement and something oddly bitter. âWell. Thatâs your answer, then, isnât it?â
He barks out a sharp noise that only technically qualifies as a laugh, drags a hand through the sweat-spiked mess of his hair, and takes a stumbling step back. Will makes an aborted movement forward, reaching out a hand â and then curls back in on himself when Parvis steps away again.
âThatâs your fucking answer!â shouts Parvis, arms spread wide like Willâs splayed him open, crucified him, and he just keeps stumbling backwards. âYou wanted to know whatâd happen if you kissed me? Well, thereâs your answer, William fucking Strife, and itâs that you wouldnât! Because youâre a fucking coward.â
The anger slips off Willâs face in the space between heartbeats, and the noise he makes in the back of this throat is low, involuntary, wounded. It sounds a little like heâs been stabbed. âPâ Parvisââ
Parvis barely seems to notice, shoulders shaking and hands curled into fists where theyâre his arms are still held open. âYouâre a fucking ice queen up there in that goddamn tower of yours with the door barred shut,â he snarls, voice climbing in volume with every word. âAnd you wonder why no one comes and knocks on the fucking door any more? Thisââ He gestures at his own face, at the way his lipgloss has been smeared across his cheek by the drag of Willâs lips, and his eyes look so huge and dark and hurt that Will feels like he might drown on them. âThis is fucking why!â
âShut up,â says Will â and now itâs his turn to step back, one arm wrapped almost protectively around his stomach. He feels sick. âShutâ shut up, Parvis.â
Stumbling back again, lurching sideways against his own door, Parvis shakes his head. âIâm right,â he says, quieter this time, something like resignation laced through every syllable â though the words themselves are barbed, sharp and hooked and catching in the soft spaces of Willâs heart. âJust because you donât want to hear it doesnât mean Iâm wrong.â
Before Will can say anything in response, heâs gone, shoved his way into his room through the perpetually-open door and shut it behind him. In the sudden silence, Will hears the click of the lock and the faint thump of what he assumes is Parvis collapsing into bed.
Just like that, heâs alone in the corridor.
He knows how this will end â how Parvis will stumble into the kitchen tomorrow morning while Willâs making breakfast, hung over and apologetic. How heâll say, âUh, so, about last nightââ, and how Will will cut across him, tell him it doesnât matter, that heâs forgotten it already. How everything will go right back to normal again, or as close to normal as it ever gets with Parvis around.
The thought makes him feel somewhere between sick and dizzy. He wraps arms around himself, fingers clutching at his sides like he might fall apart without the pressure holding him together, and closes his eyes as he fights the urge to just sink to the floor where he stands.
âUm.â Will turns around, sees Xephosâ sleep-ruffled hair and bleary eyes peering at him through the gap between the door and doorframe of his room. âEverything okay out here?â From the hesitant look on his face, heâs probably very well aware that it isnât â they likely woke him up with their shouting, Will realises, and feels a stab of cold guilt in the pit of his stomach to match the nausea thatâs settled heavily there.
âYes,â he says, because what else is there to say. âYes, everythingâs fine.â He forces a smile onto his face, and canât quite meet Xephosâ eyes. âSorry for waking you up. I thinkâ think Parvis had a little too much to drink.â
âDoesnât he always?â asks Xephos, a faint smile on his face, and in that second Will thinks he might love the other man a little for accepting his shoddy lie without question, despite the fact he must have heard every word of the argument. âHe always talks a load of rubbish when heâs drunk, too.â
Itâs a transparent attempt at comfort. Will sighs, scrubs at his eyes with the heels of his palms in a moment of weakness and realises suddenly how badly his hands are shaking. âIâ yeah,â he says â because chin up, put on a strong face, play the game. All those little euphemisms for keep smiling while your heart is breaking, and somehow he never noticed thatâs what they meant before. âYes. I know.â
Xephos doesnât look convinced, but he doesnât try and stop Will when Will fumbles with the lock to his room, manages to twist the key and push his way inside, shoving the door shut behind him. Waiting, Xephos listens for the familiar click of the lock.
He sighs quietly when it doesnât come, drags a hand through his sleep-mussed hair and presses his forehead against the doorframe.
Inside his room, Will barely manages to make it across the room before heâs collapsing face-first into the bed, gasping for breath against the pillow as he wraps his arms around it and squeezes and squeezes like he can crush the life out of it. Like he can make it stay by merit of just holding it down. Like itâs Parvis.
His phone buzzes against his hip and he pulls it out of his pocket, angrily thumbs the screen on and half-hopes itâs Parvis texting to apologise just so he can carefully construct some viciously passive-aggressive reply. Itâs not. The words you need more friends glow accusingly at him from the top of the screen.
[you need more friends] did parvis get home okay ??
He stares at it for a long thirty seconds, feels the anger and jealousy rise hot and sickening in his stomach. Itâs irrational. He knows itâs irrational â but he canât help the way it rises up to strangle him, and his fingers are typing out a reply and hitting send before he can stop them.
[Strife] fuck off
He watches the green bar scroll across the top of his screen and waits for it to finish sending. When itâs done, he switches the phone off, throws it across the room at the chair in the corner with a lack of care that heâd never usually allow himself. It hits the chair with a thump, bounces, and by some miracle of chance doesnât fall off.
Will doesnât see, face already buried in his pillow once more.