zaibugger

“Do you think in another life, we could’ve gotten married?” Henry slurs thoughtfully, staring into the whirlpool of whiskey he had spun in the simple glass clutched in his hand. It was usually for celebration, but just managing to keep their restaurant open was an accomplishment in itself, wasn’t it? That called for a good Irish drink.

He looks up when the silence lingers for too long, and a soft scoff slips past his lips at the sight of William’s disbelieving face. Was it really such a brazen question?

“What? Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?”

The lost composure begins to come back, with William smoothing his hands over his wrinkled, unbuttoned shirt and flashing Henry his signature grin. One leg crosses over the other, and he props an elbow up on the back of Henry’s shabby, beige coach.

He holds his head up in his palm and hums, confusing the held-back smile and blotchy red in Henry’s face for the alcohol in his system, when instead it’s taking everything in Henry not to laugh at the brief dramatic performance from William.

“You just always emphasize how important it is that we have one life and should live it well. I’d never expect you to imagine the idea of another life—unless you’re unhappy with the one you have now?”

“I’m not fallin’ into this psychological trap,” Henry grunts, raising the glass to his lips. “You could’a jus’ said the question was dumb. Don’t embarrass me, Will.”

And for a moment, William is distracted by the bob of Henry’s Adam’s apple when he gulps. Once. Twice. The glass is empty. He enjoyed times like this, where Henry was tipsy enough to let himself go, and his stoic nature drooped into something more emotional. Sure, he was always blunt and spoke his mind, but there was rarely ever a toothy grin or a deep furrow of Henry’s eyebrow to suggest an easier method to read him.

Before Henry can reach for the half-empty bottle that sits a little too close to the edge of the coffee table, William reaches out and takes it by the neck instead.

“Let me.” He says in that charming way that leaves Henry’s mouth dry despite the drink still on his tongue. Mutely, Henry nods and tips the glass toward William, who avoids it completely in favor of nudging the bottle’s opening to Henry’s open, awed mouth.

“If you were a woman, sure. We could have gotten married.” Maybe the alcohol was getting to William, too. He barely even processed his own words.

And wasn’t that the tragedy of it? Something they could never change, dictating how they have to spend the rest of their lives.

Silence falls over them again, and William gently tilts the bottle up, urging Henry to drink. He does so obediently, and wipes his mouth with his sleeve once he swallows.

“You know…” Henry starts, something important on the tip of his tongue until his eyebrows come together and he gives William a look that suggests offense.

“Wait. Why would I be the woman?”

It’s so ridiculous that William can’t stop the hearty laugh that rises from his chest. The tension is gone, replaced with a softer warmth in the air. Henry, despite his confusion, can’t help but smile at William’s contagious laughter.

“Will. I’m serious. Tell me.”