Chapter Text
Will sat on his floor looking into the box he had been unpacking when Duncan left. He wasn’t actually looking at anything, just sorta dissociating…
What was he doing?
He was just making a friend. Right?
15 minutes passed when Will thought of the pain in his knees. Sitting on his feet on the hardwood floor as a 40-year-old was not the wisest decision. He was jarred when he heard knocking at the door. In those 15 minutes that passed he had not gotten anything else unpacked.
Duncan was going to think he was taking advantage of his kindness, making him do all the work!
(…that was not what Duncan was going to think)
Will’s logical reaction to this thought was to dump the box he was looking into onto the floor…
… and it contained paper. Just loose sheets of paper.
There were now countless papers scattered around Will as he grew increasingly panicked.
Duncan knocked again.
Will took another swig of his drink and haltingly got up from his position on the floor. He walked through the house and opened the door (after looking through the window, he could never be too safe). Duncan stood there holding a squirming dog as Will wordlessly took a step back to let Duncan in. Though Duncan did not take the cue, Rusty seemed to understand and started to wriggle even more.
“You can come in.”
“Yes. I mean… thank you. I have my dog now.”
On top of his game, he was, astute observation Duncan.
“You can put him down, the others will find him eventually, and it’s not like he can damage anything here – unless he chews walls. I had a dog who did that. No idea why.”
Duncan quickly put Rusty on the floor, and he took off like a shot, running with complete confidence, sure in his decision to go upstairs.
The other dogs were not upstairs… he’d figure it out eventually.
“I don’t think he chews walls.”
---
Duncan began taking his shoes off by the door when will turned to him, “I made a mess.”
If any face could encapsulate the feeling of reading ‘???’, it was Duncan’s in that moment. And with that Will quickly shuffled back to the room (now less) full of boxes.
“What do you mean?”
Will quickly turned his head to Duncan and then back towards his destination, “I- I tried- you’ll see. Then you’ll want to leave, crazy ol’ Will Graham.”
The last part was not meant for Duncan’s ears, and you would think with the number of explosions and shooting guns he’d experienced at close range, his hearing would be worse for the wear, but that was not the case.
“What?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
Will was not a good liar.
“Why is there paper all over the floor? I wasn’t gone for that long.”
“I told you I had made a mess, though I will not tell you why.”
Duncan bent down to start gathering papers from the floor, and Will groaned.
Dammit Will, keep your noises to yourself.
“No. Don’t pick those up.”
“Don’t pick up the papers? Off the floor?”
“Yes, don’t do it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I Duncan, neither do I,” Will shook his head as he refilled his glass.
Duncan was completely flabbergasted by Will’s mood.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Sit there. And be quiet.”
The morning drinking was making Will bolder.
Duncan nodded. Silently.
“I will pick up the –“ he looked at some of the papers in his hands, “ – the essays and then we can keep unpacking. You don’t have to though! I don’t want to keep you from your plans.”
Duncan huffed a laugh. Plans.
“Don’t laugh at me!”
”I wasn’t, I was-“
“Shh. Let me mope for the next 45 seconds and then we can forget this happened.”
Duncan was not likely to forget when he first saw Will Graham with his walls down. It probably wasn’t great that it was alcohol induced openness. But that was a problem for later Duncan.
Will hastily picked up the papers and walked them to the kitchen. Except he hadn’t figured out where to take his recyclables, and thus had no receptacle established. So, he ended up stomping back and putting the papers in the box.
“This is now the recycling box. You can talk now. Just keep unpacking. Or don’t. I don’t know anymore. I have to stop drinking,” he trailed off.
Duncan dutifully pulled the next box closest to him, upon opening it he found it was full of things that belonged in the kitchen, including more forks.
He knew where those went, but not where all the spices should go.
“Where should I put these?” He held a wooden box, filled with spices in glass jars.
Will’s eyes grew large and quickly took the box from Duncan and walked it to the trash bag in the kitchen.
A clinking noise was heard as the glass bottles fell against each other. Will returned.
“Thanks for finding those.”
“They were unopened?”
“Yeah… I- they were going bad.”
“How would you know? They were unopened.”
“I don’t come into your house and ask you personal questions, do I?”
Duncan sat up straight, slightly hurt and affronted. Using his professional deduction skills he figured there was more to this spice situation than appeared.
“No, you don’t.”
Will realized how rude he sounded when Duncan could not have possibly known the provenance of the spices. And while Will was trying to become a better person, no longer the stereotype of a grumpy professor, he was not yet ready to move on to becoming a person who apologizes even when they realize their mistakes.
(Will is a deeply flawed person. But aren’t we all.)