Chapter Text
W
Will pulls up to rehearsal with a big pit in his stomach. He had a weird freaking dream last night and overslept his alarm by like an hour and now for the first time ever, he’s late.
Austin was holding him down. In the dream. He was on top of Will and holding his arms down, and his face was inches away and he was yelling something at Will. That part is still vivid and looping in his memory. Weirdest of all, Will was definitely screaming in the dream. It was a vicious guttural squeal kind of thing, real banshee-like. Honestly it was sick as hell, and he’s itching to get into the studio and try it out.
Still, though. He’d woken up drenched in sweat and reeling and he still can’t shake the feeling. He walks into the studio feeling awkward as hell; everyone else is already plugged in and ready, waiting on him. Austin is sitting behind his kit and drumming a rhythm on his thigh, which he stops when he sees Will. Will looks away quickly, avoiding the eye contact.
Before Adam can open his mouth, Will says in one breath, “sorry guys, I overslept, my bad, don’t hate me!”
“I—okay. Did you warm up?” Adam asks, kind of scowling but not mad, Will’s pretty sure.
“Yeah, enough, in the car,” Will replies.
“Wish I could do that,” Moke snorts, getting up from the amp he’s sitting on and switching the power on.
“Dude, I swear I never see you warm up even—” Austin starts to say, but Moke drowns him out with a distorted chord on his bass.
Rehearsal is kickass. Will gets lost in the music and the technique and he’s not a person anymore, he’s an instrument made of flesh and blood and spit. He loves the feeling—like he’s tapping into a lightning bolt and riding it all the way down, like his body’s the conduit for all that crackling energy. He tries the new scream and feels it push his throat just a little too far. If he’s honest, he didn’t warm up his high range as much as he usually needs to. It sounds amazing though; he knows it. The guys all say so afterward, and they’re not as easy to impress with his vocals as they used to be, so he’s happy.
He actually forgets to be uncomfortable about the dream until right after they’re done for the day, a couple hours later.
As the guitarists turn off their gear, Austin is flipping his sticks around and still noodling on the kit. Will’s focus zeros in on his hands, and he gets smacked with the memory—in the dream, Will shrieks, and Austin clamps his hands down on his mouth hard, and Will writhes and Austin yells his name and Will fucking bites his hand hard enough to draw blood.
They finally catch each other’s eyes, and Austin gets off his throne and comes toward Will, just as he gets lost in that vision—feeling Austin, tasting him, his sweat and blood, and in his own pinned down body, the burn of white-hot fire. He feels too warm, but he shivers.
“Hey,” Austin says, pulling him into a hug. Will takes a breath and relaxes just a little bit. Austin is kind of sweaty, but then, Will is too.
“That squeal was killer.”
“Dude, I know,” Will replies. “I gotta try that at the next show.”
“Home show’s in a few days,” Austin says.
“Oh shit, yeah.”
“You really forgot?” Austin scoffs but smiles. “Yeah, I guess we got a lot going on with the label and stuff.”
Will agrees and laughs in response, but he suddenly feels exposed under Austin’s gaze. Austin has this way of looking into him, these intense yet somehow laid-back eyes that seem like they’re saying, I can see the deepest parts of your soul right now and I’m not even trying. Will turns in a full circle before correctly finding the door and moving to leave.
Austin walks with him, brushing against his shoulder but not saying anything more. Will feels like his thoughts are already loud enough to fill the hallway as they walk out to the parking lot.
After a series of goodbyes and jokes with the other guys, Will can’t hold it in anymore, and Austin turns to face him like he knows Will’s about to spill.
“Man, I had the weirdest fucking dream last night,” he groans.
“Oh yeah? Is that why you’re all worked up today?”
Will huffs. “Yeah.”
“Was I in it?” Austin’s smirking, damn him.
“Yeah,” he says, looking away even though he knows how incriminating it’ll be. Great.
Austin laughs. “Alright, well what was it about?”
No, he’s not getting that out of Will.
“That’s the thing, dude, I don’t really remember, I just woke up feeling all fucked up!”
“Okay…” Austin probably doesn’t buy it. It’s like, impossible to lie to him. Why does Will even try?
Will rests his chin on Austin’s shoulder and sighs, confused and tired. Then he remembers about last night—long boarding in the graveyard until like, right before the sun started coming up, and eating that dulce.
“And I might have been up until six,” he admits.
Austin raises his eyebrows. “You want me to come over?”
“Yeah.” Will doesn’t think about it. It’s always a yes. “I got this huge frozen pizza we can have.”
Austin smiles and pats his back, and says, “Alright, I’ll be right behind you.” And then he turns away and walks to his truck.
===
Austin always comes over after rehearsal. Like, at least a couple times a week. So Will’s annoyed that he actually felt a spike of nerves when he asked to come. Like the night’s gonna end with Will actually getting fucking smothered to death by his best friend, just like freakin’ prophesied in the dream. Obviously he says yes, though. Of course he wants Austin there.
Austin’s probably just a minute or two behind Will—if he gets his shit together and hurries, he can roll joints for both of them and they can disappear into the smoke together. He crashes through the door and doesn’t bother shutting it all the way, just hits it mostly closed with a hand as he moves into the room.
Will’s apartment isn’t anything super glamorous, but it’s nice. It’s more than he needs, honestly, and even though he moved in a few months ago, it’s still all pretty bare. Lots of blank white walls. He’s been way too fucking busy with the band to put the time into decorating. He throws his pile of keys and wallet and other shit on the coffee table and goes straight to the stash on his balcony. That’s kind of glamorous maybe—a one-bedroom with its own bigass balcony, basically meant for smoking.
He rolls up two joints and does his best to forget Austin’s hand clamping down hard on his mouth, and when he’s done after five minutes, Austin isn’t there yet.
Okay yeah, he feels fucking weird again. He can’t stop thinking about the stupid dream and it’s getting hard to focus on anything. The rush of rehearsal is gone and the neighborhood is quiet as purple darkness settles in. There’s just a little stripe of orange on the horizon where the sun went down. Because he doesn’t want to be in this mood when Austin shows up, Will lights up by himself, leaning up against the metal railing, his feet dangling.
He inhales a big pull, and thinks about what he wants to do tonight. Considers getting actually fucked up. Plenty of reasons to…. He exhales the smoke.
Inhales again. If Austin gets drunk, he’ll stay the night. Exhales. Can Will handle that tonight?
Big inhale now. If they both get drunk, some more possibilities open up. Exhale. Austin should be walking through the door any second. Then Will can see how he feels.
He rests his forehead on the cool metal banister. Finally he’s calm, feeling good. Feeling zoned out….
A
Austin pulls up to the apartment complex with some black metal screeching out of his open windows. He’s mildly pissed ‘cause he doesn’t have his ID, and the store on the way to Will’s actually tried to card him for a six pack. He had to drive fucking ten minutes in the opposite direction to find the closest liquor store that he knew wouldn’t card.
His headlights shine on Will’s building, and he can see the dumbass left his front door open like he’s immune to getting robbed. It’s been almost thirty minutes since they left from rehearsal. Will’s probably bouncing off the walls waiting for him. Austin kills the ignition and hops out of his truck with the beer in hand.
He shuts Will’s front door behind him, sets down the six pack, and goes right out to the balcony where he finds Will with his arms and legs dangling out the railing, his forehead pressed on the top metal bar. He doesn’t turn when Austin comes out; he must be really stoned or asleep.
“Dude, Will.” Austin pokes him in the side with his shoe and Will jerks his head back, hair bouncing, and grins up at him. Austin looks down at him, meeting his eyes, and a burst of affection wells up in his chest, so sudden that it nearly makes him dizzy. He spots the half-smoked joint in Will’s hand and leans down to grab it.
“Sorry I took fuckin’ forever, man, but I got beer.”
Will doesn’t stop smiling, but he wrinkles his brow. “You didn’t take forever, I just finished rolling these—well I smoked a little bit—”
“Ah, fuck—” Austin chokes, cause the joint he just took a big pull off of is ashy and cold. He spits.
“Dude, that shit is out, gimme the lighter.” He sits down next to Will, who scrunches his face up all confused, but hands the lighter over.
Austin holds up the joint to scold him before lighting it. “This isn’t ‘a little bit,’ man, it’s like half.”
“Dude,” Will rasps, putting a hand in his curls. “What time is it? I swear the sun was still up fuckin’… ten minutes ago.” And he looks up at the blackening sky and its few dots of stars.
Austin exhales his first hit and puts an arm around Will, who actually flinches to his touch. Austin frowns.
“You’re fucking high, dude. Come here.” He pulls Will toward him, who finally moves in close and lets himself be held.
“It’s been like a half hour, Will.” Austin ends his sentence with another hit of the joint.
“What the fuuuck,” Will says into Austin’s shoulder, slightly muffled. Then he takes back the joint.
They sit and smoke, lighting the second when they finish the first. Will is really on some weird shit today, and Austin wonders if he’s still bothered by his sex dream from last night or whatever it was. He’d obviously been shaken up at rehearsal, more than just from being five minutes late—like, he didn’t wander over to Austin’s kit even once. Austin doesn’t know why else Will would bring it up just to be vague and say he doesn’t remember it. Probably he just felt awkward. Can’t really blame him.
Either way, Austin lets himself fully soak up the moment. Will chatters about rehearsal, and the song they maybe finished writing, and his lyrics for the next song they’re writing. He talks about the band, but Austin notices Will doesn’t bring up the new contract from their label. They’d just got the offer a couple days ago; it was pretty big news for them. Austin makes a mental note to talk to Will about it later, not wanting to interrupt his flow. He responds when he should, but mostly just lets Will go wherever he needs to go. It’s the typical routine for them. Will does most of the talking; Austin does most of the smoking.
When the second joint is done, the night is a lot colder and Will’s basically in Austin’s lap. Probably time to go inside.
===
As they get higher and warmer and get the frozen pizza cooking, Austin watches some of Will’s tension start to melt away. Weird that he apparently just blinked away a half-hour like that, but now he just seems hangry.
“Motherfucker,” Will hisses at the oven.
“Dude, relax.” Austin is sitting on a stool at the counter behind him, finishing his beer. He feels Will’s attention shift to him as he tips his head back for the last sip. Will, eyes glued to Austin, bolts over to sit right up on top of the counter next to him, up in his space.
Austin tries to hold back a smile, but can’t quite do it.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
Will’s reply is to keep looking at him. He looks back. Sees each of Will’s individual eyelashes as his dark eyes flicker briefly down and back up.
Suddenly, Will just fucking falls off the counter and onto the floor.
“Christ, Will, you good?” Austin barks, startled.
Will doesn’t look good, he looks panicked. He puts a hand on his chest and swallows, staring up at Austin, panting through his open mouth. His dark eyes are wide and blinking rapidly.
Austin kneels down cautiously next to him.
“Will, talk to me. Are… are you having a fuckin’ stroke, or what?”
When Austin gets up close, Will manages to take a deep breath through his nose and starts to calm down.
“Yeah, no, I’m good,” he grumbles, and lets Austin help him up with the hand he’s offering. Will holds onto it for a second longer than he needs to, after he’s standing. Austin lets this happen, studying Will’s face, trying to find what’s wrong, trying to see inside his mind through the angle of his frown and the tilt of his lips.
“You sure?”
Will lets go, running his hands through his hair. “Yeah, I just fell, fuck,” he says. Then he adds, “I’m gonna get drunk, I think.”
“Well, alright,” says Austin, going to crack open another beer for him. He tries to be patient—whatever Will’s not saying, it’ll come out soon enough.
===
They split the six pack, and then open a couple more beers—a special occasion for Will who rarely drinks.
The night pretty much goes like this: Austin sitting at the counter and Will crouching on it like a goblin, shouting over the bluetooth speaker.
Them eating the whole pizza (or, Austin eating and Will devouring it) and then most of a bag of pizza rolls too.
Austin on the couch and Will laying on the floor, then rolling around, then joining him on the couch, playing Xbox together for a good few hours.
Austin and Will in Will’s bedroom, stumbling over the piles of clothes and whatever else on the floor. He’s gonna stay the night with Will, fuck it. It always seems like a no-brainer when he’s fucked up like this.
He takes his pants off clumsily, throws them somewhere in the mess of the floor, and falls into Will’s bed, burying his face in the pillow that smells like Will’s conditioner. It’s so fucking comfortable and dark and warm, he starts falling asleep immediately to the noises of Will tripping around his room, muttering stuff like “shitfuck,” and “goddamn I gotta clean” and dropping stuff on the floor. Eventually, the weight of him collapses into bed next to Austin.
“Bro,” Will whispers loudly, jabbing him in the side.
Austin relishes the comfort for one more second before finding the motivation to roll over and face Will. He’s very close, and the distant light coming from the other room is highlighting his curls like droplets of melted halo. Austin reaches out a lazy hand to Will’s hair and wraps his fingers in it, not caring how it seems and wanting to stay awake. Will lets out a long breath, warm on Austin’s face. He’s inches away, but he leans even more, and Austin’s heart lurches—shit, Will’s going to kiss him—
“You were pinning me down, man,” Will says.
“…What?”
“In my dream. Why’d you do that?” His voice is getting softer as his eyes drift shut. “Fuckin’ trying to suffocate me or some shit.”
“Okay... that’s not really what I thought it was.”
Will’s eyelids flicker back open, and the corners of his mouth turn up a little. “What’d you think it was?”
Austin doesn’t know what to say at all. If he wasn’t half-asleep...
“Well, I don’t know, maybe you did something to deserve it. In the dream.” He teases.
“Mmh, I didn’t do anything. I was pissed, though.”
Austin feels a little flicker of warmth in his stomach. He wants to stay awake a little longer, but the pull of sleep is so heavy, and he’s losing the fight.
“Hm. Just a dream though.”
“Yeah.”
Austin closes his eyes and falls into the darkness behind his eyelids.
“Cause you wouldn’t actually be mad. You’d like it.”
And he feels Will squirm just a little bit in the bed next to him. The last thing he hears is Will whispering, “ohhh, fuck you, man.”
===
It’s dark and quiet in the bedroom. Austin lays there for a few breaths, staring at the ceiling. Wondering what woke him up.
He turns his head to see the rest of the bed empty, and reaches a hand over to Will’s side to confirm he’s not there. Then he hears a plink sound from somewhere out in the kitchen. He gets up.
Austin finds Will on his knees, neck deep in the fridge. He blinks, waiting for his eyes to focus. Will is shoving a handful of something in his mouth.
“Will?”
Will’s head snaps to look at Austin and he freezes, caught. Austin freezes too, paralyzed by what he’s seeing.
Will’s hands and face are smeared with pink, slimy chunks of raw meat. Pieces of it stick to his hair and shirt. In one hand, the tray of ground beef, half gone. He looks at Austin with no recognition in his face, something animal about his blank expression like it’s not even him, like he’s not really there.
“Wh—what are you doing?” Austin breathes.
Will’s whole demeanor changes that instant. His body goes slack, and his face wakes up from the blank nothingness it was a second ago, taking back it’s right shape like a balloon reinflating. He blinks, looks around, finds the meat in his hands.
“I…” He meets Austin’s eyes.
“I don’t know,” he says. “Fuck, I don’t know.”