Will Stutely (sly_stutely) wrote in nevermore_logs, @ 2021-01-24 16:22:00 |
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Will had spent the afternoon making things right with Tuck over messages, forcing himself to speak the fear that had lurked behind the monstrous words he’d shouted the previous night. And Tuck had listened and offered care and support just the same as he would’ve done last night if Will hadn’t decided instead to be a raging arsehole. Scarlet had called it bygones at once and offered an olive branch in the form of a wager and an unexpected confidence. By the time he’d ended both conversations, he’d been thoroughly wrung out, mentally and physically, feeling more than a little stupid and a hell of a lot more than a little grateful to have the two of them as friends. But there was something Tuck had said last night, in amongst the screaming, that had hit home hard, and all day long the words had dogged his thoughts, playing on repeat. You think you’re the only one no one came for?! He was thinking on them as the cab wove through the darkening streets toward Clio’s place. He was thinking about Tuck, alone on the streets of San Francisco, shooting himself up into oblivion, and no one there to pull him back out of it. But he was also thinking of Much, who’d spent half a year in the ground and none of them had even thought to go looking. And he was thinking of Art, who he’d last seen determinedly piling a truck full of canned goods in readiness for the Millennium Bug, and… then what? They’d just fallen out of touch. And he was thinking of George, who’d dropped off the map in the nineties, and they’d all figured he’d gone off on one of his solo jaunts, only he'd never come back from it. He was thinking about David and Gil and Wat the Tinker, names he’d scarcely contemplated in a shamefully long time. He was thinking: holy god, while he’d been twisting himself in knots over being left behind and forgotten, had he gone and done the exact same thing? But he also had the germ of an idea. It had come to him in the afternoon, while he was talking to Tuck, and again it was Tuck’s words that had crystallised it. They’d never forgotten, Tuck had said. They’d just… all been living their lives, trying to get on. But getting on wasn’t enough. I don’t want to do that anymore. I want to be together. It was the only thing Will had ever wanted. He thought maybe – maybe – he had an inkling of how to get started, but he’d need to talk to Clio. And before he got to that, there were other subjects that would probably have to be broached. Like the one about how her fuckstick boyfriend had gone and made a prick of himself again. His hand were clammy again by the time he climbed out of the cab. The moment she opened the door, he could see her gaze go to the shadow of his black eye, the swelling of his split lip, the scrape above his eyebrow. All he could think of was the last time he’d come to her door, how much worry he’d laid on her, and how here he was doing the same all over again. God, but he was a colossal moron. “Hi,” he said, weakly. |