Fic: Makes Me Feel Much Taller Than You Are
Title: Makes Me Feel Much Taller Than You Are
Pairing: William/Tom, Tom/Sean (TAI/Empires)
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: All completely made up!
Wordcount: 2700
Summary William can’t help going to check out Empires play.
A/N: Thanks as always to the marvellous mintyfiend for betaing and putting up with me sending her snippets of this and angsting over it at her. All mistakes are mine. I have no idea if William smokes or not, but for this it suits me that he does. Concrit is welcome! Title belongs to Placebo.
William knows it’s a bad idea. He doesn’t need reminding of this, and he’s pretty sure it shows on his face, because Sisky just gives him a hard glare, arms folded across his chest, and doesn’t say anything.
William glares back, and they stare unblinkingly at each other until Sisky’s shoulders slump and he sighs. He shoves one hand onto the sofa, levering himself up to fish William’s coat out from under his ass and holds it out to him.
William makes a face and shakes the coat, trying unsuccessfully to brush out some of the wrinkles, and then shrugs it on.
“Bill,” Sisky says, when William’s hand is on the door handle. He pauses and turns around but it seems that Sisky isn’t going to say anything else.
“I’m not going to do anything,” William says. “I’m going to sit in the back with a beer and watch, and then I’m going to come home and not tell the others I went. Okay?”
Sisky doesn’t nod, but he doesn’t shake his head either, and so William hurries outside, turning his collar up against the night air.
~~~
The thing is, William had meant what he’d promised Sisky, when he’d said it. But he’s on his third bottle of beer, and the singer (William’s not sure why it’s important that he pretends he doesn’t know the guy’s name is Sean, but it is) has just announced it’s their last song, and he knows he should think about getting up to leave now, but he can’t take his eyes off Tom.
It doesn’t help that they’re good. Really good. Not that William’s creepy and has been stalking Tom since Tom left the band or anything, but Chicago is a small place, and they’re all so fucking incestuous that he couldn’t help but hear snippets of info. He’d heard all about Tom’s new band, had listened to the demos on their MySpace, had downloaded the album when it dropped. And despite himself, he’d liked it. Well, no, he hated it, if he was honest, because it was an album of songs that Tom was playing on, but the voice wasn’t William’s, and there was something wrong with that.
But from a musical point of view, if someone had given him the music and not told him who was playing, William would have liked it. Would have loved it. Would have raved about it to the band and his friends and anyone who would have listened.
So he’d convinced himself that sure, they were good in a studio, but they probably sucked live. Most bands did. Sometimes, William admitted, even he sucked a little live. Which was why he’d come tonight- to prove that they were really a shitty band that should be playing in a garage somewhere and nowhere else. And to let himself see that Tom was miserable still, that he’d been miserable since it had all ended between them, that he was nothing without the band, without William.
Except.
Except he’s not.
On stage Tom flips his hair out of his eyes and grins over at the singer, who looks up and smiles. Something clenches hard in William’s chest. There’s a nasty taste in his mouth, the beer gone sour, and William sets his bottle down.
The song ends. The audience claps, and William can’t help but sneer at the way the entire band look overwhelmed by it all, ducking their heads shyly when someone shouts out “I love you!” over the applause. The singer laughs a little into the mic, lips pressed too close so that he sounds breathless when he tells the crowd they’ll be hanging by the bar or the merch stand, and that people should come and say hi. He moves to jump down from the stage, Tom behind him, sliding a hand onto his shoulder. And then Tom looks right at William and freezes.
William doesn’t move, can’t move. He’s not met Tom’s eyes since the moment he’d said “we can’t do this anymore” and Tom had thrown the bottle in his hand onto the ground, brown glass skittering across the floor, one tiny piece landing on the toe of William’s shoe, glittering in the light.
It’s not something William had wanted, not something he’d planned, and he doesn’t want this, not now. Tom’s face is carefully blank, or else William has forgotten how to read him, forgotten something that had come so naturally, once upon a time. Neither of them moves, neither of them blinks, and then Tom turns his head away, looking at the singer who’s giving him a concerned look. Tom’s eyes flick towards William again, and William is up and out of his chair, headed for the door.
The club is one of those stupid places where you have to pass the stage to get to the exit, but there are enough people milling around that William’s pretty sure he’ll get out without being seen, until a hand grabs his elbow and swings him around.
“What are you doing here?” Tom demands and William lifts his jaw, stares at something past Tom’s shoulder stubbornly for a long moment, before he realises he doesn’t have to explain himself at all. He turns on his heel and walks off, down the half empty corridor. There’s a fire exit on his left, and he takes it, desperate to be outside, away from all this.
It was a bad idea. William knows it was, but someone should have told him, warned him.
He’s in a narrow alley, an overflowing dumpster to his right, and he stops, fumbling in his pocket for his cigarettes and jamming one into his mouth. His lips are dry and the filter sticks uncomfortably as he searches for his lighter, wondering if it had fallen out when Sisky had taken his coat hostage.
“Got a light?” William asks eventually, turning to look at Tom, who’s leaning against the half open exit door, arms folded across his chest. He shivers when William meets his gaze, and even though he’s dressed in flip-flops and a t-shirt, and the breeze is cool tonight, William hopes he’s caused it a little.
“No,” Tom says, even though William can see the outline of a lighter in Tom’s front pocket. He guesses he’d lost the right to walk over and stick his hand into Tom’s jeans to take whatever he wanted a long time ago, but for a moment he’s tempted. Then he sighs and shoves the cigarette back into the packet.
“Why are you here?” Tom asks, taking a step forward so he’s in the alley, the door swinging shut behind him. “Did you come to see me fuck up again?”
“Yes,” William answers truthfully.
Tom’s mouth twitches, like he wants to laugh, or maybe cry.
“Happy then?” he asks, and William shakes his head.
“No,” he says. “No. Not really.”
“Figures,” Tom looks away, and William feels something he’s not felt in such a long time rise inside him, the crazy half angry, half in love insanity Tom always used to bring out in him.
“You’re different,” William remarks, and Tom smirks.
“You’re not,” he says, even though William knows it’s a lie.
William moves towards him. He knows his walk is predatory, but he can’t help it, not with Tom. He backs Tom against the wall and steps into Tom’s space, pressing their bodies together in increments- legs, and hips, and hands, until William could lean down and lick his way into Tom’s mouth if he wanted.
He doesn’t want to though. He tells himself that’s not what this was about, it was about closure and forgetting and moving on. But.
“Want to relive some old memories?” William says. “See how much I’ve changed, what I’ve learned?”
There’s a pause, and then Tom tips his head up, tongue sliding along his bottom lip, moistening it. There’s something warring behind his eyes, and William thinks it’s probably the same war raging in his head, the two paths they could take, how he could turn and walk away and maybe finally move on, or how he could lower his mouth, see if Tom tastes different now, see if Tom still makes the same noises he used to make beneath William’s hands and mouth.
Tom lets out a shuddering breath, and meets William’s eyes. William’s not sure which one of them makes the decision, or if it was both of them, or neither, but they’re leaning away from each other, distance growing between them again, even if it is only fractions of an inch to start with.
“Tom, Ryan wants to know if-“
They both turn to look at the singer (Sean, William forces himself to think. Sean.) who is leaning through the doorway. There’s a strange expression on his face, one that it takes William a moment or two to recognise as the one that must have been on his face throughout the entire set.
“Never mind,” Sean says. “I’ll just-“
“No, I’ll come and help,” Tom lifts his hand, as if he’s going to place it on William’s chest and push, but William is already moving back, away.
Tom walks up to Sean, and there’s a moment when Sean frowns and William can’t see Tom’s expression at all.
“Hey,” William says. “Good set.” And he means it.
Tom’s hand slides into his pocket as he turns, and then he tosses something at William, who fumbles it and bends down to pick up the cheap plastic lighter. By the time he stands up, Tom and Sean are gone, and the door is closed firmly behind them.
William flicks the lighter, watching the flame burn for a moment, then tips the cigarette back out into his palm, slides it between his lips and lights it. He inhales deeply, feeling the smoke curl into his lungs, and he presses the lighter into the pocket of his jeans.
When he finishes the cigarette, he tips another out. He’s not in the mood to go home yet, not ready to face the looks Sisky will give him, not ready to see if Mike knows where he’s been all night, or if he even cares.
He’s trying not to think too much, to just focus on the feeling of each inhale and exhale, the way the smoke tastes on his tongue, when the door opens again.
Something jumps inside William’s chest, but he’s not sure if it’s hope or dread.
It’s not Tom though. Sean stares at him from the doorway, worrying his lip for a moment.
“You’re still here.”
“I didn’t mean to be,” William says, which is true, because his choices had been ‘home’ or ‘somewhere else’ and here was as good a ‘somewhere else’ as any.
“Right,” Sean nods, and steps out into the alley, letting the door close behind him. He scuffs his sneakers on the concrete and steps up beside William, leaning his shoulder against the wall and looking at him.
William doesn’t say anything.
“You and Tom,” Sean says eventually.
William raises a brow, and waits.
“He- he told me about the two of you,” Sean says, and William shakes his head.
“No he didn’t,” he says. “Not really.”
“No, he didn’t,” Sean agrees and sighs. William offers him a cigarette but Sean waves it away.
“Do you want me to tell you?” William asks into the silence that stretches between them. Something raw and vicious inside him would like that, would like to lay down every detail of their relationship, to see if it hurt Sean to hear how William knows Tom in a way Sean never could. But the other half of him is scared of what it’ll reveal to himself, about himself, how it will make him feel, how much guilt that he’s tried to deny will have to rest on his shoulders.
He looks over at Sean, who seems to be having a debate with himself.
“No,” he says eventually. “No thanks.”
“Good choice.”
“Do you still…” Sean trails off and William shrugs, because it’s not a question he really wants to think about, and a shrug is more truthful than a yes or a no. He struggles for something to say.
“He seems happy,” he says eventually, and means it.
Sean looks surprised.
“I’m not a fucking monster,” William bites out, and Sean looks down at the ground.
“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean-“
He stops and sighs and William thinks he should probably get nominated for sainthood or something, because he reaches out and catches Sean’s elbow.
“He could be happier,” William says pointedly when Sean looks up and meets his eyes, and it takes a second or two, but William sees the moment when realisation hits.
“Oh,” Sean says.
William shrugs again and drops his cigarette to the ground, grinding it out with the toe of his shoe.
“You seem surprised,” he says. “What did you come out here to say, anyway?”
Sean opens his mouth then shuts it, and chuckles. It’s low and warm and William would be willing to bet a lot of money that Tom loves that laugh, the way he used to love stupid things about William.
“I came out to tell you to back the fuck off and to leave Tom alone,” Sean says, looking a little stunned. “I was going to be all menacing and shit. For the good of the band and stuff.”
William smirks. “Sure. For the good of the band.” He pushes himself away from the wall and sticks his hands in his pockets.
Sean gives him a wry smile and glances back towards the door.
“I’ll see you around,” William says, turning to walk down the alley towards the street. “Tell Tom…Just. Tell Tom. And good luck.” He’s not sure if he means with the band, or with Tom, but either way he’s surprised to find he means it.
He’s at the entrance to the alley, when Sean calls out, “Thanks.” But by the time William glances over his shoulder, Sean is gone, the alley empty.
William goes home.
~~~
A couple of weeks later, William hears of another Empires gig on a night he’s free. He knows it’s probably a bad idea, but he goes anyway, and Sisky doesn’t try to stop him. Mike had stomped and ignored him for a day or two, then had backed him into a corner and asked him what the fuck he’d been thinking, but William had just shaken his head and looked him in the eye and said “It doesn’t fucking matter anymore,” and then it hadn’t.
Still, it’s a bad idea to go, so William hides in the back of the room again, clutching his beer.
There’s something different, something maybe William only sees because he’s looking for it, but it’s there, subtle as it is. Something in the looks Tom and Sean share, in the way Sean smiles in Tom’s direction, the way Tom plays at Sean, turns his body towards him.
William’s not going to lie to himself and say it doesn’t hurt. But it’s not the only thing he’s feeling so he counts it as a win, and lets himself enjoy the music, even though there’s still a tiny voice in his head telling him he shouldn’t.
The band pauses halfway through, and Sean is talking to the crowd, thanking them for coming, telling them how much it means to them.
William’s not listening. He’s watching Tom watch Sean, watching the way Tom is listening with his whole body, and he can’t help but be jealous that Tom never looked at him like that, like what he was saying was the most important thing.
As if he feels the weight of William’s gaze on him, Tom looks up and meets his eyes. William waits for Tom to look away, hopes he doesn’t, hopes he does. Neither of them moves. And so William nods, a sign of acknowledgement, and Tom nods back, the smile that’s broken William’s heart and mended it again more times than he can count tugging at his lips.
William offers a half smile back. It’s not much, but it’s what he has to give, and then the drummer is counting them in to another song and Tom looks away and gets swept up in the music, in his band again.
William watches for a few more songs, then, while they’re playing, while Tom has his back turned, he carefully sets his beer down and leaves.
Pairing: William/Tom, Tom/Sean (TAI/Empires)
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: All completely made up!
Wordcount: 2700
Summary William can’t help going to check out Empires play.
A/N: Thanks as always to the marvellous mintyfiend for betaing and putting up with me sending her snippets of this and angsting over it at her. All mistakes are mine. I have no idea if William smokes or not, but for this it suits me that he does. Concrit is welcome! Title belongs to Placebo.
William knows it’s a bad idea. He doesn’t need reminding of this, and he’s pretty sure it shows on his face, because Sisky just gives him a hard glare, arms folded across his chest, and doesn’t say anything.
William glares back, and they stare unblinkingly at each other until Sisky’s shoulders slump and he sighs. He shoves one hand onto the sofa, levering himself up to fish William’s coat out from under his ass and holds it out to him.
William makes a face and shakes the coat, trying unsuccessfully to brush out some of the wrinkles, and then shrugs it on.
“Bill,” Sisky says, when William’s hand is on the door handle. He pauses and turns around but it seems that Sisky isn’t going to say anything else.
“I’m not going to do anything,” William says. “I’m going to sit in the back with a beer and watch, and then I’m going to come home and not tell the others I went. Okay?”
Sisky doesn’t nod, but he doesn’t shake his head either, and so William hurries outside, turning his collar up against the night air.
~~~
The thing is, William had meant what he’d promised Sisky, when he’d said it. But he’s on his third bottle of beer, and the singer (William’s not sure why it’s important that he pretends he doesn’t know the guy’s name is Sean, but it is) has just announced it’s their last song, and he knows he should think about getting up to leave now, but he can’t take his eyes off Tom.
It doesn’t help that they’re good. Really good. Not that William’s creepy and has been stalking Tom since Tom left the band or anything, but Chicago is a small place, and they’re all so fucking incestuous that he couldn’t help but hear snippets of info. He’d heard all about Tom’s new band, had listened to the demos on their MySpace, had downloaded the album when it dropped. And despite himself, he’d liked it. Well, no, he hated it, if he was honest, because it was an album of songs that Tom was playing on, but the voice wasn’t William’s, and there was something wrong with that.
But from a musical point of view, if someone had given him the music and not told him who was playing, William would have liked it. Would have loved it. Would have raved about it to the band and his friends and anyone who would have listened.
So he’d convinced himself that sure, they were good in a studio, but they probably sucked live. Most bands did. Sometimes, William admitted, even he sucked a little live. Which was why he’d come tonight- to prove that they were really a shitty band that should be playing in a garage somewhere and nowhere else. And to let himself see that Tom was miserable still, that he’d been miserable since it had all ended between them, that he was nothing without the band, without William.
Except.
Except he’s not.
On stage Tom flips his hair out of his eyes and grins over at the singer, who looks up and smiles. Something clenches hard in William’s chest. There’s a nasty taste in his mouth, the beer gone sour, and William sets his bottle down.
The song ends. The audience claps, and William can’t help but sneer at the way the entire band look overwhelmed by it all, ducking their heads shyly when someone shouts out “I love you!” over the applause. The singer laughs a little into the mic, lips pressed too close so that he sounds breathless when he tells the crowd they’ll be hanging by the bar or the merch stand, and that people should come and say hi. He moves to jump down from the stage, Tom behind him, sliding a hand onto his shoulder. And then Tom looks right at William and freezes.
William doesn’t move, can’t move. He’s not met Tom’s eyes since the moment he’d said “we can’t do this anymore” and Tom had thrown the bottle in his hand onto the ground, brown glass skittering across the floor, one tiny piece landing on the toe of William’s shoe, glittering in the light.
It’s not something William had wanted, not something he’d planned, and he doesn’t want this, not now. Tom’s face is carefully blank, or else William has forgotten how to read him, forgotten something that had come so naturally, once upon a time. Neither of them moves, neither of them blinks, and then Tom turns his head away, looking at the singer who’s giving him a concerned look. Tom’s eyes flick towards William again, and William is up and out of his chair, headed for the door.
The club is one of those stupid places where you have to pass the stage to get to the exit, but there are enough people milling around that William’s pretty sure he’ll get out without being seen, until a hand grabs his elbow and swings him around.
“What are you doing here?” Tom demands and William lifts his jaw, stares at something past Tom’s shoulder stubbornly for a long moment, before he realises he doesn’t have to explain himself at all. He turns on his heel and walks off, down the half empty corridor. There’s a fire exit on his left, and he takes it, desperate to be outside, away from all this.
It was a bad idea. William knows it was, but someone should have told him, warned him.
He’s in a narrow alley, an overflowing dumpster to his right, and he stops, fumbling in his pocket for his cigarettes and jamming one into his mouth. His lips are dry and the filter sticks uncomfortably as he searches for his lighter, wondering if it had fallen out when Sisky had taken his coat hostage.
“Got a light?” William asks eventually, turning to look at Tom, who’s leaning against the half open exit door, arms folded across his chest. He shivers when William meets his gaze, and even though he’s dressed in flip-flops and a t-shirt, and the breeze is cool tonight, William hopes he’s caused it a little.
“No,” Tom says, even though William can see the outline of a lighter in Tom’s front pocket. He guesses he’d lost the right to walk over and stick his hand into Tom’s jeans to take whatever he wanted a long time ago, but for a moment he’s tempted. Then he sighs and shoves the cigarette back into the packet.
“Why are you here?” Tom asks, taking a step forward so he’s in the alley, the door swinging shut behind him. “Did you come to see me fuck up again?”
“Yes,” William answers truthfully.
Tom’s mouth twitches, like he wants to laugh, or maybe cry.
“Happy then?” he asks, and William shakes his head.
“No,” he says. “No. Not really.”
“Figures,” Tom looks away, and William feels something he’s not felt in such a long time rise inside him, the crazy half angry, half in love insanity Tom always used to bring out in him.
“You’re different,” William remarks, and Tom smirks.
“You’re not,” he says, even though William knows it’s a lie.
William moves towards him. He knows his walk is predatory, but he can’t help it, not with Tom. He backs Tom against the wall and steps into Tom’s space, pressing their bodies together in increments- legs, and hips, and hands, until William could lean down and lick his way into Tom’s mouth if he wanted.
He doesn’t want to though. He tells himself that’s not what this was about, it was about closure and forgetting and moving on. But.
“Want to relive some old memories?” William says. “See how much I’ve changed, what I’ve learned?”
There’s a pause, and then Tom tips his head up, tongue sliding along his bottom lip, moistening it. There’s something warring behind his eyes, and William thinks it’s probably the same war raging in his head, the two paths they could take, how he could turn and walk away and maybe finally move on, or how he could lower his mouth, see if Tom tastes different now, see if Tom still makes the same noises he used to make beneath William’s hands and mouth.
Tom lets out a shuddering breath, and meets William’s eyes. William’s not sure which one of them makes the decision, or if it was both of them, or neither, but they’re leaning away from each other, distance growing between them again, even if it is only fractions of an inch to start with.
“Tom, Ryan wants to know if-“
They both turn to look at the singer (Sean, William forces himself to think. Sean.) who is leaning through the doorway. There’s a strange expression on his face, one that it takes William a moment or two to recognise as the one that must have been on his face throughout the entire set.
“Never mind,” Sean says. “I’ll just-“
“No, I’ll come and help,” Tom lifts his hand, as if he’s going to place it on William’s chest and push, but William is already moving back, away.
Tom walks up to Sean, and there’s a moment when Sean frowns and William can’t see Tom’s expression at all.
“Hey,” William says. “Good set.” And he means it.
Tom’s hand slides into his pocket as he turns, and then he tosses something at William, who fumbles it and bends down to pick up the cheap plastic lighter. By the time he stands up, Tom and Sean are gone, and the door is closed firmly behind them.
William flicks the lighter, watching the flame burn for a moment, then tips the cigarette back out into his palm, slides it between his lips and lights it. He inhales deeply, feeling the smoke curl into his lungs, and he presses the lighter into the pocket of his jeans.
When he finishes the cigarette, he tips another out. He’s not in the mood to go home yet, not ready to face the looks Sisky will give him, not ready to see if Mike knows where he’s been all night, or if he even cares.
He’s trying not to think too much, to just focus on the feeling of each inhale and exhale, the way the smoke tastes on his tongue, when the door opens again.
Something jumps inside William’s chest, but he’s not sure if it’s hope or dread.
It’s not Tom though. Sean stares at him from the doorway, worrying his lip for a moment.
“You’re still here.”
“I didn’t mean to be,” William says, which is true, because his choices had been ‘home’ or ‘somewhere else’ and here was as good a ‘somewhere else’ as any.
“Right,” Sean nods, and steps out into the alley, letting the door close behind him. He scuffs his sneakers on the concrete and steps up beside William, leaning his shoulder against the wall and looking at him.
William doesn’t say anything.
“You and Tom,” Sean says eventually.
William raises a brow, and waits.
“He- he told me about the two of you,” Sean says, and William shakes his head.
“No he didn’t,” he says. “Not really.”
“No, he didn’t,” Sean agrees and sighs. William offers him a cigarette but Sean waves it away.
“Do you want me to tell you?” William asks into the silence that stretches between them. Something raw and vicious inside him would like that, would like to lay down every detail of their relationship, to see if it hurt Sean to hear how William knows Tom in a way Sean never could. But the other half of him is scared of what it’ll reveal to himself, about himself, how it will make him feel, how much guilt that he’s tried to deny will have to rest on his shoulders.
He looks over at Sean, who seems to be having a debate with himself.
“No,” he says eventually. “No thanks.”
“Good choice.”
“Do you still…” Sean trails off and William shrugs, because it’s not a question he really wants to think about, and a shrug is more truthful than a yes or a no. He struggles for something to say.
“He seems happy,” he says eventually, and means it.
Sean looks surprised.
“I’m not a fucking monster,” William bites out, and Sean looks down at the ground.
“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean-“
He stops and sighs and William thinks he should probably get nominated for sainthood or something, because he reaches out and catches Sean’s elbow.
“He could be happier,” William says pointedly when Sean looks up and meets his eyes, and it takes a second or two, but William sees the moment when realisation hits.
“Oh,” Sean says.
William shrugs again and drops his cigarette to the ground, grinding it out with the toe of his shoe.
“You seem surprised,” he says. “What did you come out here to say, anyway?”
Sean opens his mouth then shuts it, and chuckles. It’s low and warm and William would be willing to bet a lot of money that Tom loves that laugh, the way he used to love stupid things about William.
“I came out to tell you to back the fuck off and to leave Tom alone,” Sean says, looking a little stunned. “I was going to be all menacing and shit. For the good of the band and stuff.”
William smirks. “Sure. For the good of the band.” He pushes himself away from the wall and sticks his hands in his pockets.
Sean gives him a wry smile and glances back towards the door.
“I’ll see you around,” William says, turning to walk down the alley towards the street. “Tell Tom…Just. Tell Tom. And good luck.” He’s not sure if he means with the band, or with Tom, but either way he’s surprised to find he means it.
He’s at the entrance to the alley, when Sean calls out, “Thanks.” But by the time William glances over his shoulder, Sean is gone, the alley empty.
William goes home.
~~~
A couple of weeks later, William hears of another Empires gig on a night he’s free. He knows it’s probably a bad idea, but he goes anyway, and Sisky doesn’t try to stop him. Mike had stomped and ignored him for a day or two, then had backed him into a corner and asked him what the fuck he’d been thinking, but William had just shaken his head and looked him in the eye and said “It doesn’t fucking matter anymore,” and then it hadn’t.
Still, it’s a bad idea to go, so William hides in the back of the room again, clutching his beer.
There’s something different, something maybe William only sees because he’s looking for it, but it’s there, subtle as it is. Something in the looks Tom and Sean share, in the way Sean smiles in Tom’s direction, the way Tom plays at Sean, turns his body towards him.
William’s not going to lie to himself and say it doesn’t hurt. But it’s not the only thing he’s feeling so he counts it as a win, and lets himself enjoy the music, even though there’s still a tiny voice in his head telling him he shouldn’t.
The band pauses halfway through, and Sean is talking to the crowd, thanking them for coming, telling them how much it means to them.
William’s not listening. He’s watching Tom watch Sean, watching the way Tom is listening with his whole body, and he can’t help but be jealous that Tom never looked at him like that, like what he was saying was the most important thing.
As if he feels the weight of William’s gaze on him, Tom looks up and meets his eyes. William waits for Tom to look away, hopes he doesn’t, hopes he does. Neither of them moves. And so William nods, a sign of acknowledgement, and Tom nods back, the smile that’s broken William’s heart and mended it again more times than he can count tugging at his lips.
William offers a half smile back. It’s not much, but it’s what he has to give, and then the drummer is counting them in to another song and Tom looks away and gets swept up in the music, in his band again.
William watches for a few more songs, then, while they’re playing, while Tom has his back turned, he carefully sets his beer down and leaves.