When it turned out that Will was more of an exceptional liar than he had initially anticipated, he didn’t dare let out a sigh of relief. A dead giveaway like that would bulldoze straight through his charade and he needed Drew to believe his story about Abby’s kitten or gerbil or rabbit or whatever animal it was that he was taking advantage of for his cover up.
A humourless laugh left Will’s lips upon hearing Drew’s complaint. He wasn’t sure what constituted as ‘juicy’ for Drew, but his father lunging for him and throwing him to the ground would probably be juicier to anyone that wasn’t satisfied with some boring mishap including a tiny pet. The true nature of Will’s injury was darker than Drew was believing, but Will was eager to let the other man believe what lies he spewed.
“Sorry to disappoint,” he shrugged, making up for his short, dark laugh by plastering an awkward smile on to his face. He rolled his eyes at himself, playing it off as self-deprecation. “We can’t all get our injuries fighting bad guys with Captain America.”
He settled back a little against the chair, under the pretense of relaxing in Drew’s company, but his shoulders were still stiff with tension. Ideally, he could tell Drew that his wrist would be fine, and would promise the man that he’d press an ice pack to the swelling as soon as he got home. Naturally, his words died in his mouth when Drew boasted about his art, the compliment slamming into Will like a comet and making his insides feel like they were exploding. It was, perhaps, an overreaction, but Will wasn’t used to praise in his life. He was used to his paintings being sneered at because they’d never lead to a career; he was used to sketches of his siblings being torn up in a fit of rage, being scattered around like confetti when his father’s arms went windmilling around. After the shock subsided, he was practically beaming under Drew’s praise.
The man’s quip about him smiling only made him blush harder. He wondered if people – read: Drew – thought he was rude for not smiling as much as the centre’s other customers. He figured he was making up for it now, his heart feeling a little lighter and his chest a little less tight as he practically preened under Drew’s attention.
“Shut up,” he snickered, ducking his head. “I smile, and not just for you.”
The smile that had garnered so much attention quickly disappeared when Drew took it upon himself to carry out his own medical examination on Will’s wrist. He squeezed each of Will’s paint splattered fingers, and it took all of Will’s self-restraint to not whimper aloud when pressure being applied to his middle finger sent a sharp twinge of pain shooting right up his arm. Drew’s touch was gentle, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell. Will clenched his teeth and hoped the other man wouldn’t hear the sharp intake of air he took through his nostrils when he squeezed again.
“It’s fine, I told you,” he argued, a little harsher than he had intended. “It’s a sprain, it’s going to hurt anyway. Poking at it isn’t really going to help.”
Embarrassed at his outburst, he pulled his arm from Drew’s grasp, ignoring the needling pain the action caused, and hastily pulled the sleeve of his sweater down before quickly standing.
Fully aware of the effect that he could have on people, Drew revelled in teasing Will for his smile, and grinned all the more as he witnessed the blush that coloured the boy's cheeks. While it didn't make up for the obvious pain that he was in, it did enough to ease some of the tension, and Drew only hoped he could relax him even the tiniest bit. In all honesty, he'd spent a lot of time watching Will and admiring his artwork, and never before had he seen the kid smile with such warmth, and despite his own teasing, the sight was definitely a pleasant one. While he enjoyed the focused look and the drive behind the boy's eyes as he worked his paintbrush across a canvas, he'd always wondered if there was something more to it.
Often people implied that artists found their talent best in their pain, usually digging deep and drawing from their own experiences so as to portray it in paints and charcoals instead. Of course, Drew knew that claims like that held no real truth to them. While a lot of people didn't necessarily consider acting to be an 'art form', he took his craft incredibly seriously, and he found that with enough talent like he'd seen in the likes of Emma, and even Will, that you could tap into that same pain and all of those stark and contrasting emotions even without the heinous experiences that lay with them. Simply, it just required a knowing eye and deep levels of skill, both of which he was all too sure that Will possessed.
As Will ducked his head at Drew's comments, a fresh smirk worked its way onto the actor's lips as he gently reached a hand out to muss the boy's hair. He was pretty sure that there was nothing but innocence in the gesture, though Ivy had told him on more than one occasion that sometimes what he thought of as platonic mightn't sit so well with his younger, more enraptured fans. Will was a good kid though, and Drew had taken to him instantly, so to be able to sit with him and put him at ease while he urged the other boy to allow him to tend to his injuries was a small victory.
With a gentle precision like he'd never exhibited before – or at least, not past the bedroom – Drew had taken Will's hand into his own in an attempt to examine it. One quick glance up at the boy's face was enough to confirm his error, though, as he watched Will try – a little hopelessly – to mask the obvious pain that he was experiencing.
“Shit. Sorry, kid,” Drew winced, running his finger in a soft line across the boy's hand. While he didn't want to see him in any more pain, and most definitely didn't want to be the one to illicit such a reaction, he thought it would still be the sensible thing to try and gauge just where he was suffering the most.
At Will's sharp tone – or rather, sharper, as not only was Drew relatively uncertain that Will even had an angry setting, he was also positive that most other people would have shown a far more aggravated response to his forwardness – his head shot up in surprise, and he frowned over at Will, tilting his head to get a good look at him.
“Sure, sure. You're right there,” Drew agreed, nodding slowly as he tried to read the expression on the young artist's face. He felt clueless, having never shown any real signs at being the most comforting of people. While he didn't consider himself a bad friend, or even a bad person, he wasn't ever the person that people turned to in a crisis, and he was beginning to realise just why. Turning to his usual method of a little sarcasm and humour to fill the nasty silence, he opted for pulling a silly face before uttering his next works. “Hey, kid. Anyone ever tell you you could be a Doctor?”
Forcing out a chuckle – and, quite frankly, Drew knew it was a convincing one, given that it was his job and all – he remained firm in his stance, keeping a forced smile on his face even as Will yanked his hand away and rose from his seat. While he hoped he hadn't completed pissed him off or anything, Drew tended to lean far more towards stubborn than he ever did tactful, and so he found himself still pretty intent on getting Will the help that he needed.
Mirroring his actions and rising to his feet, Drew looked up at the boy and shrugged, adopting an expression as though the pair of them had both just had the same thought – though he knew they were on entirely different wavelengths. And, though Will was far taller than he was, he was much scrawnier, and currently a little on the fragile side, and Drew liked to think his own dashing features outshone the youthfulness of Will, so he brushed the way the boy quite blatantly towered above him as he clapped a careful, and very gentle hand on his shoulder.
“Huh, great idea, Will!” he exclaimed, a sly, and yet overly smug, smile on his face. “Time to get moving, huh?”
With that, he started towards the door, before glancing back – knowing full well that Will wouldn't be following him, and would probably, in fact, be staring at him with a look of total, and utter bafflement on his face.
“You comin', kid?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he took a few steps closer towards Will.
Softening his gaze and looking carefully into Will's eyes, he let out a gentle sigh before nodding towards the door while offering him a sad smile.
“C'mon. Do me a solid here, man? Let me drive you to the hospital. It'll be over in no time, and it'll put my mind at ease, right? And then I can rest easy knowing the next Monet'll be back in action in no time!”
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