is it really good, though ? gray wanted to counter. memories of will continued to seep in when he would least expect them. when rachel left for the night & the diner was quiet ; the hours before a shift when he double-checked who’d be alongside him, & it was never who he wanted ; at four am, when he couldn’t sleep. sometimes he’d still scroll down to the bottom of his messages, finding his & will’s most recent conversation that he couldn’t bring himself to delete. his finger always hovered over the button, but he would never press it. he even still has that stupid fish emoji next to his name — he couldn’t delete that, either. so was it really good ? things might’ve been busy, & they might’ve been good in theory, but it was no secret to everyone that the cold late hours just weren’t what they used to be. god, he wanted to scream about how not-good they were. about how HORRIBLE they were, actually. but he was convinced that will wouldn’t understand that. he was the one who left them ( him ), anyways.
❝ that’s good, ❞ he replied instead, always choosing to take the safer option ; he didn’t want to risk anything when they were already on the rocks, threatening to tumble over into an irreparable friendship — if things had gone his way, he’d be giving a second chance by now, prone to the action of forgiveness rather than resentment. but it was all up to whether or not will would actually take it. so far, he didn’t know. his heel scuffed against the pavement again, & he swore the silence was several minutes long before he actually spoke. maybe it was. ❝ do you like it ? ❞
he swallowed thickly when will confessed, & he realized that it hasn’t been the same was way better than nothing. it wasn’t an apology, not by any means, because will inflicted that change onto himself with what he’s done — but it wasn’t complete denial, either. at least he acknowledged that things were different now, no matter how convinced gray was that he didn’t understand it. ❝ yeah — ❞ he mumbled, his throat raspy, his own agreement taking him by surprise. ten minutes became five, & he rejoiced that they could almost stop. ❝ i can imagine. ❞ he bit his lip, hoping that he hadn’t said too much in what little words he spoke. i can imagine sounded like a sermon ; it was insight to a topic he didn’t want to touch upon — he didn’t want to think of how relatable will’s words were. ❝ must be different. a, uh …. ❞ he shrugged. ❝ change of pace. ❞
that's good. that's good. that's what they say and they're just blatantly talking circles around that thing that settles between them with heavy weight. will tells himself that gray was the one who started this first, that he hadn't planned on vanishing out the diner doors without a trace when his notice was up and it’s not his fault. he tries and tries to believe that it's gray who started pulling away first, and he was just following up on that and maybe that's true, but will was the one with the paper decreeing the next two weeks would be his last among greasy fryers and worn out tables, and couldn't give a single reason why. perhaps, he is the one who tossed down the gauntlet first. perhaps they're both to blame.
" yeah --- ” he says, and it sounds too superficial. “ it's what i studied in college so, i guess that's good. " that's what they always say right? that if you get a job in the field of study you pursued in college you're one of the lucky ones? colleges and universities are always spewing stats out at you, acceptance rates and program rankings and the percentage of graduates who get jobs relevant to what they just spent thousands on learning. it's not that will doesn't like engineering, just maybe, he doesn't love it so much that it's been pressed into his veins. it's a job and that's it. ( the diner had been a job too, but it'd given him gray. it'd taken him away too ). but lots of people these days have cast aside dreams for practicality, will's only the latest in a long string of shattered dreams ( just maybe he got closer than MOST only to never know how it'll ever pan out if that truck driver had waited until he stopped to check his phone ).
gray had been a bright splotch in the wake of everything. some glint of positivity in a job that should have seemed dismal and had been picked up to fill those unsteady twilight hours when his mind roamed too much. and now, they're thrown together at a 2 am dimly lit subway platform, stuck trying to hear what isn't being said ( trying not to hope too much and dream too little ). will wonders if all the things he hears in the silences aren't merely blissful bias figments of the imagination; things he needs to hear because there’s got to be something fixable between them. there's nothing concrete beyond the tangibility of gray's presence to show that the other has a second chance tucked under his arm. maybe gray stays in hope of closure, a clean break rather than the slow splintering fragments of a drawn out disconnection. it’s tempting to cower in the silence of uncertainty, but will's never been much of a follower --- the world turns and will makes it turn in the direction he wants. two minutes says the clock, and he decides that if this goes sideways there are plenty of easy exits to be taken. " but that's not --- that's not why it's different. " he says finally, almost too neutrally as he fixes gray under firm blue gaze.
