Work Text:
Dublin
It’s late when Will lands in Dublin, almost midnight, and he can’t help but think that the mostly-closed shops of the airport would make the perfect backdrop for a horror movie. He grins and shrugs his backpack straps up a little higher, makes his way out front to catch the shuttle.
His hostel is kind of a shithole. He’s not surprised. He busted his ass for an entire year to save for this trip, but that doesn’t mean his budget isn’t tight. Sure, Aunt Carolyn kicked in a couple hundred bucks as his graduation present (and had been chastened by Will’s dad for it), but still. He's not exactly going to be staying in luxury suites.
The woman behind the chipped counter is kind, though, and hands him his key with a smile. The room is small, a bed pushed against each of three of the walls, but it smells clean. Only one bed seems to be filled, its occupant snoring gently. He chooses the bed along the opposite wall, sets his alarm, and crawls under the covers.
When he wakes up, the guy is sitting up, an open laptop resting on his crossed legs. He looks irritated, clicking angrily around the screen.
“Piece of shit,” he mutters before glancing up at Will. “Sorry if I woke you up, bro.”
Will squints at him, trying to get his vision to focus. The guy’s got dark skin, darker hair, stubble framing a truly spectacular jaw line. And then his nostrils flare as he snorts.
“And you probably don’t speak English. Never mind.”
“I speak English just fine, thanks,” Will spits, annoyed. “Just not used to strangers talking to me before I’m awake is all.”
“Oh, thank god, you’re American. Good morning, fellow countryman, can you figure out this fucking wifi?”
Will groans and presses his face against the pillow for a second, but he gets up to look at the computer.
“What’s it doing?”
The guy points at a piece of paper with what looks like a password written on it. “Do you know to type a Euro symbol? Because I don’t, and obviously a dollar sign just isn’t working for me.”
“You couldn’t just fucking google it? It’s not that hard.” Will’s known the alt code for it since high school, so he doesn’t need to google it, just leans over and types it in with the rest of the password. The computer immediately connects to the wifi.
“I don’t know how the hell you did that, but thanks.” The guy reaches out. “I’m Derek.”
Will shakes his hand. “Will.”
“Glad to have you around, Will.”
“Sure. I’m, uh.” He motions toward the door. “I’m gonna shower.” Derek nods and he drags his stuff down the hall to the showers, which look exactly like every shitty locker room he's ever showered in, cheap white tile and peeling linoleum. The water's hot enough, though, with decent pressure, and it feels amazing to finally get the recirculated airplane air off his skin.
When he gets back to the room, Derek takes one look at him and bursts out laughing.
“Fuck you,” Will says. He doesn't even know why this asshole is laughing, but he’s rude and fuck him.
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Derek gasps. “You're just, Jesus, you're so red right now. You look like a lobster.”
“The water was hot.”
“You're cooked, bro.”
Will shrugs and starts loading his backpack for the day.
“What's on your itinerary today?” Derek is half-watching him, still messing with his computer.
“Uh, I was going to start with the Science Gallery?”
“Sounds nerdy. Can I tag along? Not gonna lie, this trip was kind of a spur of the moment thing, I didn't actually plan anything out.”
“Spur of the - you came to a foreign country without a plan?”
Derek lifts a shoulder dismissively. “It’s chill, bro. I’m sure I’ll find something to do.”
“No, I mean. You can come, but Jesus.” Will wonders what it’s like to have the kind of disposable income that allows for spontaneous trips across the goddamn Atlantic Ocean. He lowers his voice and mutters, “Must be fuckin’ nice.” He knows Derek hears him, but thankfully he’s gracious enough to not say anything.
So Derek tags along. The Science Gallery is, in fact, super nerdy, but they've got an installation on music creation that Derek gets pretty into. It's fun to watch him crash things together, finding the art in noise. He's so amped that he doesn't seem to mind much when Will drags him through a significantly less interactive exhibit on coding.
“You know, I know nothing about coding but it's always looked like poetry to me,” he says at one point, eyes skittering across an entire wall of code.
“I mean, I guess? It's what I went to school for, and I guess there's a sort of rhythm to it. I've never really thought about it like that.”
Derek nods. “Comp Sci, huh? I majored in English with an emphasis in composition.”
“Ugh, an arts major.”
“Oh, fuck off.” It's good-natured enough that Will grins at him.
They wander the rest of the exhibits, kind of paying attention but mostly just talking. He tells Derek about school, about growing up in Maine as a fisherman's son. Derek tells him about his moms and brownstones and prep school. They chirp each other a little bit, but it's friendly. Easy. Will’s glad Derek invited himself, if he's being honest.
Once they’ve finished with the museum, they take the bus to Temple Bar in search of lunch and tourist traps. The streets are crowded with tourists and locals alike. Eventually, Will notices something, keeps noticing it. He knows he’s a particularly quiet guy, and Derek doesn't seem to be a particularly loud one, but people keep staring at them as they walk, and it’s starting to make Will uncomfortable.
“I don't get it,” Will finally says, motioning towards a pack of middle-aged women who have no qualms about gawking openly. “Why are all these people looking at us?”
“I, uh.” Derek’s mouth tugs down at the corners, just a flick. He looks uncomfortable, like he doesn’t want to talk about it. “I don’t think they’re looking at us so much as they’re looking at me.”
Will raises an eyebrow at him.
“I mean, the darkest skin I’ve seen since I got here was medium beige. Excluding me.”
“That's. That can't be - oh god, that's exactly what it is, isn't it?”
“I hate to say I'm used to it, but.” Derek’s mouth twists. “As long as no one actually gets in my face, I don't care a whole hell of a lot.”
“That's a shitty thing to get used to.” Will’s offended on his behalf.
“Yeah, well.”
If Will glares back at the next group that stares, that's no one's business but his own.
“What,” Derek says, dragging Will out of his glare session. “What, pray tell, is a boxty?”
“A boxty is what we’re having for lunch, holy shit. Where did you see that?”
Derek points across the street. “Boxty House.”
“My friend, allow me to introduce you to probably the best food my people know how to make.”
The waitress seats them at a tiny table next to the window and leaves them with menus. Will steals them both and quizzes Derek on his food preferences before ordering them both the Gaelic boxty. While they wait for their food, he explains what a boxty is.
“Okay, so the Irish, we love our potatoes, right? We make pancakes out of them.
“Like latkes?”
“Sometimes, yeah. But sometimes we make them really thin, like crepes, and then we wrap stuff in them. My grandma used to make boxty with the fish we’d bring back, and it was so good.”
“Potato crepes.”
“Yes.”
“That sounds amazing.”
And when the food comes, the conversation stops because it is amazing. Will would never say it out loud, but it's almost as good as his grandma’s.
“So you guys can actually cook,” Derek teases.
“I mean, not always. We make some questionable shit sometimes. Boiled pigs’ feet? No, thank you. But boxty. We did all right with boxty.”
They sit for a while once they’ve finished eating, because Will’s so full he’s not sure he can move.
“What’s next on the agenda?” Derek flicks his straw wrapper at Will, pulling him from his food coma.
“Uh. The plan was to walk to either Dublin Castle or St. Patrick’s Cathedral. Possibly both?”
Derek’s mouth curves on one side. “You really did plan this whole thing out, didn’t you?”
“I’m not really a spontaneous kind of guy.”
“I’m getting that. Anyway, let’s hit up the castle, because castles are legit, and then we’ll go from there.”
The castle is a stone behemoth, parts of it damn near a thousand years old, but Derek immediately drags Will into the exhibit about bookbinding.
“I did some bookbinding once,” he says, reading over a placard. “Junior year of college, I wrote a bunch of poems for the person I was dating. Convinced the Arts department at my university to let me use their old printing press. Hand-printed everything on good paper, had a friend help me make a cover, glued everything in all careful and shit. I gave it to them for their birthday.” He presses his lips together tightly. “I got dumped two weeks later.”
“That’s bullshit.”
Derek shakes his head. “It is what it is. I wrote some great stuff after that breakup, and some of it I even got paid for. It all balances out in the end.”
Will’s been dumped before, but even the more amicable breakups left him a little hurt and angry. He doesn’t know what it’s like to be so calm about something like that, and it makes him look at Derek differently knowing he can find the good in that kind of situation.
When they get back to the room that night, Derek throws himself across his bed and promptly pulls out his phone.
“So,” he says, “how do you feel about Vikings?”
Will’s not sure he’s going to like this.
The next morning, Derek herds him off the bus at St. Stephen’s Green toward the ticket booth at something called Viking Splash Tours.
“What the hell is this?”
“It’s a boat, William,” Derek says blithely as he pays the woman at the booth. “It’s going to give us a Viking tour. I hope you don’t mind hats.”
The hat in question is a plastic Viking helmet and it’s one of the most embarrassing things Will has ever put on his head. Derek presses his phone into Will’s hand and strikes a heroic pose, waiting for Will to take his picture. He looks almost as ridiculous as Will feels, but he’s owning it.
The tour itself is fascinating, even if the guide makes them yell and grunt at pedestrians passing by. He’d never thought about Dublin as a Viking city, but the history is rich and he’s enthralled by the tales of the guide. Derek’s taking pictures of himself with landmarks in the background, arm extended to get the best possible angle.
They’re in the final cruise portion of the tour when Derek mutters shit under his breath. He looks embarrassed.
“I left my charger in the room and my phone’s fucking dead. Can we go back?”
“Great planning, asshole,” Will says, hoping Derek reads it for the chirp it is. Derek flips him off, so he probably does. “Yeah, that’s fine. Honestly, I could use a nap.”
It takes them longer to get back to the room than it should, because Will reads the schedule wrong and puts them on the wrong bus, but Derek only gives him a little bit of shit for it.
When Will’s alarm goes off, Derek's on his goddamn computer again.
“Hey,” Derek says, finally looking up from his laptop. “You wanna come with me to the literary pub crawl?”
“The what?”
“The literary pub crawl. Basically the guides take you to pubs frequented by famous Irish writers and perform stuff from their work.”
“Sounds like an excuse to drink Guinness.”
Derek grins. “You’re goddamn right it is. You in?”
Will sighs. “I guess I am.”
They show up to The Duke a little early, but it’s already packed full. Derek sidles up to the bar and orders them a couple of beers while they wait.
“Man, I hope we get some Beckett tonight,” he says when Will settles in beside him.
“I marginally know who that is.”
Derek slams his drink down. “You’re messing with me, right?”
“No?”
“You know what, no, you’re not drinking tonight. I want you sober so you can actually learn something.” He drags Will’s beer out of reach.
“Oh, come on, I can drink and learn at the same time.”
Derek eyes him. “There will be a quiz at the end of this tour.”
Will can’t help but laugh because Derek just looks so serious about it. It’s the most serious he’s looked since Will met him and the expression almost doesn’t look right on his face, eyes slitted and mouth turned down into a frown.
“Bring it on, motherfucker.”
He doesn’t know if he’d admit it to Derek, but the crawl is fun. The guides are extremely knowledgeable and talented as hell, and Will is just buzzed enough to not care if literature doesn’t really make sense to him.
They’re tucked into the corner of the last pub from the crawl, nursing beers, when Derek’s head snaps up.
“I almost forgot! Quiz time.”
Will groans. “Seriously?”
“I don’t joke about art, William.”
They aren’t hard questions, because Will actually was paying attention, and Derek looks so proud and impressed when he knows the answers that he can’t bring himself to be mad about the interrogation.
At the end of the night, when they get back to the room, Derek keeps stopping and starting like he’s got something to say but isn’t sure how to say it. Will’s been patient, but it’s driving him nuts, and he can’t help it when he finally blurts, “Just spit it out, dude, goddamn.”
“You’re leaving tomorrow, right?”
Will nods. “Yeah, the flight leaves a little after nine.”
“Can, uh. Can I come with you?”
“To London?”
“For the rest of your trip.”
It’s a hell of a request, but Will likes Derek, likes his company. He doesn’t even think about it before he says yes.
He doesn’t know how Derek manages to get a plane ticket that short notice. Actually, he does, but he doesn’t want to know how much Derek paid for it. They get up early enough to pack their bags and check out by six. They catch a cab to the airport, which Derek insists on paying for, and Derek charms an old Russian woman into trading seats with him so he can sit by Will.
The flight isn't long, but Will’s glad they found a place to sit by a bathroom because Derek manages to get motion sickness anyway.
(“You couldn’t take some Bonine or something?”
“I completely forgot.”
“We would have thrown you over the side of my dad’s fishing boat.”)
After he hurls and gets side-eyed the entire way back to his seat, Derek sleeps for a while. He’s turned sideways in the tiny seats, his head resting against Will’s shoulder, lulled by the gentle rumble of the plane. It can’t be comfortable, but he’s curled up, one hand laying gently on Will’s forearm. His breath is slow and steady and rhythmic. Will closes his book and leans his own head back against the headrest, lets himself doze.
-----
London
They hit London around lunch time, and Will’s stomach growls at the first smell of street food.
“I told you beef jerky and pretzels don’t count as enough food for an entire day,” Derek chirps and Will would flip him off, but he’s already rummaging for cash to buy a toastie from a street vendor.
They don’t do much that first day, partly because traveling is more exhausting than Will was prepared for, and partly because Derek falls down half a flight of stairs in their hostel and spends the rest of the afternoon icing the massive bruise on his thigh.
On their first whole day in London, Derek swears he’s fine and not concussed and can go with Will. At Will’s insistence, they do a ton of the normal tourist stuff, like Big Ben and the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace, even though Derek looks bored out of his mind as Will takes pictures for his mom.
The second day, Derek's not even out of bed before he throws his pillow at Will and asks, “You done being a lame American tourist?”
Will raises an eyebrow. “Sure, I guess.”
“Okay, good. Now we're gonna have some fun. Do you trust me?”
Will snorts, loud. “Fuck no.”
“You probably shouldn't, but hurry up and get ready. We've got shit to do.”
They end up getting off the bus at King’s Cross Station and Will has a sneaking suspicion that he knows why they're there.
“What House are you in?” he asks and Derek laughs.
“Badger crew, motherfucker.”
“I am absolutely not surprised.”
“What about you? I'm getting some Slytherin vibes.” Derek waves his hands in Will’s general direction as though that makes his point.
“Not all Slytherins are evil,” Will protests.
“Never said they were. But look, I need a picture of me and this fucking trolley going to Platform 9 ¾, okay?” Derek says, bouncing impatiently in front of half a trolley sticking out of a wall.
Will wants to be cool about this, but he read all the books like four times and he's actually really glad Derek thought to come here. “I’ll take it, but only if you take one of me.”
Derek looks thoughtful. “Hang on.” He runs off to find a guard and Will can see him gesturing at the wall. The guard rolls his eyes but he’s smiling as he takes Derek’s phone and they make their way back over.
“Okay,” Derek says.“Don’t let me fall,” and then he’s climbing onto the exposed part of the trolley, sitting in the top part of the basket. “Now, get behind me and push.”
Will huffs out a laugh. “Please never say that to me again,” he says, but he steps up behind Derek anyway and pretends to push the trolley into the wall. Derek leans back against his chest and they both turn to smile at the guard.
His face is red and his smile is goofy, he knows it, but Derek is pressed warm to his front and he can’t help himself.
The guard takes the picture, then another “just in case,” before giving Derek back his phone.
“Dude,” Derek says, thumbing open the picture. “This is great. You look like a real human.”
Will punches his arm. “Asshole. Send it to me?”
“For sure, man.”
They’re halfway through King’s Cross when Derek notices the fountains.
“Dude.”
“No.”
“Dude.”
“Not happening.”
“Hell yeah it is.” And with that, he grabs Will’s hand in both of his own and drags him into the spray.
The water is fucking frigid, and Will says as much.
“Thought you’d be used to cold water, Mister Fisherman.”
“I’m not usually running around in it on purpose!” Will protests. Derek just winks and splashes some of the spray in his direction.
Will’s eyes narrow and he cracks his neck. “Oh, it is on.”
They tear through the jets, narrowly avoiding collisions with the small children playing nearby. At one point, Derek slips on the wet ground and almost eats shit, positively shrieking before managing to regain his balance. Will is so out of breath that he has to bend over when he starts to laugh, and he catches a fountain to the face for his effort.
Derek laughs so hard that he has to sit down on the ground.
“That. Was the best thing I’ve seen in days.”
“You’re a grade A asshole, you know that?” Will sputters, pushing water out of his eyes.
“I am,” Derek agrees. “But so are you. And that was hilarious.”
Will’s eyes burn from the water. “We gotta stop before one or both of us end up in the hospital.”
“Probably.”
They find an empty bench nearby and Will shakes his hair out like a dog as he takes his seat.
“Animal,” Derek says, but he’s smiling as water runs in rivulets down his face and neck.
“So what do we do, now that we’re cold and wet?”
Derek’s shirt is clinging to him in a way that is patently unfair and Will’s doing his best to avoid looking directly at him. “Now we wander in the sun until we dry off enough to do something else.”
“This is London, so there is no sun, but otherwise your plan is great.”
“...Point. Let’s go back to the room and change.”
The woman working the front desk does not look thrilled to have them dripping water all through the foyer, and Will mouths sorry at her before hauling ass up the stairs.
They end up draping their pants over the windowsill and laying their wrung-out shirts to dry flat on their beds. Will’s threading his belt through the loops of a dry pair of jeans when Derek clears his throat.
“The next couple of hours are still mine to plan, right?”
“I mean, that's what we agreed on.”
“Sweet. We’re going to Stratford Upon Avon.”
“Okay?” The name sounds familiar, but Will can’t quite place what it is.
“We gotta go see my man Shakespeare’s house. I need to touch it.”
“Please don't actually touch it. If you get in trouble, I'm pretending I don't know you.”
“I thought we were bros!” Derek wails, smacking at a laughing Will.
Shakespeare’s house is pretty cool, for being an old house. For a minute, Will thinks Derek actually is about to touch a wall, but he pulls his hand back just before making contact.
“I wish I could make a dick joke sound as classy as Willy Shakes,” Derek sighs.
Will snorts. “You would wish that.”
“The man had a gift, William.”
Will supposes that's true.
The gift shop has a collection of pocket-sized versions of a ton of Shakespeare’s plays, and Derek finds the tiniest copy of The Merry Wives of Windsor and purchases it with glee.
He flips through it, the book impossibly tiny in his long fingers.“This is probably my favorite play of his. The women have so much more agency in his comedies, and they're just fucking smart and funny in this one.”
Will has never been into plays, has only ever seen one for an assignment for a GE requirement his freshman year. “We read Hamlet junior year and it didn't suck?”
Derek shakes his head sadly. “You're the worst and also Ophelia deserved better. Like, that's literally the moral of Hamlet: Ophelia deserved better.”
“Sure.”
“You're useless. Let's get back to the city, thou lump of foul deformity.”
“... did you just use Shakespeare to insult me?”
“The man was good at insults. Now get on the fucking bus.”
Somewhere on Regent Street, Derek buys a pasty and offers to share with Will. They huddle together just off the main road and pass it between them, watching the hot filling make steam curl in the air. Will very carefully avoids looking at Derek’s mouth as he eats.
“It's like a white people empanada,” Derek says, and Will almost inhales his bite.
“That's exactly what it is. And it is delicious.”
“Someday you're gonna have a real empanada and this is going to be pushed down the list, bro. There’s this place in Harlem, holy shit. I'll have to take you.”
There's next to no chance of Will ever making it to Harlem, let alone with Derek as a guide, but he says, “Yeah, okay” anyway. It sounds nice, anyway, wandering New York with Derek. He thinks maybe he shouldn't think about it.
Derek sleeps well that night, but Will listens to his breathing, tossing and turning for hours.
It’s not a surprise when Will’s dragging ass the next morning, exhausted, and irritated as hell.
They're running late for the train because Derek just had to buy a coffee at some dinky little cart. Will weaves his way between a couple of other tourists and ends up skidding to a stop when the woman in front of him stops walking abruptly.
Which is of course when Derek trips over his own goddamn feet and launches his coffee all over Will.
“Oh my god, I'm so sorry. Here, let me-” He digs in his bag for some napkins.
“Leave me alone.”
“No, hey, look, I'll clean it-”
Rationally, Will knows this isn’t that bad, but he's been slightly off-kilter since Derek asked to come along and anger bubbles out of him the way it always does, barbed words and clenched fists his automatic response to any perceived slight.
“Derek, stop. Stop! Go the fuck away! Christ, I can't get a single fucking moment to myself, you're always around, all up in my space. I don't even know you.”
Derek recoils. “I. Sor- no, you know what, fuck you. I thought you were cool, but you’re actually a asshole.” He tips his fingers in a sort of salute. “Adios, motherfucker.”
He turns on his heel and heads down the street. Will watches him until he turns the corner.
“Well, shit.”
It's true that Derek's been in his space, but that hasn't been a bad thing. He's been great company, if Will’s completely honest with himself.
He doesn't know how to fix this.
He wanders for a while, hitting up some more little tourist traps, his shirt stained with coffee. When it finally starts to get dark, he picks up some tandoori for two and heads back to the hostel.
Derek's not there, so he puts the bag on the table and shucks his shoes. Derek’s stupid Louis Vuitton bag is still by his bed, which is a good sign. He grabs a book and settles back on his own bed.
It's almost an hour before the door creaks open and Derek slips into the room. Will closes his book.
“You're still awake,” Derek says, uncertain.
Will motions at the bag. “I brought food. Because I am an asshole. And I'm sorry.”
Derek taps his fingers on his thigh in a nervous rhythm. “It's not your fault, man. I know I can be kind of, uh. Overbearing.”
“You're really not. I'm just a dick sometimes. It's.” Will looks at Derek’s feet instead of his eyes. “I'm working on it.”
Derek sticks his hand out. “Truce?”
“Truce.” Will gives his hand a squeeze. “Now, help me eat this food that's probably cold.”
“I'm always a slut for free food,” Derek says, pulling out a Styrofoam container and climbing onto Will’s bed.
Will says a silent thank you to whichever deity is listening.
The visit the Tower of London in the morning and Will can tell that things still aren’t quite right between them. Derek is a little quieter than usual, and definitely nicer, and Will knows that he’s being nicer, too. They chirp each other less, don’t bump each other’s shoulders or touch at all. Will doesn’t know how he didn’t realize how much they’d been touching until it stopped.
“So,” Derek whispers in a corridor, “how bad would you shit yourself if the ghost of Anne Boleyn grabbed your shoulder right now?”
Will smothers his laugh with both hands and then punches Derek in the arm. “Oh my god.”
It’s better after that, like it was the first day in Dublin as they got to know each other.
Outside, Will scans the skyline. “How do you feel about heights?”
“You trying to get me on that Ferris wheel?”
“I am.”
“Bring it on.”
The line is obscene, like Will knew it would be, but they spend the whole wait talking, easing back into one another. And once they get to the top, Will knows it was worth it.
“Oh, damn,” Derek says, face pressed to the glass. The city stretches below them for miles, splashed against the heathered sky backdrop. There’s something in Will that says the view is objectively not beautiful, lots of stone and and grey. But there’s so much strength in the city, so many things built to outlast wars, to protect her people, and Will knows there’s beauty in strength, too.
Derek’s breath is fogging up the glass and Will reaches out to wipe it away. He thinks Derek’s probably stronger than he lets on. He chooses not follow up on that thought.
In the morning, they head to the Eurostar station and pack into the train with what feels like a million other people. The Chunnel is kind of a fucking trip, because there’s nothing to look at out the windows. Derek’s got his earphones in, rocking his head to the beat of whatever he’s listening to, and Will’s sort of reading a book and sort of just watching Derek.
“Whatcha reading?” Derek asks somewhere into the second hour, popping out an earphone so Will can hear music he absolutely doesn’t recognize.
“Oh, uh, A Man Called Ove. It’s about this cranky old guy?”
“It’s a book about your future?” Derek’s trying not smirk but the twitch of his lip gives it away.
Will lifts his book between them. “Go back to your music, asshole.”
Paris
As is apparently commonplace on travel days, it’s just about lunchtime when they arrive in Paris, and Derek’s been bitching for over an hour about how hungry he is.
“It’s not my fault you didn’t eat breakfast,” Will says, and Derek sticks out his tongue. “Let’s drop our stuff and we’ll find you something.”
There’s a vegetarian crepe place not far from Notre Dame, and Derek absolutely demolishes all of his plate and some of Will’s. He groans loudly about how full he is the entire walk to the cathedral, swatting Will’s hands when he pokes at Derek’s stomach.
They both quiet down once they step into the shadow of the Notre Dame. Even though Will hasn't been a practicing Catholic since he left for school, there’s something weighty about walking into the gargantuan Gothic fortress.
“Bro,” Derek says, voice soft.
“I know,” Will whispers back.
It's huge, light filtering in through the blue-yellow-red stained glass, and Will crosses himself before moving farther inside.
Derek glances at him. “You're Catholic?”
Will almost feels sacrilegious making any kind of noise in the building, but he leans into Derek’s space, tries to be as quiet as possible. “Sort of? I was raised in the church, did Catechism, all that. Mom wanted me to be an altar boy. I really only go for Christmas and Easter now, but some things just kind of stick with you, you know?”
Derek tilts his head to the side, looks at him long enough that Will gets a little uncomfortable, and then lets his gaze fall back to an array of colored light dancing on a pew. Will leaves him be.
He walks slowly, lets the weight of history settle across him as wanders the building. They don’t stay long, but he can feel it in his ribs for hours.
Outside, Derek mouth curves into a grin. “So. Are you familiar with Point Zero?”
“No?”
“Help me find it and I’ll tell you about it.”
They search for the unremarkable round emblem as Derek explains that it’s supposed to be the exact center of the city.
“They say it grants wishes. You have to spin on one foot on it and, like, you’ll meet your true love or your wish will come true. I just - oh, there it is!”
Derek launches himself at the stone, lands on one foot, and does a perfect pirouette before losing his balance and falling on his ass.
“I assume your wish wasn’t for grace?”
“Fuck off,” Derek laughs as he pushes himself up. “I wished for something way better. Now it’s your turn.”
Will hesitates, unsure what to wish for. When he finally steps on the stone, he thinks I just want to be happy and spins.
“Now we just have to wait and see if they come true,” Derek says. “Let’s see what else this city has to offer, yeah?”
Walking the city, there are street vendors everywhere and Will realizes how American he must look when Derek forcibly drags him away from the fourth guy trying to sell him a hat with an umbrella on it.
“Why did they leave you alone?” he asks, voice almost a whine.
“You walk like a tourist, man. You gotta walk like you belong here.”
Will looks around at a world he absolutely does not belong in and resigns himself to being rescued by Derek at least ten more times.
The next day, Will’s loading his backpack when Derek leans against the wall nearest his bed. It feels like he's got something to say, so Will glances up.
“I’ve been to Paris like four times with my ammi and I haven’t seen half of these tourist traps you’ve decided you absolutely have to see.”
“Okay?”
“Why are you so hellbent on seeing all this touristy shit?”
Will hates this conversation already. “Because I'm a tourist.”
“Not a good enough reason.”
This isn't really an argument Will wants to have, but Derek's looking at him with his chin jutted out like he's ready for a fight. Will sighs.
“I told you, I'm a fisherman’s son from upstate Maine. I spent my summers on a lobster boat in Massachusetts. We never went on fancy vacations to places with art, we went to places where my dad could hunt or fish. The whole reason I'm here is to finally get some culture and shit.”
“Honestly, culture is overrated.”
Will scoffs. “You sound like those assholes who say that money doesn't buy happiness, but they've always had money. You can't dismiss something you have if you don't know what it's like to live without it.”
Derek's quiet for a long moment.
“Okay,” he says, pushing off the wall. “You know what, you’re right. Grab your shit. We're going to the Louvre.”
The Louvre is packed.
Will cranes his neck to see over the sea of people crowded in front of the Mona Lisa.
“I didn't realize it was going to be so small.
“It's kind of underwhelming, right?”
“I mean, it's not - okay, yeah, it really is.”
“But!” Derek claps him on the back. “Now you can say you've seen it. That you're cultured and shit.”
It’s a peace offering, Will knows, and he’s thankful for it. He elbows Derek, just a little.
“Yeah,” he says. “Soon I’ll be eating caviar and talking about diversifying my stock options.”
“Okay, first of all, caviar tastes like an ocean full of jizz. Second of all, fuck you. I was trying to be nice.”
“I know, I know.” Will meets his eyes. “Thank you.”
“Oh.” Derek’s eyebrows knit together. “You’re welcome?”
The rest of the Louvre isn't exactly Will’s kind of thing; he's never been too big on art. They walk for a while before ducking back out into the street, and Will heaves a put-upon sigh when Derek pulls him into the Tuileries by his sleeve.
“Oh, shut up. I need to go to the Champs-Elysee to get something for my sister anyway, we might as well walk through something nice on the way.”
Nice, Will decides, is an understatement. The garden is acres and acres of flowers in full bloom, the expanse dotted with statues and vases and various other sculptures. The sun is warm overhead, filtering through the leaves in patterns that shift with the breeze. It is in no way the kind of thing Will expected he would like, but he’s almost unwilling to step out on the other side.
And the Champs-Elysee, Jesus. Will loves his brother but, from the look of most of these shops, his gift for him is not coming from this street. Maybe an Eiffel Tower keychain from one of the carts, but that's about it.
Derek picks out a soft-looking terra cotta-colored scarf that Will knows would be nearly a month’s worth of paychecks for him and hands over his credit card without batting an eye.
They walk the length of the avenue till they hit the Arc de Triomphe, then find a little cafe where they can grab dinner and watch the sun set. Derek had wanted to wait until night to visit the Eiffel Tower, said it was so Will could see the City Of Lights at its most beautiful.
He was right.
“Oh, wow,” Will breathes as they near the base, and Derek smiles at him over his shoulder.
It's like getting punched in the face.
The lights are twinkling behind Derek, illuminating his grin, and he’s the most gorgeous thing Will’s ever seen.
He’s so, so fucked.
No, he tells himself. It’s fine. He’s got a crush on this dude he barely knows and that sucks, royally fucking blows, but it’s fine. He and Derek are going to keep hanging out and he’s not going to make it weird and everything is going to be peachy.
Except for the part where his face is bright red and his entire body goes stiff whenever Derek is within three feet of him and he’s probably going to die, but it’s totally fine.
And of course Derek dares him to take the stairs up the Tower and it’s not like he can just say no to a dare. But 704 is a lot of stairs and Derek’s telling him what kind of flowers he wants at his funeral by the time they’re anywhere near the top of them.
“Roses are gross, and lilies always make me think of dead Jesus, but peonies are, like, so dope.”
“This is morbid as shit.”
Derek’s pretty much using the railing to haul his flagging body up the stairs.
“I want them to play the Super Mario underground music as they lower me into my grave.”
It's not what Will’s expecting and he laughs so hard that his legs give out and he has to kneel on the steps.
“No no no! Man, get up, I can see the end, we gotta go.”
“Nope,” Will says, laying his cheek against the wall. “This is where I die. Just roll my corpse to the bottom.”
Derek rolls his eyes. “Now who’s being morbid. Besides, if you touch this floor, you probably will die for real, so let’s go.” He grabs Will’s hands and pulls, drags him upright and up the last twenty or so stairs to the second floor. He doesn’t let go until they’ve taken the elevator to the top and they’re outside, with cold, damp wind stinging their faces.
“Oh jeez,” Will breathes as he curls his fingers in the chainlink barrier and gazes out at the glittering expanse of the city. Everything spiderwebs away from the base of the Tower and it looks like the whole city is aglow with soft green and gold light. “This is amazing.”
“Never gets old,” Derek says, and Will can’t even chirp him in the face of this beauty.
They walk the deck, taking in the entire city, radiant a thousand feet below them.
Derek slips his phone out of his pocket. “Dude, Tower selfie, c’mere.” He slings his arm around Will’s neck and tugs until their temples touch. Will’s arm winds around Derek’s waist and he smiles a smile he knows is too wide, but he can’t bring himself to care when they’re smashed together like this.
“Send me that?” he asks after Derek takes the picture.
“Duh. I’m gonna send you all the pictures I take.”
Oh. “Thanks, man.” He pauses. “Okay, so, elevator down, right?”
“Oh my god, yes.”
Derek squeezes Will’s neck before slipping his arm off and leading the way to the elevators.
Will watches him walk away, his internal monologue just Be cool, Poindexter on repeat.
The fact remains that Will doesn't even know if Derek's into dudes in the first place. It's not like he can just ask, because that’s the least cool thing he could possibly do. Which means he's probably going to have to out himself and see how Derek responds.
An opportunity presents itself at lunch the next day.
“So, is this supposed to be, like...weird French pizza?”
“Kind of?” Derek shoots Will finger guns. “Nothing says fun like flam!”
“Ugh, don't do that. My ex used to do that.” Will debates laying his cards down before thinking fuck it. “He was kind of a dick.”
He doesn't look directly at Derek, but he still catches the way his eyes go wide for a second before he regains his composure.
“Oh, can we drag our ex-boyfriends? Because goddamn, my latest ex was a doozy.”
So now he knows, and he isn't sure if knowing makes this better or worse. Because now his traitorous heart feels like he stands a chance, when the logical part of him is saying there’s no way in hell.
For dinner, Derek insists on a picnic. He leads Will through the Marché d'Aligre, winding through the crowds before coming to a stop in front of a bright yellow shop.
“My ammi is from Paris originally,” Derek explains. “She didn’t move to New York until a few years before I was born. Every time we came to Paris, she’d always bring me here. I never met her parents, but she said the food here reminded her of her mom.”
Will nods and hovers quietly behind Derek as he gathers up flatbreads and cheese and olives. When he’s done, they make their way into the covered market, where Derek buys a couple bottles of wine and flirts his way to a pair of free plastic cups.
“Okay,” he says. “There’s a little promenade a couple blocks from here. It’s beautiful, you’ll love it.”
The promenade is beautiful, roses and bamboo and massive shade trees. They find a bench and Derek spreads their food out between them, pours them each a glass of wine.
Will’s not a wine drinker at all, but it’s decent enough to sip while he stuffs his face with bread and some kind of pungent cheese. He drinks a second glass before calling it quits, but Derek finishes the bottle and most of the second one.
Derek is, quite frankly, fucking drunk. He’s slurring his words and leaning into Will’s space and flirting mercilessly and Will absolutely cannot deal.
He claps his hands. “Yeah, okay, it’s time to put you to bed. Help me clean up and we’ll head back.”
Derek tries to help and pours the rest of his wine on the ground, so Will makes him sit on his hands till everything is tidied and then helps him upright. He can mostly walk under his own power, but he’s wobbly enough that Will feels obliged to let him lean his weight on Will.
Getting drunk Derek to brush his teeth is a Herculean feat, but Will manages it with some effort. Derek says he can change his clothes by himself, so Will changes into his own pajamas and gets into bed.
“Comin’ through.” For reasons he doesn’t understand, Derek is crawling into Will’s bed.
“Um, excuse you, but your bed’s over there.” Will throws his arms up as a blockade, pushes Derek until his feet are back on the floor.
There’s a soft noise that Will recognizes as a laugh. “See, the problem with that, my dear William, is that my drunk ass will roll right out of that bed. I need a barrier.”
This cannot be happening. “Are you a toddler?” He’s still got his arms stretched above him, holding Derek at bay.
“Yup,” Derek agrees before forcing his way into the space between Will and the wall.
This is, in fact, happening. “If I fall off because you’re taking up too much space, so help me god, I will hit you so hard.”
“I'll take that chance.” With that, Derek flops onto the edge of Will’s pillow with a fwump and it's maybe a minute before his breathing slows to the point that Will knows he's asleep.
It takes Will considerably longer to join him.
When he wakes up, it’s to Derek’s arm wrapped around his waist and Derek’s breath warm on the back of his neck.
He desperately needs to be anywhere else right now.
He slowly wriggles himself out of Derek’s grasp and he almost, almost makes it all the way out of bed before Derek wakes up.
“Bro,” Derek mumbles, groggy with sleep. “Mad sorry about going full octopus on you. Also, holy shit, wine hangover. I’m fucking dying.”
“I hate to say you brought this on yourself, but…”
“Don’t front, you’re loving this.” Derek’s eyes are barely open and he’s still chirping.
Will grins. “I live to watch you suffer.”
“Asshole.” There’s no heat to it and Derek’s mouth is curved into a fond smile. Will feels something in his stomach clench at the sight of it.
“Anyways,” he says, too loud, too quick, but he’s got to diffuse the moment. “The train leaves in two hours. You can sleep on the way to Rome.” It comes out sounding harsh, but Derek doesn’t seem to notice.
“Gimme, like, twenty more minutes,” Derek says, before smashing his face back into the pillow.
Will gives him twenty-five.
The train ride is fucking eternal and Will truly regrets opting for it over flying. The plane ticket cost more, yeah, but now he’s spending twelve solid hours in a cramped space with Derek. Their legs are pressed together and Derek keeps poking his shoulder to point at things out the window and Will’s pretty sure he’s going to spontaneously combust if Derek doesn’t stop touching him, Jesus Christ.
They get off the train for a while somewhere in Germany, partly to stretch their legs and partly so they can say they’ve been to Germany too. Derek offers to buy Will some questionable sausage made out of god only knows what animal, and laughs when Will socks him gently in the stomach. They do grab some decidedly less adventurous station food before catching another train for rest of the trip.
Rome
Rome doesn’t actually look anything like Roman Holiday, which is probably to be expected. It’s late when they get in, and Will doesn’t want to do a damn thing but eat and pass out. There’s a trattoria across the street from their hostel, thank God, and Will shovels roughly his own body weight in pasta into his mouth before they check in. He doesn’t even brush his teeth, just collapses face-first into the bed. He can hear Derek laughing at him before he falls asleep.
The Torre Argentina is Derek's idea, and Will doesn't know quite what he was expecting, but it probably wasn't this.
There are cats everywhere, all different kinds, and Derek flops cross-legged on the ground and doesn't move until a giant orange tabby climbs into his lap.
“Aw, it likes you,” Will teases.
“Everyone likes me. I'm irresistible. And look! It's ginger like you.” He scratches behind the cat’s ears. “He's cuter, though.”
“I'm actually not going to argue with that.”
The corners of Derek’s eyes crinkle as his laugh rings off the bricks.
Will sits down next to him, reaches out to let the cat sniff his hand before petting it.
“See, it likes you, too. You’re likable when you want to be.”
That’s fair, Will thinks.
They lose nearly an hour there, just letting cats crawl over them and talking.
“What’s next?” Derek finally asks, sprawled in a patch of sunlight as though he were a cat himself.
“The, uh, criminology museum.”
“And that is?”
“It's supposed to have bunch of historical crime and punishment stuff.” Derek pushes up on his elbows to stare at Will, eyebrow cocked like he's waiting for Will to continue. “I was really into medieval torture devices when I was a kid.”
The look Derek levels him with is judgmental as hell. His face shutters, features contorting into what Will recognizes as nausea.
“You know that’s weird, right?”
“It’s a little weird, yeah,” Will admits.
“It’s actually a lot weird, but whatevs.” He chews his lip. “Is it cool if I ditch out on this one? This isn’t really my scene and there’s a church or something down the way that’s supposed to have some great frescoes that I want to see.”
Something pangs in Will’s stomach, but he nods anyway. They make plans to meet up outside the museum in half an hour and part ways.
The museum is great, if not gruesome. There’s an iron maiden and a pair of guillotines and something called a Milazzo cage that Will’s never heard of before.
It doesn’t feel right, though, wandering the exhibit alone. He heads back outside long before they’re supposed to meet back up.
When they find each other, Derek can’t stop chattering about this little girl, this street performer he saw across from the church, how she couldn’t have been more than eight and had the voice of an angel. He’s animated and effervescent and it’s all Will can do to ignore the butterflies in his stomach threatening to climb out of his mouth.
The tour boat ride is obviously Derek's idea (what is with this guy and boats, honestly). They're sitting on the deck, Derek's arms splayed out along the gunwale, the sun setting behind him. The people around them are talking in hushed tones, background music to a beautiful sight and Will is slowly coming apart. He needs to kill the moment before he loses himself in it, before his heart tricks his brain into thinking this could be real.
“This is so cheesy,” he says.
“It’s romantic!” Derek protests.
“It’s cheesy. And why’d you bring me if it’s so romantic?” The air quotes are implied.
Derek shrugs. “Because I like you.”
Will gapes at him. “Seriously?”
Derek looks embarrassed but he meets Will’s eyes and nods.
“Since when?”
“Honestly?” Derek considers it. “Probably since you came back to the room looking like a boiled lobster.”
Will scrubs a hand over his face. “You should have said something.”
“What, and make it super weird and have you ditch me? Nah.”
“You’re a dumbass. I’ve had a big, stupid crush on you since Paris. Or, well. London. But I didn't realize it until Paris.”
“Oh shit,” Derek whispers.
“Yeah, oh shit.”
There’s another tourist sitting not far from them, eyes flitting over them obviously. Will can tell he’s watching this unfold and he kind of hates the guy.
“When’s your flight?”
Will squeezes his eyes shut. “Two days.”
“Okay, so we’ve got two days. And Maine’s not that far. Airplanes exist and will fly between where I live and where you are so hold on, I’m coming.” His lips quirk sideways a little. “Neil Hilborn.”
“That name means nothing to me.”
“I knew it wouldn't. I'll teach you.”
“I can't promise I'll learn.”
“I’d kiss you, but I’m this dude is watching us way too hard.”
Will laughs. “Oh god, if you kiss me in front of all these people, I might actually hit you.”
"That's fair."
It's quiet a minute before Derek says, “Let me take you to dinner.”
Will studies him. “Yeah, okay.”
Dinner is fancy as hell and Will feels wildly underdressed. He and Derek are wearing similar enough outfits but there’s something about the way Derek carries himself that he looks like he belongs in this restaurant Will can neither afford nor pronounce the name of.
Derek’s being real shady on his phone the whole time they're eating, holding it close to him and shoving Will away when he jokingly tries to peek at the screen. It sets Will’s foot to tapping anxiously, fingers joining on every other beat.
Sometime after the bill comes, Derek slides his phone into his pocket and looks straight at Will.
“So I’m going to say something, and you’re going to be mad and I’m going to let you be mad but then you’re going to get over it because we’re not staying at the hostel tonight.”
“We’re not?”
“Nope. Tomorrow night, either.”
“And where, exactly, are we staying?”
“Hotel Eden.”
“No.”
“Yessir.”
“Absolutely not.”
“I already booked the room.”
Will pinches the bridge of his nose. “Goddammit. That place is like four stars.”
“Five, actually.”
“Oh, five, that’s beautiful. I can’t afford that, you know I can’t afford that.”
Derek’s grin is lopsided. “I do know, which is why I’m paying for it.”
“Derek.”
“William.” His tone matches Will’s exactly and Will knows he’s not winning this fight.
“You’re a goddamn pain in my ass.”
“You like me anyway.” He bats his lashes ridiculously and Will can’t tamp down the smile.
“What can I say? I’ve got questionable taste in men.”
Derek huffs. “Rude. I just wanted to make out with you somewhere that wasn’t a twin bed in a hostel.”
“Oh.” Will can feel his cheeks heat. “Well, that’s. That’s okay, I guess.”
They head back to the hostel to grab their gear and check out before Derek leads the way to a significantly nicer part of town.
Derek checks them in while Will takes in the resplendent lobby and tries not to shake.
“Okay,” Derek says, flashing keycards. “Let's check this motherfucker out.”
The room is unreal.
“Holy - this is the nicest room I've ever been in in my life. This is probably the nicest room I'm ever going to be in. ”
“Check out this fucking bed!” Derek abandons his suitcase to launch himself face-first onto the hugest bed Will’s ever seen.
“Oh my god,” Derek groans. “It feels like a cloud. Come over here, get on this magnificent cloud with me.”
Will goes.
The bed is unreal, but Will doesn’t give a shit about it because Derek rolls over and smiles at him, this slow, sweet thing that makes it feel like his heart is in his mouth.
“Hey.”
“Hi there.”
“C’mere.”
Derek’s mouth is warm and soft and Will wants it pressed to his own until the end of time.
He gets his hands in Derek’s hair and tugs, pulls his head to the side so he can drag his mouth down the side of Derek’s neck.
“I cannot believe,” Derek says, voice low and airy, “that we could have been doing this all fucking week.”
“Better late than never,” Will says and works a mark into his skin, savors the curse he breathes out.
Derek curls his fingers beneath the hem of Will’s shirt, presses against his back, his hips, his ribs.
“You lilywhite motherfucker, I should not want you this bad.”
Will bites his ear. “You’re such a dick.”
“And yet.” Derek slides his thigh between Will’s. “You are demonstrably into it.”
“Yeah, I am.”
They kiss until Will’s mouth is swollen and buzzing and Derek’s got a massive mark just below his jaw. Derek pulls back and closes his eyes.
“You know, we don't have to do anything tomorrow. We could just stay right here all day.”
“We could, but I do actually have plans beyond making out with you.”
Derek leans in to lay a kiss on his forehead. “Worth a shot.”
“Valiant effort.”
“Mmhmm.”
They make out until Derek has to pull away to yawn, at which point Will makes them both get ready for bed.
Waking up with Derek's arm draped around Will’s waist is way better than it was last time, because this time he gets to enjoy it. He turns around in Derek's grip and counts his eyelashes until he wakes up.
“Morning, sunshine,” Derek slurs, sleep-slow and soft.
“Morning.”
“So what do you have planned for today that’s so important it beats making out with me?”
“Sistine Chapel.”
Derek huffs a little. “I mean, I guess that’s okay.”
“Oh, is that okay with you?”
“I said I guess.” Derek’s mouth twitches at the corner.
“I’m so glad that’s acceptable to you, my liege,” Will says, tickling Derek's side until Derek pins him down and kisses him.
“Go get ready so I can walk around beautiful places and pretend I'm looking at anything but you.”
“That's the sappiest thing I've ever heard,” Will says, but he's dizzy with the thought of it.
What Will sees of the Sistine Chapel is gorgeous, but it's hard to focus when the back of Derek's hand keeps barely touching his. He lowers his voice.
“I want to hold your hand, but the Pope is like right there and my family is just way too Catholic for that.”
“Are they cool? Your family?”
Will shrugs. “I mean, mostly. It’s not their favorite thing about me, but it’s not like they really mind, either.”
Derek bumps their shoulders together. “So I could hold your hand in Maine?”
“Sure. Just not, you know, in front of the Pope.”
They meander through the serpentine streets of Trastevere after, pass fountains and buskers, churches and villas. In a moment of either bravery or stupidity, Will does reach out to take Derek’s hand. Derek doesn’t turn to look at him, but Will can see the smile that spreads across his face.
No one looks twice at them, and Will revels in it.
That night, they lie in bed, feet tangled together beneath the sheets.
“What are you gonna do after I fly out?” Will asks.
Derek sighs dramatically and stretches his arms above his head. “Don’t know. Might just hang out here for a while, drink sambuca, be a sleazy lothario.”
“Oh my god,” Will swats him. “I can see you now, sprawled out across some plaza steps, drunk and wearing flip flops.”
Derek turns his face into Will’s neck and Will can feel him laugh. “That’s exactly the look I’m going for.”
“That’s gonna be a great look. You’ll probably get arrested but at least you’ll look good.”
“Psh, I always look good.”
“Yeah,” Will says, fond. “Yeah, you do.”
At the airport, Will spends entirely too long outside of the security check. But Derek keeps kissing him and that feels so much more important than catching a flight.
“Okay,” Derek says, pushing him away and holding him at arm's length. “If you don't go, you're going to be late. So go. Text me when you get home.”
“I will. I. I'll see you. Soon.” He doesn't want to leave at all, stays hovering in the in between.
“Go.” Derek gives him a shove.
It's a long flight.
US
Will does text him when his mom picks him up. Derek sends him a crying face and a couple of poop emojis and then just...doesn’t stop texting. He sends messages all day long, pictures of things that make him think of Will, or just little updates about his day. Will’s never been the kind of guy to be attached to his phone, but he finds himself waiting for the next text to come.
Eventually, Derek convinces him to Skype and it’s so, so good to see Derek’s face again. Even pixelated, in poor light, he’s magnificent, and Will tells him as much.
It’s two months of long-distance conversation when Will gets an email that knocks the air out of him.
Will blows up Derek’s phone with frantic call me texts until Derek finally calls.
He doesn’t even greet Derek, just opens with, “I’m moving to New York.”
“Excuse me?”
“Vice hired me to do tech shit. I’m coming to New York.”
Derek’s voice is quiet when he says, ”I didn’t even know you were looking for jobs here.”
“I wasn’t. They called me.”
“So you’re coming here.”
“I am.”
The silence stretches and Will holds his breath because maybe Derek doesn’t want this and -
"I’ve missed you so much.”
“Yeah,” Will exhales. “I’ve missed you, too.”
“I can’t believe you’re gonna be here. I’m gonna climb you like a fucking tree.”
Will’s answering laugh is the brightest thing.