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my heart is broken like the bottles on the floor

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There’s half an onion in the fridge.

Bing stares at it for a while, until he remembers that he’s wasting cold and shuts the door again. Regrettably, there is neither beer or half-n-half, which meant that a) they drank all of the beer last night, instead of most of it and b) there’s no cream to put in his coffee to get over drinking the beer.

He wonders whom he can blame for this obvious breach of item 3 in the “How About We Try Not To Starve To Death” contract, but then remembers that it’s his job to buy groceries when he’s over at Will’s, since he’d would live off of take-out if Gigi wouldn’t make the sad puppy-dog eyes (granted, it would be gourmet all organic take-out, but it’s the principle of the thing). Finally, after some self-berating, he starts up the coffee maker, wincing at the noise of the grinder.

When Will finally stumbles into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and wrapped up in his ratty college sweatshirt that literally no one but Bing has ever seen him in, he offers up a mug of coffee.

“Thanks,” Will mumbles, eyes staring down into the mug as if shocked by the contents before finally taking a sip. Silently, Bing passes over a glass of water and two aspirin while nursing his own cup. For what feels like an hour but what was probably two minutes, they sit in silence at the breakfast island, staring off into the middle distance and trying to remain upright.

“So,” Bing starts, and coughs a little to get his voice together. He’s not quite sure how to word the questions he wants to ask: So we watched hours of the girl you’re madly in love with dissing your face why, again? So what are you going to do about fucking up so badly, again? So why did we drink that much IPA and then the vodka, again?

So why did you tell me to break up with Jane, again?

“I suppose… I should start with telling you I’m sorry.” For once Will looks cowed, eyes still staring into the coffee mug. However, today, Bing is determined to stand his ground, even in the face of a raging hangover and Will’s upset face, which is just similar enough to Gigi’s to also look like a puppy that just got its bone taken away.

He picks up his coffee in what is hopefully a firm, tell-me-more-about-your-fuck-ups sort of manner, and takes a sip.

“I – I misread the situation, and I shouldn’t have overstepped my boundary as a friend. It’s been made clear – vehemently clear to me that I’ve treated you and your relationship with Jane badly, and I’m sorry.” The last part of the sentence comes out in a rush, but Will finally looks up from his coffee, still dwarfed by the size of his sweatshirt

Bing sits there for a bit, takes another sip of his coffee. He tries not to look at Will, but this is the first time since high school that Will has genuinely, honestly been this apologetic for, well, anything. And if nothing else, it does make Bing feel just a little bit better.

However, he’s not going to break. He promised himself, hours of Youtube videos and one too many instances of watching Jane cry on screen later, that he wasn’t going to be swayed. Just one apology wasn’t going to magically fix things –

Well, but it’s still his fault.

He could’ve said no to Will and Caroline. He could’ve texted. He could’ve done a lot of things, and now he was stuck, pretty sure that there was no way to put it back together again. He’s become That Guy She Knew, the one who had clearly fucked up and broken her heart, the one who’ll become a cautionary tale for the next person who’s lucky enough to be loved by Jane Bennet, and there’s no excuse for him, not to him anyways.

Suddenly he faces a desire for more vodka, if only to drown out the fact that he lost a relationship with someone wonderful and amazing, and there’s no way of explaining his actions to her without being a douche.

But Will could.

The idea hits him like a bolt of lightening, and he sits up so fast that he spills his mug of coffee all over the granite countertop. It’s the first thing that’s roused Will since his apology (which Bing now realizes he hasn’t really accepted yet), and he glances up from his own mug, bleary and red-eyed.

As he grabs a towel to mop up the mess, he thinks his plan over, double-checking for flaws. Of course, it’s entirely possible that this won’t change anything that Lizzie Bennet feels about Will, or him, or the entire time they’ve known each other. Still, it’s an attempt, and this, this is something they can fix. That Bing feels worthy of fixing.

“Will.” He waits for Will to look up before continuing, tapping his fingers on the counter. “I have an idea. A plan, something that can help you out.”

Will stares back at him. He looks oddly childlike in the sweatshirt, and the picture of him just paying attention, not even saying a single cutting remark, gives Bing the boost he needs to keep talking.

“We – by which I mean you – are going to write a letter.”