Chapter Text
Will’s apartment always smells like paint.
No matter how wide he throws the windows or how many times he promises himself he’ll clean up later, the scent clings—sharp, oily, alive. Tubes lie scattered across the table: some half-squeezed and crusting at the caps, others barely touched. In front of him, the canvas waits—unfinished, again. Soft blues drift into darker shadows; vague shapes hover on the edge of meaning, refusing to resolve.
He’s been standing there a long time, brush in hand, arm beginning to ache.
He isn’t painting. Not really.
He’s thinking about the audition.
He told himself not to get attached. It was just another self-tape, filmed late at night, sent off with a quiet hope he didn’t want to admit to. Most of the time, auditions ended the same way—an email weeks later, polite and distant, or nothing at all.
But this one won’t leave him alone.
Spider-Man: Brand New Day.
The name keeps looping in his head, like it’s stuck there on purpose.
Chance is in the kitchen, moving around, humming softly. It’s comforting, the sound of another person existing in the same space as him. Chance is like that—steady, calm, easy. Will likes easy.
“You’ve been staring at that thing forever,” Chance says, leaning against the doorway with two mugs. “Is it supposed to look like that?”
Will huffs out a small laugh. “I hope so.”
Chance hands him a mug. “You’re overthinking again.”
“Am not.”
“You are,” Chance says gently, not accusing, just stating a fact. “Is this about the audition?”
Will doesn’t answer right away. He looks back at the canvas, at the place where the colors blur together too much. “Maybe.”
Chance nods, like he expected that. “You did good. No matter what happens.”
Will wants to believe him. But he won’t allow himself to.
His phone starts ringing.
The sound is sharp in the quiet room, sudden enough that Will jumps. The phone is face-down on the table. He doesn’t move at first. His heart starts beating faster, and that alone feels embarrassing.
They don’t usually call.
Chance raises an eyebrow. “You gonna get that?”
“Yeah,” Will says quickly. Too quickly. He sets the mug down before his hands start shaking and picks up the phone.
Unknown number.
He hesitates, then answers. “Hello?”
The voice on the other end is professional, friendly. Says the studio’s name. Says his name right after, like it matters. Will presses his free hand against the wall as he listens, nodding even though no one can see him.
He hears the words we’d like to offer you the role and everything else fades out for a second.
He doesn’t remember exactly what he says after that. Probably “thank you.” Probably too many times. When the call ends, he just stands there, phone still in his hand, staring at nothing.
“Will?” Chance calls. “Hey. What happened?”
Will walks back into the room slowly, like his legs aren’t quite working right. “I—” He laughs, short and breathless. “I got it.”
Chance’s face lights up immediately. “You’re serious?”
“I’m serious,” Will says, nodding, like if he keeps nodding it’ll stay real. “I got the part.”
Chance pulls him into a hug without hesitation, tight and warm. “I knew it,” he says. “I told you.”
Will smiles against his shoulder. He really does. He feels excited. He feels proud.
There’s also something else, small and sharp in his chest, that he ignores.
-
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The soundstage is overwhelming.
There are lights everywhere, people moving in every direction, voices overlapping. Someone hands Will a badge. Someone else tells him where to stand. He keeps nodding, smiling when he’s supposed to, pretending his heart isn’t trying to beat its way out of his chest.
First day. Just get through the first day.
A producer walks him toward the main set, talking about schedules and fittings and table reads. Will barely catches half of it.
“Cast is already here,” the producer says. “Perfect timing.”
They stop.
Will steps forward.
And then he sees him.
Mike Wheeler is standing near the set, talking to someone from the crew, hands moving as he laughs. He looks different—older, sharper—but also exactly the same in a way that makes Will’s stomach drop. He’s already half-dressed in the Spider-Man suit, red and blue bright under the lights, mask tucked under his arm.
For a second, Will forgets how to breathe. “Oh god”
Mike looks up.
Their eyes meet.
The smile slips off Mike’s face, just a little. Like he wasn’t expecting this. Like maybe he hoped it wouldn’t happen.
Will swallows and forces himself to keep walking.