Chapter Text
The low hum of the refrigerator was the only sort of noise emanating in the unusually quiet house, aside from soft whimpers and the occasional thud of an object being thrown in anger.
Will was curled up on his couch, heaving and alone. So alone. That was not normal. It was unconventional, even. His nose was snot-filled, and his eyes were red and glassy, and his throat hurt from how bad he’d been wailing. The usual kempt, blonde curls were mussed and tousled, splaying around his head. Across the room lay his phone, cracked and chipped on the ground, the indent on the wall a silent though visual explanation as to what happened.
It was cold in the living room, cold and dark. He’d tossed the blanket on the ground in a frustrated fit before collapsing onto the corner of the couch, balling up, huddling in his own body heat as he shook violently with each sob. Spit trailed down his mouth, and all he could do was curl further in on himself and tighten his grasp on the tiny metal cross dangling below his collarbones.
He’s not even sure what he did.
It was right after practice when it happened.
Will had just gotten out of the shower, and Mack had called him over from across the locker room, his chest bare, all sweaty and gross still. Mack shifted on the balls of his feet awkwardly before he told Will they had to “talk”. If Will knew then what Mack would tell him later that day, he would have stalled longer. He would’ve scrubbed his body til he turned red and scratchy. He would’ve dried himself off until every drop of water was soaked into the towel. He would’ve lingered around, making conversation with anyone in sight, avoiding the inevitable.
But Will didn’t know then, and he was eager to. He made a quick effort to shimmy into his jeans while Mack rinsed himself off. Will was giddy, almost. Maybe if he weren’t so entranced by Mack’s well-defined chest, his mussed, sweat-wet hair, the flush of cheeks, the stutter in his voice, or the adorable tiny gap between his two front teeth, Will would’ve noticed the absence of the glimmer in his eyes, the uncomfortable shifting in position, or the way his bottom lip was bitten raw.
Maybe his not noticing was a reason, a factor as to why Mack did what he did.
After they were both cleansed and dressed, they made their way to Will’s car, the black Bronco especially hot, positioned right in the glare of the sun. They slid in both sides, Will in control of the wheel.
“We should go to mine.” Mack had said quietly, fiddling with his seatbelt.
Will nodded before craning his neck to look in the rearview mirror, “What’d you want to talk ‘bout?”
Looking out the passenger side window, Mack bit his lip. “I think I’d be better if we, uh, talk when we get there.”
“Okay, baby.” Will said, confused but trusting. Not nervous. He was never nervous around Mack. Well, except for when he confessed his feelings. That was scary. But that was also a year ago, right before the two started dating.
Mack didn’t say anything else for the rest of the ride, only humming in response to Will’s comments on how practice went down. Maybe Will should’ve noticed it then, when Mack wouldn’t even turn his head to meet his eyes while he blatantly ignored Will. Instead, Will glanced over and focused on his beefy bicep, the pimple growing on the side of his chin, and the way a couple of strands of hair stuck out after drying weirdly. He focused on the way his heart fluttered whenever he was within a 6-foot radius of Mack—whenever they were in the same room.
They pulled into Mack’s condo just as Katy Perry quieted down, and the silence between the change of songs took over. Will had turned the aux off and shuffled out of the car just as Mack did. He opened the backseat door to pull out his gear bag, but Mack’s clearing his throat overly loud caught his attention.
“Maybe you should…keep your bag in your car.” He said reluctantly, carefully, controlled.
Will raised an eyebrow, “My car’s going to stink, baby.”
Mack bit his lip, looking at the gravel beneath his sneakers. “I don’t expect you to stay long, Will.”
“Uhm.” He furrowed his brows, fully now. They only had a couple of games left before the season ended, and Will went back to Lexington, and Mack went to Vancouver. The pair have been spending as much time as possible around each other before they’d be separated. “Okay, Mack.” Will shrugged, confusion prominent in his face. Shutting the backseat door, Will rounded the car to meet Mack, who was already drifting away from him, heading towards his front door.
And maybe, Will should’ve suspected it then. When Mack moved awkwardly around him, when Mack told him to his face he didn’t want Will to stay around for the night, and when he didn’t provide any explanation as to why, only letting Will know they needed to talk. Maybe he should’ve questioned himself a bit, asked himself why, instead of automatically assuming Mack just wanted a day off, some space, alone time. Instead of assuming it didn’t mean anything, instead of simply following Mack into the house, wordlessly trailing behind him like an obedient dog.
Mack came to a halt in his living room, before turning to Will, an expasterated look on his face. Will noticed it then. He noticed the eye bags under Mack’s eyes. The tired wrinkle in his forehead. The chapped lips. The silent drought in his eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
Gesturing toward the couch, Mack muttered a small, “Come sit,” as he did so too.
Will sat beside Mack, thigh to thigh. His hand subconsciously found its way around Mack’s shoulder, pulling him in slightly. He leaned onto Mack, eyes squinting in bewilderment when Mack leaned away from him.
“Babe?”
Mack closed his eyes, inhaling a deep breath, followed by an exhale. He twisted out of Will’s arm and turned to face him, pulling his legs onto the couch, sitting cross-legged.
“Will.” He whispered. “I—” Mack cut himself off with a sob, immediately curling in on himself, his body shaking, the hurt unraveling with each cry. His empty eyes turned tear-welled, and his bottom lip wobbled sadly.
Will launched forward without hesitation, arms wrapping around Mack’s structured figure. “Oh, Baby—what’s wrong? Mackie?” he murmured instinctively, “My baby, look at me please.”
With no reply, Will’s arms tighten around the limp boy, pressing his face into Mack’s auburn hair, leaving a small, reassuring kiss there. “It’s okay, baby,” he said into Mack’s hairline, “You’re okay, I got you.”
Mack shook his head frantically and lightly, but firmly, pushed Will off of him before scooting away, to the end of the couch, til his back hit the armrest.
Eyes widened in confusion and hurt, Will reached out for Mack’s socked foot, resting his hand there. “Mack?”
“We should break up.” He said wetly, through his tears, while aggressively wiping at his eyes.
His grip on Mack’s foot tightened, visibly flinching at the words. Will made a wounded noise, scanning Mack’s face for any indication that this might be some joke. Some sick, cruel joke. Will let go of Mack’s foot, eyebrows pushed together, “What?” he asked, his comforting tone hardening. “I don’t—Mack?”
Mack bit his lip, turning his gaze down to his lap. “M’sorry, Will.”
“No, wait—what?” Will sputtered, “Mack, what? Baby? What’re you saying?”
“You—” Mack huffed, choking on a sob, “You can’t call me that anymore.” He said, sniffling.
Will’s eyes grew glassy, “Mack, what?” he repeated, sliding off the couch and onto his knees. He crawled to the side of the couch Mack was cornered in. Sitting on the ground, Will grabbed his hand, interwining it with his own. “No—Mack, please talk to me, please, Mack.”
Mack let out a shaky breath before tugging his hand out of Will’s desperate grasp. “Will.”
“Mack, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I did, but I won’t do it again, please, Mack, I’m so sorry, baby.”
“Will,”
“You’re my whole life, you own my heart, Mack, please talk to me, I’ll change, Mack, I swear.” He begged, “I’ll do anything, Mack, I promise.”
“Will!” He snapped, his wet cheeks glistening in the shallow sunlight creeping through the curtains. “You should go.”
Will winced, his own eyes releasing the tears that’d gathered. He let out a tiny whimper, staring at Mack. “Please tell me what I did, I’m so sorry, Mack.” The boy cried, his knees digging into the hard wooden floorboards, the pain incomparable to the feeling Will had in his heart right then. “I’ll be better, Mack, just tell me why.”
Mack looked down at him sadly. Will wanted nothing more than to kiss his lips, despite the blood gathering there from Mack’s two front teeth. He wanted to cup Mack’s cheeks and kiss each tear that fell. He wanted to curl up beside Mack and be blessed with his presence and love.
That’s what it was. Mack didn’t love him anymore. Will had done something that made him unlovable. He’d fucked up the one thing that mattered most.
“Please leave.” Mack muttered, offering no explanation.
Will opened his mouth to protest, grovel, plead, and beg for an answer, a reason, a conclusion, a second chance, a third, something—anything, but not a peep came out.
“Get out, Will.” Mack whispered, “Please.”
Will shook his head, “Please, Mackie, tell me why.”
Mack didn’t say anything.
Wordless, broken, and hurt, Will rose to his feet, the silent tears streaming down his face a substitute for any words left unsaid. He looked at Mack, his red-rimmed eyes, and waited.
He waited a second longer. A minute. Two.
Nothing.
He turned away, slowly making his way to the foyer. His hand rested on the doorknob. He counted to 10. Nothing. Will opened the door before looking back at Mack once more, desperate. With no response, not even a glance, Will stepped out of Mack’s house, quietly shutting the door behind him.
Will had stumbled over to his car, already choking on sobs. He threw himself in the driver's seat and cried. Will cried and cried and cried. There was snot dribbling down from his nostrils, and his eyes stung, his face was red and wet, and his heart hurt. Badly. He stayed in Mack’s driveway for another 30 minutes before pulling out, biting his tongue.
Driving through his neighborhood, Will fought the urge to turn around, go back to Mack’s house, and burst in through the front door, find Mack, and kneel at his feet and beg beg beg. Beg until something happened. Whether it was Mack kicking him further down or hugging him. Whether it was Mack cursing him out or elaborating on why.
But Mack had asked Will to leave. Thrice. And each time, Will could feel his heart breaking.
It was when he parked in front of his own house that he actually, genuinely, broke down. He was halfway through his driveway, leaving his forgotten gear-bag in the back of his car, when he fell down. Having worn shorts, his bare knees dug into the rocky cement, tiny rocks piercing into his pale skin. Curling into himself, Will sobbed again, wailing and screaming, his nails dug into the soft of his palm, unforgiving. A punishment.
And if Will had to crawl his way to his porch before scrambling to unlock his front door, his knees scraping with each movement, he’d done it shamefully, crying each step of the way.
Not even bothering to lock his door, Will fell face down onto his couch, loud, pitiful cries echoing throughout his own living room.
Mack didn’t even tell him why. He just did it. He just told Will they were breaking up and didn’t elaborate, didn’t offer any explanation, only telling Will to leave after breaking his heart.
Will doesn’t know what he did to deserve that, only knowing that he really did deserve it.
He wishes Mack had told him. He wishes he hadn’t done it. Whatever it exactly was. Mack was the best thing in the entire universe; he was everything, and Will had fucked it up. Will’s the stupidest, dumbest, most pathetic guy ever because—how? How could you have the most precious thing ever and not bend over backwards to accommodate to every need—every want? How could you lose the one thing that mattered most? How could you fuck up so bad that they didn’t even tell you why you guys were breaking up, only that you were and that was that?
And the thing that fucks Will up so badly is that he didn’t notice anything wrong.
Just yesterday, Will was sprawled over Mack as the boy held him tightly against his bare chest, fingers scritching at Will’s head, tangled in the loose, gold curls while a movie, some old 80s thriller, played lowly in the background. It was a normal evening for the two. Usual. It was flawless. Perfect, even.
Nothing seemed wrong.
And maybe that’s what was really wrong. Maybe some had been wrong, and Will didn’t notice. Mack had been struggling, and Will didn’t notice. Will didn’t notice cause he’s a stupid piece of shit and he's so full of himself and he's an asshole and he doesn’t deserve Mack and—
Will grabbed his phone, chucking it at the wall. “Fuck!” he yelled, throwing, kicking, punching the nearest things around him. A remote towards the loveseat. A spare blanket kicked to the floor. A glass cup was hurled at the ground right next to the blanket, shattering into a million tiny shards.
“Shit,” He said, quieter, deflating against the unbearably soft cushions of his couch. He didn’t deserve that luxury. He didn’t deserve anything good. Pulling his knees up to his chest, Will tucked his face into them before falling sideways, head landing onto a throw-pillow.
He hates himself. He hates himself for letting Mack go. For leaving Mack’s house without an answer. For being inconsistent. For fucking up. For not even knowing what he did. For everything, because this was his fault. He deserved to have his heart broken.
Sobs muffled into the pillow, Will’s cries didn’t stop. The pillow was drenched in tears, snot, and spit, and Will only cried harder.
Evening passed, and soon the sun illuminating Will’s living room dulled down before slipping away completely, submitting to the night.
Now, lying curled up on his couch, the dark a pitch black, Will didn’t know if his eyes were open or not. Soft whimpers escaped his mouth, followed by sniffles. Eventually, the dark of the house and the white noise of the refrigerator hum lulled him into a tired, exhausted sleep.