Work Text:
When Chris wakes up on Wednesday, it’s to a brand new world. Well, maybe not quite. Maybe that’s stretching the truth, but the morning feels elastic, open, and all the more terrifying for it.
When he stumbles into the kitchen Will has NPR running on the radio and his laptop open on the island, and he’s standing in front of it and shifting his weight back and forth, rocking between his feet while he stares at the screen, flipping lightning quick between displays. Chris gets a glass of water, leans back against the counter and watches him. “Well?”
Will’s smile when he looks up is bright. “DOMA is gone. There was language that they think was about Prop 8 in one of the opinions but it’s not -” the laptop chimes, and the smile falls right off his face as his eyes shift back, wide and hungry. Chris watches him. “Oh. No standing.”
“So that means that California is back.”
Will stares at the screen; Chris watches his eyes skim across it, watches his fingers move across the touchpad to go to twitter, refresh one more time. And then Will looks up and smiles and says, “Yeah. That means it should be legal here really soon, and when it is, it’s the real deal.”
Chris watches his face break into that grin, waits for Will to cross to him, to kiss him. He does, he always does, and this morning it’s with a little extra joy. He waits, he swallows, he doesn’t say anything. He has no idea what it means, except that the world just got a little bigger.
—-
By Friday their inboxes have filled up with save-the-dates and engagement announcements and statements of intent, loopy and heartfelt. An old work friend of Will’s sent him video of his boyfriend proposing to him drunk; the subject line is “I said yes!!!”. Will tells him that the guy finally moved in with his boyfriend six weeks ago; Will has been living in his house for two months. He has no idea if this is something they’re supposed to talk about.
It hardly matters. That afternoon the ban is lifted, the courts seem to collapse and wave everybody ahead, and the entire weekend becomes about who is and isn’t getting married in the next week. Half of their friends seem to think it’s perfectly giddy and romantic; the other half seem to think the world has gone insane and seem grateful that protections now extend to divorce. They are two proposals during brunch on Sunday morning, people sharing their plans with a room full of strangers, and he watches Will during the second one. He’s beaming, his shoulders thrown back and his face lit with joy as he claps and hoots and hollers along with the rest of the room, and when he catches Chris’s eye, he gives him a wink and blows him a kiss.
The restaurant plays The Beach Boys loud and obnoxious, and the room sings along, drunk on the energy and the humming, vibrating possibility. He smiles into his drink, catches the mood for once, and waits.
—-
When Chris wakes up on Wednesday Will’s side of the bed is empty. When he rolls onto his belly, face-first into Will’s pillow, it isn’t even warm. It smells of him though so Chris grins and languishes there for several long moments. The muffled sound of music and the smell of breakfast eventually make him move: out of bed and into a discarded pair of boxers and a shirt he’s pretty sure used to be Will’s and then down the stairs.
He slinks around the corner silently, hovering there to check Will’s mood, to see what he’s up to and then he decides to stay a little longer and watch. Will shimmies his way from the fridge to the toaster, bouncing along to the chorus of a song Chris immediately recognises. He smiles in spite of himself.
Will’s voice goes too high as he sings “I wish that every kiss was never-ending,” cracking and quavering before he drops down for the bridge, buttering his toast as he goes, hips still swaying, his shoulders shifting up and down with the beat. Will spins dramatically, takes a bite and then catches sight of Chris.
He jumps just a little, always surprised when Chris catches him unawares but always pleased to be caught. He doesn’t miss a beat of the song though, doesn’t stop dancing and he keeps singing, loud and obnoxious and with half a mouthful of toast and a grin across his lips. It’s been a good weekend. Very soon, Chris is going to be able to say it’s been a good year.
Chris can’t stop himself from laughing, one breathless giggle bursting out at Will’s bad dancing piled on top of his even worse singing. Then Will is in front of him, grabbing his hand and swaying them both idiotically to the music, singing out the last few lines right at Chris’s face: “You know it seems the more we talk about it, it only makes it worse to live without it.” Will’s eyes go wide and solemn, “So let’s talk about it,” and then he grins and Chris grins back, rolling his eyes.
Will’s just so alive with it, optimistic and eager and yet so clearly content to be here, now, dancing around the kitchen and eating toast. Chris leans into a chaste kiss because he can, effectively cutting off the last fading lyrics. Will’s mouth presses crumbs into his lips and then they pull apart. Their fingers have tangled together at their sides and Will is beaming in a way that would be stupid if Chris wasn’t aware he was mirroring the sentiment.
He takes a breath that feels more exciting than he’d anticipated, then he smiles affectionately and says, “Okay. Let’s talk about it.”