williamhamstead

[williamhamstead]

The hangover was fucking rife. Stepping onto the street in Westminster, a place he spent more time than any of these days. He might've been what some referred to as a philanthropist for local communities (which, of course, aided with tax evasion — but who was counting) and save for his boyfriend, whom he adored very much, a known playboy in his younger years. Some would assume that reputation would've gone away as the years went on and he'd re-settled, but unfortunately, some things stuck.

Tugging a smoke from his pocket, Bernie, the head of security, giving him a light nod as he watched the end turn orange, taking a long drag. He was admiring his work, his legacy: all of theirs. Time had been kind, given the circumstances they'd all found themselves in some years ago. It didn't take him long, his mind falling into the age old play of memory lane. One's that both comforted and haunted him in the same breath. Last night, he'd drank himself into a stupor, the after party at the Briar Rose getting a little wilder than usual: maybe it was things going on at home, or maybe...just maybe it was to do with the meeting that was arranged tonight.

Crushing the smoke beneath his boot, he checked his watch: a couple of hours to get things under wraps before he left the place in the new manager's hands, which he never fucking liked. But his staff liked him, and for that, he was grateful. He ran a smooth business, and for that, he had his father to thank.

That, of course, would’ve been easier if they’d been on speaking terms for the last…nine years? It must’ve been that long since he’d broken the news. The dead air, the suffocating surrounding him, as a profound silence followed. It would’ve been enough to hollow most men, but in reality, it’d only ever pushed William to do the exact opposite of what his parents would want. Externally, he appeared shy, reserved…some even went as far as to say he was an observatory guy, thoughtful, even. In all honesty, he’d simply mastered looking interested while he thought about anything fucking else. 

The bar was quiet tonight, but it never stayed that way. 

The door was on a constant revolver, feeling himself zoning out as he polished a glass that was in his hand. After he'd finished the books, supplied those...he needed to supply and finalised the close with Emily (Who seemed okay enough), he found himself wondering about one man in particular.

An old friend, someone he thought of often...lips pursing in concentration. However, William’s eye caught something, as it did most nights when he was here. He’d placed them there when he initially brought the place: homage to a life he knew he’d always long for. If people looked close enough, a squint of an eye and an intellectual mind just might see it…it started off with subtle hints, small, hinting towards the tale of Persephone. Woven throughout the bar’s design, immaculate, and pomegranate motifs—symbolising Persephone’s bond to the underworld, forever and always just as his friends would be. Almost…frozen in time—those motifs engraved on the edges of the drink menus. A feature for the room was the large, ornate clock on the far wall, permanently set to six months forward, alluding to the myth of Persephone’s six months in the underworld and six months above.

"Do you want the good news, or the bad?" Yuri, a Russian exchange student who was currently studying at the Rose, asked. William never usually allowed students to work here: insurance was a fucking ball ache. But it'd been a favour: a prospect they'd called him. This place was part of the eyes and ears of those who'd graduated, connections still just as important out of the university as they were in.

"Just give me the bad first. The good can soothe whatever ball ache is about to come my way." Will groaned, a heavy hand wiping down the length of his face, because there was no way he was missing tonight.

"Elise called out sick," Yuri grunted. "You'll never guess where she was last night."

A louder groan erupted from between his lips. "Does that girl ever make it in after drinks at Carnival Records?"

"There has to be a first for everything." Yuri snorted, that dry Russian twang causing Will's face to light up for a flash of a second. Katya. He often reminded Will of his old friend, and how everyone seemed so far away these days. Maybe that was what eased his annoyance, soothed it like a mother's hand.

Because he'd see them soon enough. "Tell her one more time and she's fired."

"You said that last time..." Yuri called over his shoulder, as he took the glass from Will's hand, flashing a joking, weary smile. He was a softie when it came to his staff, some more than others. Elise had been one of his first hires, and while she was pushing the barrier — he was loyal. As he always had been.

And for some, one group in particular, that would never change.

"What's the good news? And, Yuri, it better be fucking good." he was agonising now for a double rum and coke, stealing a glance at his watch. He needed to go. His lips flashing wider than he believes he'd smiled in a long time. "Second thoughts, tell me the good news tomorrow..." the drink all but forgotten about as he made his way out of the bar.

It didn't take long for the Uber to take him to the grove.

Pushing through the doors, he was thankful to grab a drink before he heard her voice. Katya somewhere behind Will. Turning, he didn't waste any time. Walking straight towards Katya, ready to sweep her up and bear hug her until he heard that all too familiar laugh. Only steps away, passing Xavier, Harry and Sophie: that white blonde hair in sight. But there was only one person could've stopped him mid step.

Only one face.

The ghost of something still lingered, whether that was friendship or a sense of fraught tension: he wasn't sure. Will wasn't sure he'd ever fully know anymore. Will’s breath caught, a whisper of what once was—or might have been. The world around them blurred, a distant hum pounding in his ears. Will’s very being echoed memories which he'd since spent a long time trying to make sure they remained buried, deep beneath the soil and the dirt. Just like...

“Hey, Don,” Will spoke with such effortless ease, he could've been described as almost passive, but even he couldn't stop that grin. Donaghy was here. "Mate, where the hell is your wife? Tell me you didn't leave her at home." Teasing, playful, as he moved past Katya to offer his hand. A shake.

So masculine, so unlike them. Turning to face Xavier over his shoulder, he took a moment to give him a once over. "I knew you'd come dressed like that."

In the solitary dimness of the tennis court, it was just him and the rhythmic thwack of ball against gut as he volleyed back and forth with the machine. His next decisive match loomed on the weekend against Medvedev, the Russian famed for his punishing baseline rallies. Don, a fellow baseline sitter, braced for a marathon duel. Sweat poured down his face as he manoeuvred across the court, lost in his rhythm until his father’s arrival broke his concentration. He missed the next ball, then another, as his father critiqued his serve, only to be distracted by his phone, preoccupied with his dual roles as manager and coach.

The ball machine, detecting the lack of returned shots, shut itself off, and the sudden silence pressed down on Don as he moved to his bag and began packing up. He was running late and knew he should probably reach out to Charlotte to inform her. But she was so accustomed to his delays that he anticipated the same resigned "No problem," though he suspected it was anything but. The weight of the evening settled on his shoulders as he contemplated the gathering ahead. Some faces were familiar from fleeting interactions before matches, a few well-wishers who received Wimbledon passes from him when he could manage it. But his mind was predominantly occupied with thoughts of Will.

Will had been his closest friend since their days at Rose University. The two had narrowly missed an Olympic berth, and to this day, Don suspected that there had been some unfair play on the other end. He could still remember Will’s sun-kissed shoulders, his sea-sprayed hair, and the way his laugh echoed through the mischief of a misplaced order that almost sent Don overboard. Not that Will would have allowed it to happen; Don closed his eyes and recalled the firm grip on his polo, yanking him back to the safety of his Dubarrys flat against the deck. "We've got the court for another hour," his father's voice broke through his thoughts. "I told you, I've got a dinner," Don replied, determined not to argue this time. He had already put in the work, getting up early to make sure he was prepared. Thankfully, his father got distracted by another call, giving Don the perfect opportunity to slip away to the showers.

The hot water brought welcome relief to his aching muscles as he let it cascade down his back, bracing against the tiled wall for support with one hand. His thoughts drifted to Charlotte, where they rightfully belonged. Reflecting on his intentional spaciness, he acknowledged these bouts were familiar, despite his belief that once he was good, he would remain so for the rest of his life. How naive. Running his hand through his hair, he pushed water through and the sweat out, while his other hand swept down his body, and wrapped around himself.

Perhaps it would be wise to sort this out now, especially since today was already showing signs of distraction and a lack of focus, possibly leading to another mistake. Yet, as the hot water streamed down, memories of sun-kissed shoulders, sea-sprayed hair, and soft lips once again flooded his mind, causing an unwanted and faster reaction than he had intended or desired.

Fuck.

Fuck.

He shut off the shower, taking a moment to steady his breathing before he turned around and reached for his towel. The only sounds left were the drip of water from the shower-head and the tiles underfoot. He really was going to be late.

With the sweat of the day washed away, Don changed into something more fitting for the evening and climbed into his car, setting his course for The Grove. The drive took longer than either he or, he was sure, Charlotte would have preferred, but such was the inevitable price of navigating London traffic. When he finally arrived, he handed his keys to the valet. Now outside of The Grove, he felt a surge of warmth and a flutter of nervous anticipation for what lay ahead.

As Don made his way through the bustling entrance, his eyes caught sight of Katya and Xavier first. Despite the time that had separated them, he felt an immediate wave of familiarity and affection. With a broad grin, he approached, looping his arms around their shoulders, "Bonjour!" he exclaimed, his voice full of warmth as he planted a friendly kiss on Xavier's cheek. "Privet, Katya," he added, greeting her with a similar kiss on the cheek. As he stepped back, his gaze swept past Sophie and Harry until it finally rested on Will. In that fleeting moment, the bustling noise of the crowd faded into insignificance. Seeing his old friend standing there, as if no time had passed between them, left his voice slightly hoarse as he greeted him with a simple "Hey."

[williamhamstead]

Joe Alwyn as Nick Conway

Conversations with Friends (2022)