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outofparadise · 10 days ago

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Chapter One - Are You Ready to Start the Show?

short summary: non-linear plotline involving the introduction and the beginning of william and henry's relationship. it's about as healthy as you expect.

warnings: n/a

word count: ~2.6k words (2,598 words, to be exact!)

extra notes: i'd like to thank mod dogg for editing the dialogue and various other friends who offered me writing advice throughout the development of this chapter. i'd also like to thank you guys for your patience!

July 10th, 1955 - 11:43 PM - Big John’s Tavern

A young marine, still in uniform and fresh into his post-deployment phase, was effortlessly adjusting to the civilian lifestyle. His cheeks flushed feverishly as his head tilted into the passionate kiss he exchanged with another man who was possessively cornering him against the brick wall. The marine sniveled as he reinforced his grip on the other man's cheap purple jumper through hesitated, labored breaths. He leaned forward to kiss him again. Then again. And again. Eventually, they both pulled away to share a look that read nothing but shock and devotion. Before another kiss was shared between them, the marine panicked as he pushed the stranger away from him and ran out of the door, never to be seen inside the bar again.

The stranger stands alone in the empty bar. He stares at the wooden floor and begins to constantly lick at his dry lips as a look of realization passes in his eyes. It wasn't just the faint taste of rum and coke or the remnants of the cigarettes the marine smoked that he was missing. He dug into his right pocket, pulling out a crumpled cigarette pack to pull one of the cancerous sticks out with trembling hands. He took a sharp breath and held it between his slightly yellow teeth, tightly closing his eyes for a few seconds as it burned. It was plastic-wrapped with tears. As he strikes a match he found in his other pocket against the bar table, he swallows something rough in his throat and holds the flame to the end of the cigarette. He took a long drag from it.

He immediately had to sit down on one of the stools, coughing the inhaled smoke while clutching his chest. A new feeling of desperate longing weighed heavily against it, squeezing it to the point he felt suffocated and unable to function. The nicotine and tobacco running through his veins did nothing to soothe his nerves. He couldn't ignore it. Suddenly, he was seven again. He overheard the terrible news about his parents while eavesdropping on the conversation in the downstairs parlor. Similar to that night, he hugged himself tightly as he began to sob quietly. He was convinced that he was dying. His world was ending again.

July 10th, 1955 - 0936 - Charleston International Airport

In time, when tears didn't completely obscure his vision, the stranger's eyebrows furrowed deeply as he angrily grabbed the folded-up piece of paper in his pocket. He couldn't pinpoint the visceral emotion that he was feeling, but at least he had a name to blame on his vulnerable state, along with a wasted cigarette he barely smoked: Henry Emily.

The rows of polyester recliner chairs in the cramped space dedicated to the airport’s lounge were mostly unoccupied. Its visitors preferred to flock near the lounge’s dedicated bar that served watered-down cocktails and overpriced vending machine snacks to anyone willing to pay for them. Currently, a small group of marines slowly huddled around the bar to hurriedly order drinks whilst holding their military identification cards towards the bartender's face for the slight chance of redeeming a discount. The outlier from the group kept to himself in the corner of the lounge. He was covering the flame produced from his zippo while lighting his cigarette, glancing down at the two-inch television set that was attached to his chair's armrest.

The only thing playing at the moment was a broadcast of last night’s football game. He didn't care for football. He didn't even care for sports. However, the young private was willing to take any form of civilian entertainment considering he had just landed from an eighteen-hour flight from Korea. He rested his face on a propped fist as he watched the players dash across the small screen with lidded eyes. Cigarette ash landed on his ironed-out uniform, which mildly ruined his outward appearance of being the physical embodiment of those cardboard cutouts of a masculine, attractive marine outside of recruitment offices. If he had it his way, the young private would easily fade into obscurity while his peers went on about their lives. Being naturally quiet and reserved, this was such a common occurrence in his social life that he was convinced that his role as a wallflower was essential for the natural order of things.

However, things were going to be different this time, whether he liked it or not. A peculiar sight snapped him out of his dissociative state, causing him to turn his head to figure out where it came from. Its owner looked to be an eccentric character with his Technicolor clothing of nearly every color somehow finding a way to compliment his piercing brown eyes and dark brown mullet that barely fell past the collarbone. The highlight of his appearance was his smile. It seemed so practiced and approachable that it gave the impression that he'd go for the neck if one wasn't too careful. This is when the private realized that the stranger had been silently observing him while he had been absently watching television for a few minutes, which unnerved him. Both men were in an unintentional staring contest until the stranger began to talk.

“You must travel a lot," admired the stranger, whose natural English accent poked through certain syllables. “Lucky duck.”

"Lucky?” The private repeated incredulously.

“Of course! You know, I’ve always wanted to travel, never had the chance for it, but you must’ve gone everywhere.” The stranger explained with a slight chuckle as he leaned further in his chair. He crossed one leg over the other as he pulled out a cigarette to hold between his teeth.

"Yeah, well, it's not exactly a vacation,” The private scoffed politely. “You try being stuck in the trenches of some foreign country for 20 months. Lucky duck…” He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms to look at a random spot on the wall silently. The stranger looked understanding, allowing a brief moment of silence for the tension in the air to dissipate as he lit his cigarette with a lighter he pulled out of his left pocket from his yellow trousers.

A low, rumbling chuckle escaped the stranger’s throat. “Lucky or not, you must have done some good for your country, sir,” The stranger saluted the private, which was followed by a once-over. The private was unsure if the gesture was genuine or mocking. “I'm sure you'll be in the history books, Emily.” The private’s last name was read aloud slowly as the stranger’s eyes followed the yellow embroidered letters against the rectangular leather patch on the uniform’s right breast.

“Private Emily." The private corrected him by emphasizing his rank with a noticeable growl in his tone. The stranger paused for a few seconds as his face fell with eyes that studied the private’s now stiff posture. He didn't look intimidated, however. Just amused. Emily’s thick eyebrows furrowed as the stranger’s cackle cut through the commotion of the lounge for a few seconds.

“I’m sorry,” the stranger said through his laughter. When he noticed Emily’s furious expression, he suppressed his hysterics through a forced fit of coughing. He hit his chest a few times as he cleared his throat and straightened himself up in his chair. “I’m sorry, I do apologize. I should know better than to offend someone in uniform” Emily noticed the stranger trying to fight back a smile and simply turned his entire body away from him to look at the bar with crossed arms. It was getting increasingly busy with more marines huddling around the area to hound the poor bartender for another round of beers.

“Drink?" The stranger offered out of the blue.

“... Drink?" Emily echoed.

“Yes, drink. Would you like to have a drink with me?” The stranger clarified as he paused to take a moment to study Emily’s expression as he flicked the excess cigarette ash away from him. “Somewhere more intimate, of course."

Emily’s response was a pregnant pause. He looked exceptionally conflicted, silently loathing the idea of dedicating more time towards an individual he found to be mildly infuriating. The stranger’s subtle smile grew as he silently acknowledged the private’s hesitation. He could tell he couldn't explicitly tell him no out of being polite.

“I… I can't.” Emily mumbled.

“You can't?" The stranger tilted his head for a second.

“‘Fraid so."

"Why not?”

Emily internally began to choose his words carefully. “I…. I’d probably be a bore. I’m a lightweight, horrible at small talk…” Emily insisted, stumbling over his words, noticing the stranger smiled at him with eyes that showed that he was just getting more interested in him. He had to think of a quick alibi to get out of the situation.

“I have to be home soon, anyway. My mother and all…”

“Yes, your mother," the stranger nodded sagely, standing up with a sigh. “What a shame. It could've been my treat." Even in his brief disappointment, he was still smiling.

Emily stubbed out the cigarette he wasted on the ashtray with a guilty expression. “Let's make it a date. I'm going to a tavern with friends tonight. Perhaps we can set up a time to meet there.” The stranger looked towards nothing in particular before smiling. “I'd like that." He sat down next to the private, who pulled out a piece of paper. The stranger handed him a ballpoint pen to write his name and phone number on it. Once he finished, the stranger glanced over the note quietly.

“It's official then, Mr. Private Henry Emily."

“You don't have to call me that… at the tavern, I mean." Emily scratched behind his head.

“Of course. You’re off the clock, I get it." The stranger chuckled again. The private smiled for a few seconds as he simply stared at the stranger. He couldn't help being charmed by him.

“Thank you," Emily smiled. “Mr…"

“Afton.” The stranger completed his statement politely. “But you can call me William. Mr. Afton was my father."

"Thank you, William.” Emily corrected himself, silently wondering why his cheeks began to grow hot. William simply nodded.

"A pleasure.”

July 11th, 1955 - 2:35 AM - The Emily Household

For the past three hours, Henry could not sleep.

He had been silently studying the scattered, textured pattern of the popcorn ceiling. He noticed how it changed dramatically when the occasional passing car introduced a light traveling through his window’s blinds for only a few seconds. The clock ticked quietly in the background as Henry rolled over on his side, sinking into the cheap, twin-sized mattress of his bed to let out a sigh he had no idea that he'd been holding for a while. His eyes were plastic-wrapped with tears as prolonged rage was growing in his stomach. He hated how the entire night at the tavern unexpectedly ended after his feelings got the better of him. He longed for the attention of a man he didn't particularly like.

William was infuriating. He was the human embodiment of a mosquito bite that would only heal if you stopped scratching it, but you can't. Henry had never kissed another human being before, but he was convinced that William was an abysmal kisser. In fact, William was horrible at most things. He had no reason to crave his presence.

He rolled over to his other side.

Up to this point, he was comfortable sleeping in his empty room that was a part of his childhood home that had been frozen to time ever since he enlisted from the military. He was happy with eating with his parents at dinnertime, spending the rest of the night reading a book and going to sleep with nothing but his thoughts to accompany him. Henry was content with this life up until last night. He blinked furiously to try and keep the tears burning his eyes from rolling down his face. Henry sniffled. The young man whimpered as tears began to stain the fabric of his light blue pillow case. There was a pain that stung terribly in his chest. He wanted to curl up in a ball and die. It would've been a kinder fate compared to his current emotions. How pathetic.

The sound of the landline in the kitchen pulled him back into reality. He quickly climbed out of bed and ran towards the kitchen, as he didn't want to risk waking his parents up. The phone didn't have a chance to ring again as Henry picked up the receiver and held it to his ear, speaking in a strained whisper.

“Hello?"

“Oh, so now you answer." It was William.

“Now…? I was asleep. It's…” he let the air linger as he glanced at the cat-shaped clock in the kitchen. "... two in the morn—”

"I am aware.” His tone wasn't nearly as bright compared to a couple of hours ago. It was just ice cold. Henry paused, twirling the curling receiving cord nervously with his index finger.

“Listen. I know you're upset over what happened last night. I shouldn't have left you there like that. I'm sorry.”

There was a long, uncomfortable pause. The silence was deafening to the point Henry could only hear his heart rate accelerate and his throat close as he waited for a response. William finally broke the silence with a forced laugh.

“I’m sorry," He was always condescending, but now there was venom in his words. “You’re sorry? Is that supposed to make me feel better? Everything is just fine and dandy?”

"Well, no, but I figured—”

"I figured a man whose job is to be loyal to his country would know better than to treat a friend like that.”

"I was scared!" Henry raised his voice, before looking around the kitchen. “I was scared. I never felt that way before.” He repeated in a hushed tone.

"So you leave me high and dry because you were skittish.”

"William. Please.”

"No,” William took a short pause. Henry could hear him take a swig from a glass bottle. "You are pathetic, do you know that? I probably felt the same way that you did and you left me there. You left me there all alone.”

His voice was breaking. Henry stood there, holding the receiver to his ear with both of his hands as he breathed heavily. Both men were on the verge of tears. He blinked a few times, sniffling.

"I-I’m sorry, I don't know… I…I want this to work out. I want to be your friend," Henry wiped a few tears from his eyes. William didn't say anything. “I need to have a friend in my life. The other guys don't give a fuck about me. You made me feel special. I need you in my life…. I need you.”

William didn't speak. He sounded choked up on the phone. There was a long moment of silence, tension growing in the air as their relationship, undefined at the moment, was on the line.

"I…. It's fine. You can make it up to me, right?" William sniffled.

“Yes, absolutely." Henry's eyes widened for a few seconds out of slight desperation.

“Then it's settled. We can try again… you can try again,” William clarified after a brief pause. "I… tolerate your presence. It'd be a waste to let this friendship end after a simple mistake."

Henry could hear his smile through the phone. Although the air was still tense, the thought of pleasing his friend made him feel comforted.

“Thank you. Maybe we can discuss plans in the morning?"

“Sure, let's sleep on it. Good night, Henry."

“Good night."

#fnaf #my fic #grins

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