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Chapter Text

Will glanced at the piece of paper in his hand, then up at the building in front of him. His taxi was long gone, his bags deposited on the sidewalk with him. Heavy, sweltering New York heat settled into his skin, and he felt like he was going to sweat through his shirt. 

He wasn’t used to cities like these. Biloxi was big, spacious, with stretches of water. This place seemed like it was trying to climb into its own throat. 

In front of him was a pub - The White Talon - and supposedly, his apartment was above it. How he was supposed to get there was beyond him. He’d been given an address, a move-in date, and nothing else. 

He grabbed his backpack, filled with the most important documents that couldn’t be lost, and left his bags and boxes on the side of the road to duck into the graciously cooler air of the pub. 

The relief of the temperature was short-lived. Three men crowded the bar counter, two in employee’s uniforms, one in a silk golf shirt that looked out of place in the slightly unfinished, industrial feel of the space. The employees were shouting something, and one of them slammed his palm down on the counter with a thud. 

The man in the golf shirt turned as the door swung open. “And who the fuck is this?” He held his palm out, gesturing to Will. He didn’t shout, but his voice cut through the air, his face smooth and cold. 

“How should I know?” A tall man with broad shoulders and dark curly hair to his chin barked back. 

There was a silence as they stared at him. Belatedly, he realized this was a cue. “My name’s Will Graham,” he said. “The new tenant? Upstairs?” He pointed vaguely to the ceiling. 

The man in the golf shirt paused, looking past him out the window, seemingly noticing the boxes and bags out there. He looked back at Will. “Of course you are.” He turned back to the two men. “Were you going to tell me you found a new tenant? What happened to the old one?”

“He left,” the other man, a short, portly man with bright eyes and reddish-brown hair said. 

“Well, what wonderful news. The answer to your money troubles is here.” The man in the golf shirt glanced back at Will. He had brown hair that was swept back from his face and silvering at the temples, and he was tall, with sharp, angular features and a wide mouth. Tattoos darted over his arms, a noticeable pinup piece on the side of his neck. He had a faint accent that wasn’t New York at all, unlike the other two who seemed to be natives of the city.

Will glanced back and forth between them. The red-haired man grumbled, reaching under the counter and digging through what sounded like a loaded junk drawer. He slapped a pair of keys down on the bartop. “Here,” he grunted. “I’m Josie, that’s Murph.” He jabbed his thumb at the man with dark hair, who nodded. They seemed very angry, but not with him. That, at least, was some solace. “Door’s around the back in the alley. Hours for the pub are posted outside. Rent’s due the first of the month.”

The silver-haired man watched this interaction unfold. He tapped his fingers on the counter. “You’ll pay it to me,” he said. The two men stared at him. Will, who had moved forward and picked up the keys, raised his eyebrows, more than slightly uncomfortable. 

“That’s not the –”

The man turned to Will, glancing down at him. “What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a professor,” Will said. No one said anything right away, and he added, “Of psychology. At Lehman College.”

With a nod, the grey haired man returned his attention to Murph and Josie. “He’s a professor of psychology at Lehman College. Already, I trust him to pay on time more than I do you.”

“That’s more than twice –”

The man clicked his tongue, waving them off with a sly, uneven smile. “I need to show my new tenant the place. If you’ll excuse me.” He walked away from the bar, clapping Will on the back as he headed outside. “Need a hand with your bags?”

Will could feel the brewing anger of the two men behind him. Feeling a bit like he was jumping out of the frying pan, he reluctantly followed the man outside. 

The man was on his phone, combing his hair back. He stood a few inches taller than Will, and as he swept his gaze to the side, catching Will in it, he noted that he had a very intense presence. He pulled his lips to the side and whistled, pointing at the boxes, pulling the phone from his mouth. “Are you stupid? Don’t leave things out here.” He returned to his phone, rattling off something in another tongue. Italian, Will recognized.

Will didn’t speak. He gathered a few boxes and bags in his arms, standing with difficulty. The man pointed towards the alley. Will glanced at the boxes at his feet, then back at him. He covered the speaker with one hand. “I’m watching them. Move your ass, I don’t have all day.” He flicked his hand, shooing him away. 

And so Will unlocked the alleyway door himself, trudging up the stairs, unlocking the second door at the top. The apartment was a bit dim, a studio with just enough room for an old couch, a TV, and a bed shoved into the corner. But to him, it felt like a relief. 

He returned back to the sidewalk to collect the rest of his things. The man was there, glaring down at his phone now, stabbing more buttons with his thumbs. 

“I didn’t catch your name,” Will said, extending his hand. 

The man gazed at his hand, tracing it up Will’s arm to his face. There was intense annoyance there, but also a kind of humored surprise. He took his hand, squeezed it briefly. “Nigel.” He held onto Will’s hand a moment, frowning, taking in his appearance with some faint curiosity. “Are you old enough to be a professor?”

Will took his hand back. “I’m twenty-six.”

Nigel breathed in through his teeth, shaking his head. “Point stands.” He seemed to have come to a decision. Slipping his phone into his pocket, he scooped up most of the remaining things on the street, waiting as Will gathered the rest, following him to the stairwell. “What brings you to New York? Are you an artist type?” His voice echoed in the small space, piercing and lyrical with his accent. 

“No, nothing that interesting,” Will said. “Just here to teach. I do classes on, um -” He adjusted a box. “- criminology and profiling.”

Nigel shrugged. “Exciting stuff,” he said blandly.

They reached the top, and Will pushed in through the doorway. Nigel dropped the boxes unceremoniously just inside the door, leaning his arms onto either side of the frame, glancing around the room. He rubbed his nose with the back of his wrist, his gaze halting on Will. “You look like you could use a drink.”

Will laughed. He had an odd affect when he laughed, like it was rehearsed or on cue. A mechanism to disarm people, to give him time to think. “It was a long drive.”

“From?”

“Biloxi,” Will said. 

“That is a long drive. Strange move, Biloxi to New York. Country boy to big city, hm?” He raised his eyebrows. “You have an accent.”

“That’s from Louisiana,” Will replied. He pulled at his collar, feeling his shirt stick to his skin as he cast about for some sort of window unit or air conditioning. He found it finally, stumbling over a box to turn it on. “My dad’s a fisherman,” Will continued. “I followed him from boat yard to boat yard.”

“Do you fish?” Nigel wiped sweat from his forehead.

Will laughed again. “Yes, but just as a hobby. Not as a, ah, profession.” He shoved the window open, grunting with the effort of lifting it with his shoulder.

“No shit,” Nigel said.

“You have an accent, too,” Will said. 

“I’m Lithuanian.”

“Your name doesn’t sound like it,” Will gritted out. The window shoved loose and opened. 

He shrugged. “A name is just a name.”

“As in, it’s not your real one?”

Nigel fixed him with an intense stare. Will seemed unaware, casting about for the box that held his standing fan. Nigel bent at the waist exaggeratedly until he caught Will’s attention, and his eye. “Is there any particular reason you don’t like looking at me, Mister Graham?”

Will blinked, frowning. “What?”

A smile twitched onto Nigel’s face at the sight of confusion in the young man’s eyes. “Too attractive, perhaps? Hard to look away once you start gazing into the eyes?” He waved his fingers in the general vicinity of his face.

Will laughed, but this time it was louder, more genuine. It was a pleasant sound, if a bit ill timed. “No,” he said. 

Nigel’s face stilled, a playful expression of cold insult. “You are not saying I am too ugly.”

“No,” Will agreed. He ripped open a box, finding the fan, unwinding its cord to the nearest outlet. “I’m, ah, not fond of eye contact,” he said over his shoulder. 

“I see.” Nigel finally pushed off of the doorframe, stepping into the small flat and collapsing onto the old leather couch in the middle of it. The window unit was just behind him, and he tipped his head back, letting the cool air wash over his face. “Will it just be you in this place, professor man? Or do you have a nice woman to warm your bed?”

“Just me,” Will said, flicking the fan onto high and standing in front of it. 

Nigel mused. “What a shame. You’re young, strong, good job.” He turned his head to look at him, his hand disappearing into his pocket, emerging and tapping out a cigarette from its pack. “Shall I find someone for you? Maybe someone with their nose in a book, like you.” 

Will frowned, glancing at the cigarette, and at the faint, challenging glint in Nigel’s eyes as he watched Will’s disapproval bloom. He lifted the cigarette to his lips, but did not yet light it. “I don’t have my nose in a book all the time,” he said. 

Nigel ignored him. “Or maybe a party chick, huh? Someone to get you out of your shell. You might need that.” When Will only shook his head, he grinned, taking a lighter out and coaxing the flame to bite into the cigarette’s end. He took a long drag, exhaled, and pointed at Will with the lit end. “You must lighten up, Mister Graham. You’re lucky you found me.”

“Oh, yes, lucky,” Will said dryly, eyeing the cigarette. “And who are you, exactly? Do you own the pub?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Nigel replied lightly. 

“Do you own this apartment, then?”

“In a way,” Nigel repeated. 

“Can you please put that out?” Will snapped, watching ash drop onto the wood floors. 

Nigel’s eyebrows arched. He stood, slowly making his way to Will’s side of the room. Will watched his approach, silent. Nigel halted when he was standing in front of him. He took a deep draw of the cigarette, then exhaled, just over Will’s head. He bent his head to look down at him, and his voice shifted, no longer conversational and casual. “Don’t ever tell me to put out a cigarette.” He tilted his head, flicking the cigarette, letting ash fall between them. “Okay?”

He dropped the cigarette on the floor, stepping on it to put out the sparks, then turned and left.

It was a less than favorable first impression of your landlord, Will thought. 

Chapter Text

Two weeks later.

Will sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. The older he got, the more out of place he felt. When were you supposed to learn the best type of wine to bring to your boss’s house when he invites you for dinner? Are you supposed to ask what’s being served? That seemed rude, so probably not. Are you supposed to ask what they like? But then it defeats the purpose of getting them a gift without asking. What if they don’t even drink? Will scratched his head, now considering the possibility his boss could be a recovering alcoholic, kindly inviting over the new batch of faculty for a dinner and looking down to see that the newest and youngest adjunct has brought him a bottle thoughtlessly. He could imagine the rest of the faculty glancing about and whispering behind their hands, shaking their heads in disapproval. Then he remembered the reason why he was here in the first place; the dean had mentioned going to a winery just a few months ago during the summer term with his wife. They were big foodies, apparently. In that case, would it just be safer to go to the corner shop and get -

Something elbowed him in the side roughly. “Give me all your money.”

Will whipped around, startled, to see none other than his fucking landlord. “Jesus,” he muttered, letting out a long breath from the adrenaline spike. 

“No, just me,” Nigel said, grinning. He stepped closer, his elbow coming to rest on the shorter man’s shoulder, and Will caught a waft of something sweet and burning. He’d been drinking. Nigel chuckled. “You look out of your league, professor. Never drank before?”

Will rolled his shoulder beneath Nigel’s arm, trying to not-so-subtly indicate he should get off. Nigel either didn’t notice or, more likely, didn’t care. “It’s for my boss. The dean.”

“Ooh, the dean,” Nigel pressed a hand to his chest as he scanned the shelves. “Scary stuff. What does this dean like?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then you get wine.” Nigel hooked a bottle from a top shelf easily, glancing at the label. “You academics love wine. Love leaving things on a shelf til you’re too old and tired to enjoy them anymore. Like. . . wine. And fucking.” 

Will picked up a bottle from a lower shelf that seemed more in his price range. Nigel continued; “Do you have a nice New York woman yet?”

“I’m busy,” Will said. 

“Mm, he’s frightened,” Nigel laughed. It was a raucous sound, and it made a few other customers glance over. 

“You’re drunk,” Will snapped, shoving him off. 

“No, I am just in a good mood,” Nigel said. “I am a very mean drunk. You will know when I’m drunk.” He let Will shove him off, straightening up to stand beside him. 

“You say that like it’s something to be proud of,” Will said darkly.

Nigel shrugged. “I don’t think it’s a sin when a wild dog bites. Do you?”

Will resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Well, thanks for the advice. Dating and otherwise.” He didn’t answer the question.

Nigel clapped him on the shoulder. “Come, you’re too young to be so cynical. It’s a big city for one lonely professor. How about you come to the club with me tonight?” He leaned down, smiling. “I’ll show the party girls the little professor they’ve been missing out on.” 

“No, thanks,” Will said. “I’m getting wine.” But despite himself, he found a smile pulling at his face.

Nigel tipped his head back, exasperated. “God, you get the wine, you leave it with the owner and come back tomorrow. We walk to the club a block down. I give you the favor of a lifetime, then I drive you home. Does this all make sense yet?”

“It’s not my scene,” Will said, but he was smiling, and Nigel laughed, plucking the bottle from his hands and lifting it.

“Hold this till tomorrow,” he said. “For Professor, ah. . .” He glanced at Will. “Give the man your name.”

“Graham,” Will said. 

They walked to the club together – Nigel leading the way, his arm draped over Will’s shoulders as he guided him through the crowd, dragging him along at his long-legged pace. Nigel ignored the line snaking out the door, beelining for the bouncers at the front and nodding as they lifted the rope for them to enter. “I’m a regular,” he said, his mouth close to Will’s ear to be heard over the music that began to envelop them. 

Will grimaced. The place was filled with smoke, LED lights, and thumping, aggressive music. And, of course, lots and lots of people. The bar was packed with a ring of people, dispersing out into tables that fringed the dance floor. Feeling the taut, uneasy line of Will’s shoulders, Nigel steered him to a table in the far corner of the room, leaning down again. “What do you drink?”

“I don’t want anything,” Will replied distantly, glancing around. Nigel was dressed for the occasion; another silky button and dark pants – but Will was in jeans and a T-shirt. This felt like an even worse idea than it had sounded like in the bodega now that they were in it. 

Nigel grabbed him by the back of the neck, nearly shouting in his ear over the music: “I’m an old man, and I don’t read lips. Say it again.” Then he pulled Will’s face till it was by his ear.

“I don’t want anything,” Will repeated, louder this time, with the smell of Nigel’s hair gel and aftershave filling his senses. Nigel pulled back, his hand still around Will’s neck, giving him an irritated look and rolling his eyes. Then he left, heading to the bar. Will rubbed his neck.

He leaned against the table, looking around. People were everywhere, flickering across the dance floor as the lights strobed and swayed with the music. He wasn’t sure how much time passed before Nigel returned, but he was getting a slight headache from the smoke and thrumming rhythm of the room. 

“There are two girls at the bar,” Nigel said in his ear. “They’re your age, and they are very pretty. A little mousy, like you. Go talk to them.”

“You talk to them,” Will shouted back, wincing at the strobes passing over them. 

Nigel laughed. “You’re a coward, Mister Graham.” He took a long sip, nodding over the rim of his glass. “I have my party girl already.” Will glanced, following his gaze, and Nigel set down his drink and moved across the floor, joining a dark-haired woman who was dancing on her own amidst the pack of bodies swaying in the center of the room. As he watched, he saw flashes of them smiling at one another, at her turning her back to his chest, at his hand drifting to her hip, then up her side, her fingers touching his hair and arms. 

Maybe he was just an idiot, and a bit of a coward, like Nigel had said. 

He glanced away from the dance floor, instead watching the people drinking and talking around him. It was odd to be completely silent in such a cacophony of sound and activity. 

Before he knew it, Nigel returned, opening his wallet and flicking a few large, smooth bills onto the table. He leaned across it to Will. “Go home. I’m leaving.” 

Will glanced past him. A different woman stood behind Nigel, equally gorgeous as the first. He frowned. “You said you’d drive me.”

Nigel snorted. “Don’t be jealous just because I have a woman and you do not,” he said. “I try to help you, but you are a disaster.”

“Whatever, I’ll take a taxi,” Will said, rubbing his face sleepily. 

“Good, you do that.” Nigel patted his head roughly. He walked back to the woman, and they disappeared in the crowd. 

Will waited half an hour to be sure they wouldn’t be on the sidewalk outside before he left to find a taxi.

Chapter Text

One week later.

Will saw him through the window of the shop. He’d passed by the place a few times on his way to the station; it was a little coffee bistro sandwich place, a hodgepodge of flavor, chatter, and architecture, the epitome of a New York spot. He’d resolved to go in, and of course, on that day of all days, he saw Nigel sitting at a table right by the window. 

Nigel had spotted him first, though he gave no sign. His face was very still, gazing at him over the shoulders of two men that had their backs to the glass. Will offered a flat smile, lifting his hand in greeting. Nigel didn’t acknowledge it. He didn’t look away, either. He looked eerie, his lips tight, like he was considering violence. Something was deadly and unsettling in his gaze. Unsettling enough that Will hesitated, his hand on the door, frowning. He glanced at his watch. He was running late anyway. He turned and continued down the street, away from that dark gaze. 

By the end of his work day, his briefcase laden with papers to grade and a dizzying amount of busywork handed to him by faculty with too much tenure to care about minutia work that their adjuncts could handle for them, he’d mostly forgotten the interaction. He’d returned to it briefly throughout the day, trying to discern why Nigel would have given him such an intense stare, and all that he could determine was that for whatever reason, Nigel did not want him to come inside that shop. 

It was Tuesday, which meant he’d wrapped up lectures at 9pm. For some reason, he couldn’t stand getting on the subway when it was dark outside. It felt like he was descending down into the rattling cage of someone’s esophagus. On nights like these, he walked himself home, too late for the bus that made a looping route near his place. Usually, it was a pleasant walk.

Usually, it wasn’t raining. 

He hunched his shoulders, grimacing. The rain was mostly warm, borne from the dying humidity of August slipping into September, but it still cut uncomfortably down across his shoulders. He began to think that maybe the esophagus could’ve been preferable to a torrential downpour. 

As if to top it off with a beautiful cherry of misery, an expensive car rolled past him, sending a shimmering wave of muck up onto the sidewalk, spraying him from the shoulders down. He shook himself off, lifting his arms in a gesture of indignation, the sports car a smear of blue against the orange-grey of the streetlights, marred by the water drenching his glasses. But he didn’t miss the flash of red as the brakes engaged, and he dropped his arms quickly, shifting away from the edge of the sidewalk as yellow-white reverse lights flickered, and the car slowly ambled back to him. 

The passenger window was thickly tinted. He could only see himself, drenched, curls plastered against his face. Then, it rolled down, and the driver leaned over, pinup tattoo on his neck, wolfish smile on his face, eyes glittering. He looked Will up and down briefly, clicking his tongue. “My poor professor,” he said. “Have they no rain in Biloxi? Or do they not use umbrellas there?”

“Screw off,” Will returned, relief seeping into him that it was not some stranger pulled on the side of this less-traveled road. He adjusted his bag, shaking his head and taking a step forward as Nigel laughed, teeth flashing in the light. 

“Get in,” Nigel said, easing the car forward, matching his pace, the tires gurgling through the gutterwater. “I will get you home, Mister Graham.” Will halted, eyeing his car, hesitating. Nigel’s smile widened. “Or is your pride so overwhelming?”

“Not my pride,” Will said. He squinted, jutting his chin towards the car’s leather interior. “I don’t want to ruin your seats. They look real.” Then he met Nigel’s gaze. “And I’m trying to figure out if you’re drunk.”

Nigel’s eyes danced. “Hmm, you’ll have to get in to smell my breath.” 

Will didn’t laugh. Nigel sighed. “I wouldn’t drive my nice cars drunk. I love them too much. Come on; get in.” After a long moment, Will did, opening the door, lowering himself into the seat gingerly. He set his dripping briefcase by his feet, hesitantly leaning back, appreciative. 

Nigel leaned closer, his arm against the console, and exhaled hot hair over Will’s face. Will grimaced, shoving him back reflexively. He smelled like cologne, mint, and smoke. Not drunk, then. Nigel chuckled, retreating back to his seat, peeling from the curb with a roaring surge. 

He glanced out the window, watching the city melt past, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, pressing his lips together. He was clammy and beginning to shiver with the damp, his coat slowly soaking into his sweater beneath, which was in turn soaking into the dress shirt beneath it. 

Nigel spared a glance at him, then frowned, reaching over and twisting his fist in Will’s jacket, firmly yanking it off his shoulder. “You don’t even know how to dress in this weather,” he said, one hand on the wheel, eyes on the road, ripping the jacket off of Will, who was shoving his hand away with an irritated glance. “So smart, yet so stupid.” He glanced at Will again. “Where’s your mother?”

“Apparently sitting next to me,” Will snapped. 

Nigel laughed loudly. He grabbed Will’s face by the chin, squeezing once, hard. Will yanked free, muttering something darkly, but he took off his jacket and set it at his feet. Annoyingly, it did help. “Where do you live again?” Nigel was asking. “The butcher’s, or the pub?”

“The pub.”

“Oh, don’t be offended,” Nigel said, his voice sickly sweet and patronizing. “I have many tenants. But not all of them do I give rides home in the rain.” His face was more relaxed now, his eyes warm, a slight smile lilting his lips. Will gazed at them for a moment, wondering at the casual attitude he had here, so stark against the strange expression of unwelcome and distance from this morning. Nigel glanced over his right shoulder as he swung into another lane, his eyes dragging over Will’s before he looked forward again, something of a knowing expression on his face as he caught the younger man’s eye. “It’s because I know you’re going home to an empty bed,” he said. “So pathetic, my professor man. I worry about you.”

“Fuck off,” Will said wearily. He turned and looked out the window.

“You like your job?” 

Will lifted one shoulder. “Yes. Sure.” He kicked his briefcase gently with the toe of his dress shoes. Brand new, bought for this job. He hated them less than he’d thought he would. Which still landed him very far from enjoying them, but it was a necessary evil. “Lecturing’s fine, just not all the extra things.”

Nigel hummed vaguely. He sounded bored again, disinterested in the offering. Not a tasty enough morsel for him to sink his teeth into. 

“Where were you headed?” Will asked. 

“Work.” A beat, then: “And pleasure.”

Will glanced back at him. “Work at this hour?”

Nigel shrugged. “A landlord’s work is never done.” He smiled to himself, a brief twitch of the lips. “Midnight visits abound, believe me.”

Will arched an eyebrow, looking back out the window. “You don’t visit me at midnight.”

“You don’t leave your door unlocked and wait on the couch in lingerie.” 

Will glanced at him, brow furrowed, his face clouding further at the mirthful expression on the man’s face. Nigel began to laugh again, and he flicked his hand, annoyed. “Okay, yeah, fine. Sorry for thinking we were having an adult conversation about something other than drinking and sex.” He waited, Nigel’s chuckles still filling the air. “It’s not that funny.”

“It is,” Nigel disagreed. “But yes, I was implying I am visiting a lover.” They braked at a red, traffic passing in front of them. He rolled his neck, easing out the kinks, then tipped it so he could look at Will. He studied the hard, irritated edges of his expression. “Tell you what. I will pay you a midnight visit someday, to make up for it.”

“Do not,” Will said immediately, shaking his head. “I don’t need any more ash on my floors.”

“Feisty,” Nigel commented. 

Will kept his gaze out the window, and they did not speak for the rest of the drive.

Three days later.

A heavy, shuddering knock came at his door at six minutes past nine. 

He was on the couch, watching TV, dreading work the next day, contemplating how he really should sleep, and why not sleep here, the distance between his couch and the bed was so negligible there was hardly even a reason to distinguish them –

And then he was jumping to his feet, uneasy and startled. 

“Will,” a voice barked harshly through the wood. It cut so easily through it that it sounded like Nigel was already in the room. “Open the door.”

He crossed the room, flipping back locks and opening the door. “What the hell –?”

It was raining outside; Nigel’s coat was dripping onto the floor, and he had a hard, squinting look in his eye. The man’s chest was rising and falling sharply, like he’d run up the steps, and his arms held a mass of blankets.

“How’d you get up the stairs?” Will asked, glancing past him at the flight of steps and the supposedly locked door at its feet. 

“My legs. Come; I have something for you.” He unwrapped the tangle of blankets he was carrying. Water dripped down his hair, and as he unwrapped the bundle, Will noticed there was crimson mixed with the rainwater. 

“Are you –” he began, but Nigel cut him off immediately.

“No, it’s the dog’s.” A head pushed out of the blanket, staring at Will curiously. Some sort of collie mix, with tufted fur and wide, intelligent eyes. “It was hit by some debris,” he said. “You like them, yes?”

Will was running his hands through the dog’s fur already, cradling its head, soothing it.  “Yeah.” He wasn’t sure how Nigel knew that. Was it just a stereotype? Lonesome, quiet academic with only a housepet for a companion? Or the lonely fisherman, needing some sort of companion out on the water? He should’ve been annoyed he fit in the box so neatly, but the dog had very sweet, scared eyes.

“Good. Take him. I don’t need another mouth to feed.” He carefully handed him off to Will. “He’s patched up, but not too good still.”

“Yeah, I see that.” Will could see stitches in the dog’s side and legs, cuts that were still healing. What debris had caused this? It didn’t seem intentional, almost like this creature had been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. He looked up. “Are you alright?”

Nigel was looking down the stairs, flicking the lapels of his coat, shaking water from his hair. “Hm? Yes, of course,” he said distractedly. There was no smile, no mirth, no casual, easy banter between them. The air was taut and fraying. “I am always okay.” There was a faint noise at the foot of the stairs, and he glanced down, then back at Will. “Stay inside tonight, little professor.” At the frown crossing Will’s face, he inclined his head towards the sound of water rushing outside. “It is raining. We both know how you are with rain.”

“Very funny,” Will said.

“I mean it.” Nigel’s voice was flint, and he held Will’s gaze like he was made of stone. “Stay here with your new pet.”

“What’s going on?” Will asked, holding his stare.

Nigel’s jaw flicked as he clenched it, considering, pausing. Then he leaned forward, and there was still blood dripping from his face, but he could not see any cuts. “You’re a smart man, Mister Graham. I think you know when to listen to me and when to get curious.” He straightened, raising his eyebrows, then reached forward and pulled the door shut. 

There was a long silence. Will flicked the locks shut. Only then, after the sound of them sliding into place echoed, did he hear Nigel’s footsteps recede down the stairs. 

The dog shifted in his arms. He glanced down at the stitches in its skin. They were fresh, and with the rush Nigel had been in, he doubted they’d been done by a vet. Yet they were neat, careful, and thoughtfully placed. The dog didn’t seem to be in great discomfort, but no doubt was pleased to be away from the one who had sewn its wounds shut, unaware the punishing touch had not been from malice. 

He spent the rest of the night coaxing food and water into the beast, laying on his stomach next to him on the couch, his chin propped up on one arm, blankets swaddled around them both. The dog really was beautiful. He wondered if he was allowed to have dogs here, but then he must be, since Nigel gave it to him and Nigel was the landlord. A landlord with blood on his face and experience stitching up wounds like these. 

The dog had tumbled to sleep, its ribs rising and falling as Will continued to stroke its head gently, absent-mindedly, his thoughts elsewhere. 

Chapter Text

Two weeks later.

This time, when he stopped by the coffee shop on his day off, Nigel was not in the window. Without that watchful gaze burning at him, he felt safer ducking inside and ordering a cup of coffee, feeling decidedly professorial as he fidgeted with his briefcase, trying to decide if he wanted to sit here and grade for the next few hours or enjoy the definitely short-lived sun shining outside. 

It was difficult to put work down, he found. If there was one thing that grad school had taught him, it was the value of overworking yourself into a frenzy. It left him with little time to think about other matters. Things that plagued his thoughts, worrying at him with sharp teeth. 

But he wavered today. The sun was very pretty. He could enjoy it for a while, close his eyes, imagine he was fly fishing waist-deep in a pristine river. Then open his eyes to a filthy, screaming city. 

Dimly, he heard the bell ring, another customer entering. One of the baristas set his coffee down at the pickup counter. “For Will,” the man said flatly, nodding politely as Will stepped closer to take it. 

He turned, taking a sip, surveying the space, exhaling comfortably as the coffee passed his lips. On the heels of his exhale was a soft curse. Nigel was at the register, looking at him with faintly raised eyebrows. He spread his hands to the side. “Following me everywhere, little professor?” he asked. 

Will smiled thinly. “I was here first.” He struggled to feign politeness. On the one hand, Nigel was a friendly, interesting face, but on the other, he was a bit too brash and self-interested for his liking. He had the growing sense that Nigel saw him as a pet project. Will wasn’t anyone’s pet. 

Nigel finished ordering, making his way over to Will slowly, meandering, as if to emphasize the point that Will hadn’t left the shop in the interim. When he stopped beside him, he said: “You have a longing look on your face, mister Graham.” His eyes glittered as Will frowned, drinking in his discomfort. He let the silence drag for a moment, as if he were actually expecting a response from Will, letting him shift uneasily at the veiled question. Then he relented. “Would you like another chance for party girls? Meet some new friends?”

Will offered a pained expression. “I don’t. . .”

“Come, come. What friends do you have? Other than the dog, which I brought you?” 

Will shrugged. “You.”

They both seemed a bit taken aback by his response. Nigel blinked, then laughed. “Yes, okay. And me. But what if you had other friends? Friends your age?”

Will shook his head. “You act like you’re ancient.”

“And you act like you’re not barely old enough to rent a fucking car,” Nigel replied. “Come on. The club we’re going to tonight is quieter. You might like it more.”

Will shrugged, still hesitant. “I have work to do.” He gestured vaguely to his briefcase. 

Nigel leaned closer, over him. “Come, and sit in the corner, and nurse your beers, and grade your papers. It is more fun than you have at home anyways, isn’t it?”

He wanted to say something witty and cutting in reply, but the fact was, it did sound more fun than an evening at home. He opened his mouth and said, reluctantly, “Alright. For a little bit.”

Nigel slapped his shoulder. “I’ll pick you up at eleven.”

If this was how Nigel picked up all his passengers, it was a wonder he had so many women willing to get in the car.

Will was extracting himself from Winston’s cloying stare, reassuring him with vague platitudes that he would return, that he wouldn’t be long, and that he’d be just fine in the apartment while he was gone, all while trying to shrug on the black suit jacket he kept for special occasions in his closet. He was determined not to look like a fool this time, as much as that was possible. 

He had realized that he didn’t have Nigel’s number and planned to wait inside the pub for him instead since it had a better view of the street. Unfortunately, he had this revelation a bit late, and Nigel had already pulled up outside. This fact was announced to him by the sound of a horn outside – a sound that did not stop until he’d raced down the stairs, slammed open the door to the alleyway, walked quickly towards the car (then faster, breaking into a jog as he realized Nigel was still leaning on the horn), and slapped his palm against the door, leaning down to peer through the rolled-down window. 

Nigel glanced up from his phone, releasing his hand from the horn. Will could hear Murph swearing from here, through the door to the pub. “What the hell?” he said.

“I’m here,” Nigel said simply. His eyes narrowed, running over Will’s arms. “What the hell are you wearing? Is that a suit?”

Will paused in disbelief, then dropped his head with a sharp, exasperated noise. “It’s just a jacket.”

“Leave it, my god. You are insane. You know that?” Nigel flicked his fingers towards the backseat. “Leave the jacket. Just throw it in the back. I’ll have it dry cleaned for you, professor man.” Will began to slide it off his shoulders, far from in the mood to argue. “Just your shirts and the slacks, it’ll do.” He shook his head. “Do I have to teach you everything?”

“Piss off,” Will snapped, throwing the jacket through the window into the backseat. 

Nigel barked out a laugh. “Apparently not everything,” he said appreciatively. “Get in. Don’t be so sour.”

Will threw himself into the passenger seat. “I’ll be as sour as I like,” he muttered. 

They peeled off down the street. “There will be a couple people your age here tonight,” Nigel said. “Kids of a good friend of mine.” He watched Will’s face out of the corner of his eye, his mouth twitching as a faint expression of confusion passed over it. “Grappling with my antiquity?” He cut off two cars. Their horns faded in the background as he accelerated.

Will had a white-knuckle grip on the seat and console, hardly concealing his tension. “Doing the math,” he gritted out in response. “You’re not old enough to be my father, so this friend of yours must be a good bit older.”

“What makes you think I’m not old enough to be your father?” Nigel asked, smiling faintly. 

“You’re not,” Will replied simply. He winced at another sharp turn. Apparently, Nigel’s driving in the rain had been mellow. This was certainly helping to wake him up a bit. “And if you were, they’d be trying to revoke your license for senility.”

Nigel shook his head. “What a mouth you have on you,” he said. He almost said it fondly. “Tell me, do you ever use it for compliments?”

“If you’re fishing for compliments for your driving, you are going to be extremely disappointed,” Will said thinly. “I don’t know anything else about you to compliment.”

“Not a believer in calling a man handsome?” Nigel goaded. “I rain compliments on my professor, but he is so stingy in return. What a shame.”

Will made a face. “What compliments have you ever given me?” he fired back. He kept his gaze trained out the front of the car, his mind convincing him that if he saw each near-collision, he could somehow prevent it. Driving with Nigel gave one a feeling of overwhelming helplessness. So did regular conversation, he noted wryly. 

Nigel tsked. “Perhaps you should listen more closely. You might catch them more often.”

They pulled to an abrupt stop outside of the club. Nigel sprang out quickly, tossing the keys to a uniformed valet while Will followed more slowly, shaking out his arms, straightening his collar as they were once again immediately ushered in past the waiting throng of people being screened by bouncers. He tilted his chin up towards Nigel’s ear, the latter politely leaning his way. “You’re a regular here, too?”

Sharp teeth flashed briefly. “I’m a regular everywhere.” 

Will braced himself as they entered the club, but surprisingly soft, warm music filled his ears. This was more of a jazz club, with maybe a bit of disco mixed in for good measure. Dim, purpley-blue light filled the space and silver-white flashes danced over the crowd as a large disco ball lazily spun over the stage. There was a sprawling grand piano there and a pianist and singer took up the stage, singing some song that Will couldn’t place. Jazz was not exactly his thing. Nor was any other type of music, really. But it was a nice melody, and though a low thumping rhythm echoed on its heels (seemingly piped in over speakers, since there was no percussionist in sight) to encourage those on the dance floor around the stage, it was softer, gentler, more coaxing and less demanding. 

Nigel placed his hand between Will’s shoulder blades, deftly pushing him towards a large, raised table with an excellent view of the stage. A few people sat there already, two of which did, indeed, look to be his age. They stood out a bit from the others, who were either grizzled with tattoos or gorgeous women – for lack of a better word, they seemed. . . normal. Nigel unceremoniously ushered Will to them, sitting on the other side of the table beside a woman that looked, well, exactly like Nigel’s type. (True, Will had a limited amount of data for that statement, but Nigel’s affinity for full figures was hard to miss.)

“Gio,” the young man with blonde curls said, shaking Will’s hand warmly. “And this is Alana.” He nodded to the girl beside him. She had deep brown hair that curled around her shoulders, looking almost wine-colored in this lighting. She smiled and wiggled her fingers in greeting. 

Will smiled grimly and nodded. “Will.” He took the seat offered by Gio, settling in next to him and Alana. 

Alana leaned forward. “So how do you know Nigel?”

A dry laugh escaped him. “He’s, um, my landlord.”

Gio and Alana exchanged a look that he could not decipher. “Oh, okay,” she said carefully, nodding. “I see.” She picked up her drink, swirling it once with a flick of the wrist. “What do you like to do for fun?”

“Right now I just spend time with my dog and read,” Will said. “Not very exciting. Nigel’s the main one dragging me to these places.” He glanced around. “Although, this one’s pretty nice.”

“Yeah, it’s much calmer here. The old guys like it,” Gio said. “Not Nigel, usually, but her parents and mine. We come here when her dad wants family outings.” He tipped his head towards Alana. “Most families go to a nice restaurant to catch up, but here we are.”

“Have you been to the bookshop down the street from here?” Alana asked. “Gio works there. He can get you a discount.”

“God, just offer that to everyone, why don’t you,” Gio said, rolling his eyes. He smiled. “It’s true, I do have a nice discount for family. Just pretend you’re my long-lost twin brother. At this point, I think I have fourteen siblings, but management’s never asked.”

“Management is his dad,” Alana said with a wink. “Nepo baby.”

“If I was a nepo baby, I hope to God I’d be making more money and doing something more glamorous than stocking antique volumes on a shelf,” Gio snapped. “You see the kind of suffering I go through with her every day. Can I get you a drink, Will?”

“Yeah, that sounds great.” Will realized he was smiling, and he was laughing a bit, unable to feel self-conscious or left out with the speed of their banter and the way they reeled him in with quick smiles, leaning towards him, elbowing him, drawing him further in. He had an old, dusty memory resurface; being at the table with his cousins for stuffy holiday dinners, feeling (for once) at home as they talked about everything and nothing. He glanced down the table and caught the tail end of a self-satisfied smile on Nigel’s face. A curious mixture of annoyance and something else washed over him. Irritation that Nigel was right and that he was getting along with people his own age – and something like. . . Jesus, like he was proud of himself. For what? Making his landlord happy? 

Maybe Nigel had a point on the whole pathetic loner thing. If he was this over the moon about making friends, then he really needed to get out more.

“You seem like a hard liquor kind of man,” Gio said, getting up from the table. “Is that right? Or do you not have any preference? No shame in either, I get Shirley Temples with a splash of vodka most nights.”

Alana rolled her eyes. “Yes, but that’s because you cannot handle your alcohol.” She reached over and squeezed Will’s hand playfully. “If you’re going to come out to more of these nights, please help me keep an eye on him. He’s not an alcoholic, he’s just incredibly stupid and doesn’t remember what he’s had until he’s made himself sick.” 

“I’ll try,” Will laughed, even as Gio gave a vague protest and waved them off. 

“I’m getting you sarsaparilla, then,” Gio said. 

“Whiskey sour, please,” Will said. Gio nodded, brushing past them as he made his way to the bar. Will glanced at Alana. “So, do you hang out with Nigel often?”

She shrugged. “Sure. He’s my godfather, and he throws a good party now and then. But he’s not very social.” She leaned closer. “If he’s going somewhere loud with music, it’s because he wants to dance and take someone home. In it for himself, you know?”

“Yeah,” Will said. “I’ve noticed that.” 

She smiled. “If you like clubs like these, then you should stick with me and Gio. We like to dance and have fun with friends, not just skulk around for a bit to find fresh meat.”

He gestured with his chin towards Gio, who was leaning against the bar, waiting for their drinks. “Are you and him. . . ?”

A bright giggle broke past her lips, and she covered her mouth quickly. “No, no,” she laughed. “For one, Gio’s gay.” She tilted her head curiously, reading something in his expression that made the smile slip quickly, replaced with something a bit firmer. “Is that a problem for you?”

“No,” Will said. “No, of course not. I guess I was just surprised.” He felt a little awkward, like he’d made some sort of grave misstep. “My best friend in college was gay,” he finally said, and he heard exactly how stupid it sounded, but Alana was kind enough not to make any outward reaction.

Her eyes lingered for a moment longer, then her features softened again. He thought he could see the edges of Nigel’s influence on her in that moment; the way her demeanor could shift so rapidly from one to the next. “We get that a lot. We’ve known each other since high school and we’re always together.” She looked over at Gio, watching him return with drinks in hand. “I tell him he’s the brother I never wanted, but of course I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

Will nodded. Gio returned, setting a glass in front of each of their seats. “Will, are you the professor?” he asked, easing back into his chair. “I just realized from across the club, you have that look.”

“I am,” Will said, faintly surprised. “You can tell what I drink and what I do for a living just by looking at me?”

“No, Gelly mentioned you,” Gio said with a wave of his hand. “He was telling someone at a dinner about the new guy living over the pub. Just business stuff, but he said you were a professor like it was a huge perk. I don’t think he knows how much you’re actually paid.” He smiled good-naturedly. 

“Gelly,” Will repeated, partly out of curiosity, partly because he preferred to focus on anything over the annoying feeling of pride coming over him that he’d been mentioned by Nigel and in a positive light. Pathetic.

“Oh, he hates that,” Gio said excitedly, leaning forward as Alana rolled her eyes. “Please use it next time you talk to him. Trust me, it’s too good to pass up.”

“Gio likes to push people’s buttons,” Alana said wearily. 

“Not true, I specifically enjoy pissing him off,” he replied, nodding towards Nigel’s end of the table. “I’m sure you’ve noticed, but he’s an asshole. He drives fast cars and has good liquor, but if you want to talk to him for more than ten minutes it feels like pulling teeth – specifically your own.” 

“He’s from another time,” Alana said with a shrug. “More typical. . .” She nodded her head, flicking her wrist, giving Gio a very intense look. “You know. Lifestyle.”

Gio glanced at Will, then at Alana, frowning. “Lifestyle? Do you mean –” At another intense look, he paused, then leaned closer to her and said something into her ear. Will pretended not to notice, glancing around uncomfortably. They pulled apart again, and Gio was nodding slowly. “Sorry, family talk,” he said with a loose grin.

Will smiled grimly. “Yeah. I, uh –” He took a sip from his drink, nodding, trying to recover the awkward moment. “Yeah, Nigel’s kind of an ass.”

“Thank you,” Gio said.

“I never said I didn’t agree, just that it’s a product of his upbringing,” Alana said.

“Psychology student,” Gio retorted.

She flipped him off, taking a delicate sip of the glass in front of her. “Will gets it.” Her eyes were very full, dark and intelligent. “Right?”

Will shrugged. “I don’t know a lot about his upbringing, but sure. Probably. Yes.” 

“It’s very like him to be friends with you,” Gio said suddenly. “He’s a bit of a collector sometimes.”

His eyebrows arched of their own accord. “Collector?” Will repeated carefully.

“Of odd birds,” Giovanni said. Alana shook her head. “Not in a bad way,” he added. “He has a weird taste in friends, that’s all. Just look at us.”

“You’re friends of his?” Will asked.

“Yeah. Weird, huh? He doesn’t really have normal friends,” Gio said. “Anyway. I say we dance. Everyone had enough to drink?” 

“Yes,” Alana said, standing up with a slightly relieved expression. She made her way towards the dance floor with a lightness in her step, brushing her hair back from her face. 

Gio and Will stood more slowly. “She doesn’t hate me as much as it seems,” Gio said reassuringly. “We actually get along, if I keep my mouth shut. She’s –”

“Like your sister?” Will said, smiling slightly. “She said the same thing about you a second ago.”

A sour expression crossed his face. “She’s always stealing my lines.” He watched her go, then put his hand out, stopping Will for another moment. His eyes were serious, and he paused before he spoke, weighing his words carefully. “Be careful,” he said quietly. “Speaking as someone who’s gotten close to Alana and her family, you can never know what you’re getting into at first.”

Will’s eyes ran over his expression, trying to gather any other information to clarify what he was hinting at – and what they’d been whispering about. “What do you mean?”

“I can tell you like Nigel. And he clearly likes you enough to bring you for company.” Gio’s gaze was serious, heavy in a way that was almost sad. Tired. “But you don’t really know him. I wouldn’t give up my friendship with her for the world, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t nights I regret it all.”

Then he dropped his hand and joined Alana on the dance floor, touching her shoulder to let her know he was there before they slipped into a rhythm together. Will paused, watching them. Then he looked back at the table. Nigel was watching casually, one arm around the woman beside him, his finger running along the edge of the glass in front of him. He held Will’s gaze unabashedly, blinking once, slowly. His expression was difficult to read in this light. 

Silently, he joined Gio and Alana. They split apart, smiling, welcoming him in, and for once, he felt part of the music instead of isolated by it, moving with its melody instead of sitting rigid against it. 

Nigel had the top down in his little sports car, letting the wind whip at their faces and hair as he cruised slowly down the street. Traffic was lighter now, since it was nearly dawn. He hummed as he drove, palm tapping against the steering wheel. A cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth, flickering brighter with each drag and puff. 

“Can I?” 

Nigel glanced at his passenger, following his gaze, recognizing what he meant. He raised one eyebrow. “A cigarette?” His teeth showed. “My staunch professor, wanting a filthy cigarette?” He reached out, slapping his palm against Will’s forehead, feigning to check for a fever. 

“You’re insufferable,” Will said, batting his hand away. “I’ve had cigarettes before.”

“Not like these,” Nigel said. “When did you smoke? Highschool? Two puffs and you coughed a lung out? You don’t fool me.”

Will didn’t answer, and Nigel laughed harshly. He took another long drag, letting the smoke billow from his nose. Then he pinched it between his fingers, passing it over. He watched as Will went to take it from his hand, each time pulling it just out of reach of the younger man’s fingers. After the third time, he smiled wider at the irritated glance thrown his way. Mercifully, he lifted the cigarette to Will’s lips, turning his attention from the road as Will paused before taking it directly out of his hand and into his mouth.. He watched as Will’s chest filled, his face tightening, then contorting as he began to cough violently. 

“Easy, easy, you’ll kill yourself, fool,” Nigel laughed. But his smile was warm and approving when Will took another puff, clapping him on the shoulder before remembering he was driving and should keep an eye on the road. 

“So,” Will said, leaning back, stretching his legs in front of him. “No party girl tonight?” He was not drunk, not even tipsy, really – just comfortably buzzed. 

“No,” Nigel said. “I told them I have to take my professor home. He gets lost in the dark, scared in this big city on his own.” He heard a faint scoff. His eyes glittered. “I told them you don’t get laid, so I try to help when I can, bring you to these clubs to meet pretty women. They were very sympathetic.” He grinned, rubbing his teeth with his fingers, pleased at the annoyance on Will’s face. 

There was a brief pause. “Is that why you introduced me to Alana?”

The smile slipped. Nigel looked at him. There was the shift in expression again, Will thought. A rapid decline into something distant and stony. His response was sharp and brief. “No.”

They drove in silence for a few minutes. Nigel’s phone buzzed, and he picked it up, reading the text there, grimacing, tossing it into a cupholder with a clatter. 

“Everything alright?” Will asked quietly. 

Nigel reached over and took the cigarette from his lips, returning it to his own. It was his way of smoothing things over, making it clear they were friendly again. “Just fine, professor man.”

“Are you ever going to stop calling me that?”

“You don’t like it?”

“It’s a bit grating.”

Nigel shrugged. “I don’t have many friends that are professors. And you’re young for one. It’s a compliment.”

Will was quiet. So they were friends. He supposed that made sense. Friendship was a loose term, not very easily defined. They went out together, made civil conversation – more interaction than he’d ever had with any previous landlords, that was certain. But it still felt strange, hearing that word placed carefully by Nigel himself. 

They pulled up in front of Will’s building. “Thanks,” he said, shouldering open the door.

“Yeah,” Nigel replied. He was distracted, working on guiding the roof back into place for the drive home. “Get your jacket out,” he added, catching sight of it in the backseat.

“You said you’d dry clean it.”

Nigel caught his eye through the open door of the car. “God, he’s penny pinching.”

“I’m on a professor’s salary,” Will protested.

“Go, go,” Nigel shooed, shaking his head. “I’ll clean it. Jesus.”

It was a pleasant evening, the first one in a good while that had Will thinking that maybe he didn’t regret moving to New York after all.

But of course, he didn’t get his jacket back for a long while after that. 

Chapter Text

Three months later.

He couldn’t get the rent to Nigel for two months. That was the main thing eating at him. Nigel always took the checks by hand, turning up at Will’s door sometime during the first week of the month with a lazy knock.

“Rent is due, little professor,” he would say, leaning against the doorframe when Will inevitably opened the door. Somehow, he always knew when Will would be home. “Do you have the money?”

Will would hand him a check, made out to him directly. Depending on his mood, Nigel would take it with a brief nod, his fingertips brushing Will’s as he took the check and left, or sometimes – especially if he’d been drinking – he’d smile, leaving the check hanging in the air, eyebrows raised, an indicator he was going to make some sort of joke. “And here I thought you’d be forced to give me other forms of payment,” he’d said in September. Will had frowned, asked him what he meant by that – what other forms of payment did he accept? “Whatever you’ll give me” had been the response.

It was annoying that Nigel didn’t have a better system set up for the rent. It was annoying that Will was expected to sit up waiting for his knock – which sometimes came at odd hours, on work nights when he’d prefer to be sleeping. It was annoying that Nigel insisted on doing it face to face. And worst of all, most annoyingly of all, was that Will missed it.

On the second Monday of the month, he gave in. He ducked into the pub on his way home from work, tapping the counter to get Murph’s attention. The man gave him a stony look but nodded in greeting. “Want something?”

“Just wondering if you’ve seen Nigel,” Will said. The man didn’t answer, just staring at him. “I owe him rent,” he added uncomfortably. 

Slowly, Murph looked back down, returning to wiping down the counter with a cloth. “If anyone would’ve seen him, it would’ve been you.” 

Will didn’t know what to say to that. So he left. 

He’d grown a beard in the time since he’d last seen Nigel, a well-trimmed one that made him feel a bit older and more. . . professorial. Something to make students and faculty take him a bit more seriously. When he trimmed it and slapped on cheap aftershave, he found himself wondering what Nigel would comment if he saw it. Or, more accurately, how he’d make fun of it. 

He hadn’t seen Nigel in the coffee shop, hadn’t seen his car crawl (or race) by. And now, with two month’s worth of rent weighing down his pockets, he knew he had to start checking the roads more traveled. 

And that was how he found himself quite unwillingly in line for the club he and Nigel had first gone to together late one Friday night. He was adhering to Nigel’s dress code, or as close as he could emulate it; a white button down (buttons liberally unfastened), dark pants, slicked back hair, and his glasses tucked in his pocket out of sight. It was freezing outside on the street, but he suffered through tight-lipped till he made it to the door. If the bouncer recognized him, he gave no sign. After a brief glance over, he nodded once and let Will in.

He kept his hands in his pockets when he walked in, swallowing hard, pressing his nails into the flesh of his palm as he scanned the room quickly. Like a gift from God, he saw exactly where Nigel would be. This club had special seating, too – not the plain tables he’d hung around on their previous visit, but a lavish VIP area set off to one side of the room. There, lit by the strobing lights, his teeth flashing in the dimness of the room, was his goddamned landlord. 

Will swallowed, steeling his resolve before walking over to the table. He had to weave through crowds, but he carefully threaded through until he stood before the table. Nigel was sitting next to a woman he didn’t recognize, a few men and women he’d also never seen before dotted around the table as well. It took a few moments for him to be noticed. Nigel had his head bowed towards the man on his left, smiling vaguely, a cigarette burning on his lips, an arm cast around the woman and casually stroking her shoulder. His smile deepened, and he met the man’s eyes with an appreciative nod, lifting his eyes to scan the room. And it was then that he locked eyes with Will, standing just short of their table. Too close to be ignored.

He raised an eyebrow. His smile slipped. He looked. . . disgusted? Irritated? Tense? The other occupants began to look at Will, curious and annoyed. 

“Can I help you?” One of the men barked, his gaze like iron. 

“I just wanted to talk to Nigel,” Will said, waving a hand towards him. 

The man glanced at Nigel, whose expression was mostly indifferent. “I think you should go,” he said warningly, turning back to Will.

Nigel lifted a hand. A thin, false smile spread across his face. “Have mercy on him,” he said. “A little eccentric. He’s not used to socializing.” He took a drag of his cigarette, drawing his hand further up the woman’s arm. He nodded towards the door pointedly. “Have a good night, little professor.”

The nickname was vicious leaving his lips this time, and even without the context or understanding, the table smiled and glanced between Nigel and Will, reading the insult for what it was. 

Will swallowed. As he paused, the other men at the table seemed to tense incrementally, leaning towards him, hands shifting towards their pockets, eyes hardening, sharpening. Nigel’s face was still and foreboding. 

He abruptly turned and walked out of the club, back out into the cold air to stand on the sidewalk by himself, crossing his arms for warmth. As if his ears burning wasn’t enough to keep him warm. He took his phone out of his pocket and began to dial for a taxi. 

A few minutes passed, then the door behind him was shunted open, slamming shut once more. Long, heavy footsteps sounded behind him, and he turned to see Nigel standing there, the cigarette still burning between his teeth. He didn’t speak, not until he made his way to Will, stopping in front of him, so close that he had to bend his head to look down at the younger man. He held Will’s gaze, deliberately pausing to take the cigarette out of his mouth, raising his eyebrows. “Why the fuck are you here?” 

Will shrugged slightly. “For fun.”

“Don’t act cute,” Nigel said. His voice was flat, no playful affect, no smile hinting at the words, no glitter of mischief in his eyes. “I am not a patient man.”

“I haven’t seen you in three months.”

Nigel’s face twisted into something ugly and scathing, but Will quickly amended: “I needed to pay you two months’ rent and couldn’t get ahold of you.”

It was enough to make the older man pause, disarming the sharp words resting on the tip of his tongue. He waved a hand. “I’ll collect it next month.”

“Okay.” Will hesitated, but Nigel wasn’t walking away, choosing instead to take another puff. “Did I do something?”

Nigel’s lip curled. “Do something?” he repeated. Heavier, mocking. “The hell do you mean, ‘do something’?”

“I just – I thought we were. . .” He shook his head. “Friends.”

Nigel looked at him for a long, long moment. Long enough that Will regretted saying it. He looked away, grimacing. But then Nigel sighed, flicking his cigarette to the ground and extending his arm impatiently, as if for an embrace. Hesitantly, Will stepped closer, and Nigel drew him into a surprisingly crushing side hug, slapping Will’s cheek fondly (albeit roughly) with his other hand. 

“You are a fretter, Mister Graham. Aren’t you?”

Will didn’t reply. Nigel pushed him free. “I’m a busy man. I forget about things. That’s all.” He glanced about. “Don’t come looking for me again, alright? I will find you myself.”

“I didn’t come looking for you,” Will scoffed. 

Nigel raised an eyebrow. “Mm, yes, whatever you say, Mister Graham.”

Four days later, Nigel did, in fact, come to find him. 

“My TV is out,” he’d said, stepping past Will once the younger man made the mistake of opening the door to his knock. He threw himself down on the couch, absently patting Winston’s head as the dog padded over to investigate the new arrival with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. In a gesture both sweet and infuriating, Winston warmed up quickly and lay at Nigel’s feet. Will would have preferred him to snap at the man’s heels.

“Help yourself,” Will said sarcastically as Nigel changed the channels, flipping to a college game. “Make yourself at home.”

“Thank you,” Nigel said. He took off his jacket, slipping out a bottle from beneath it and setting it on the coffee table. It was huge, clear, and bore an expensive label. He tapped his finger against it. “Do you like vodka?”

“No,” Will replied, sitting back down on the couch and shifting his paperwork further to one edge of the coffee table. He adjusted his glasses, squinting down at the essays he was slowly working through. Grading was one of his least favorite tasks, especially for longform profiling essays like these. It took immense concentration and effort. 

Nigel took two shot glasses out of his pocket and set them on top of the papers. “Wasn’t sure you owned any,” he said with a lofty shrug at the dark look Will gave him. “Have a shot, my professor. I’ll grade your papers for you.”

“No,” Will said sharply, collecting them with a quick sweep of his hand. “You can’t even look at these. They have names on them. It’s a FERPA violation.”

“Then put them away,” Nigel said with a dismissive sniff, pouring two neat shots. 

“I have work to do.”

Nigel knocked back both of them, setting the glasses back down on the table one after the other. His lip curled as he shook his head at Will. “Don’t be boring. I came here to have a good time.”

There was an odd edge to his tone. Not dangerous per se, but warning. One of the subtle tells that Will was expected to read that said my patience is running out. It made Will angry that Nigel seemed to think he had some say and control over Will’s life, and angry that it worked – because each time he heard the warning edge, he listened. 

He slid the papers into his briefcase and shoved it under the couch, leaning back with his arms crossed. 

“This is nice.” Nigel wiggled his fingers vaguely towards Will’s jaw, at the beard grown in there. “Suits you.” When Will broke his stony silence with a quiet “thank you,” he took the opportunity to press a shot into the man’s hand. “Let’s drink to that.”

“My beard?” Will said dubiously, but Nigel was already lifting his glass so he obediently tapped them together and knocked back the searing alcohol. Good enough quality that it didn’t feel like he’d just swallowed motor oil, at least. Super. “I didn’t take you for a football fan,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Nigel just shrugged.

They sat in an easy quiet for a bit, and Will even took a second shot willingly. They turned up the volume enough to hear the drone of the crowds and commentators, and Will found that it was almost. . . relaxing. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he leaned to the side slightly to pull it out, looking down at the screen. It was Alana – he’d gotten her number just before leaving the jazz club, though they hadn’t seen each other since. She’d invited him out to join her and Gio a month ago, but he’d begged off, citing work and Winston. They texted a bit here and there, and thankfully she seemed to understand that he wasn’t one to leave home often and didn’t take it personally.

Alana

Hey, Gio’s birthday is next Saturday. He’s having it at a bigger club downtown. He asked me to invite you.

He raised his eyebrows, a smile working onto his face. Sounds great. Just send the address.

Distantly, he recognized that Nigel’s head was turned towards him. “Who are you talking to?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s, uh–” Will hesitated, reading the address Alana sent, mentally trying to piece together a map of the city, wondering if he’d been there before while simultaneously attempting to decide whether he wanted to tell Nigel he was friends with Alana. It felt like something he shouldn’t admit, partly to save face. It got under his skin that Nigel was correct, and that he was getting along with people his own age. “– a friend of mine,” he finished belatedly, smiling briefly at Alana’s response: Gio’s excited. He says Gelly’s coming too, so brace yourself for fireworks. He likes to pick fights on his birthday.

Nigel held out his hand, beckoning. “Let me see.”

Will frowned, shaking his head with a surprised laugh. “Is that part of my lease agreement?”

“It is,” Nigel said dryly, his face mockingly serious. “Come on, professor – are you hiding your New York woman from me? Worried I’ll steal her from you?”

He reached out, his hand closing on Will’s wrist with startling speed. As Will reflexively lifted his other hand to pry Nigel’s fingers off of him, the other man seemed to anticipate it, blocking his arm and pressing it against the couch with his forearm. He tightened his grip on Will’s wrist, bruising and unyielding until the phone fell from his hand and onto the floor.

“What the fuck –?” Will began, but Nigel just laughed, keeping the younger man pinned back against the couch as he scooped up the phone and began to sift through it. When Will lunged forward to snatch it, Nigel quickly plowed his shoulder into his chest, knocking the wind out of him and keeping him pushed back against the seat cushions. 

“Dismal, Mister Graham,” Nigel said. “You are a boring man with no secrets.”

“I’m going to report you to the city,” Will said through gritted teeth. “Don’t you have to give a twenty-four hour notice for entry? I could get you for trespassing.”

“Am I just a landlord to you?” Nigel asked, shaking his head, still going through Will’s phone with a bored expression. He opened the text exchange with Alana, arching one eyebrow (either at the invitation or the nickname, Will couldn’t tell which) before tossing the phone on Will’s lap, finally sitting back against the couch and letting the younger man move freely once more. He poured another glass of vodka, leaning back and glancing at the game again. “I’m glad you’re making friends, professor. You had me worried for a while.”

Will stuffed the phone into his pocket. He just scoffed at Nigel’s words, crossing his arms again, resting one ankle on the opposite knee and leaning against the far side of the couch to put distance between them. 

Pausing mid-sip, Nigel turned to look at him. “You don’t believe me?”

“No, I don’t believe that you were worried about me,” Will said dryly. “I’d be shocked if you even remember my name when I’m not in the same room as you.”

He expected Nigel to laugh, to agree and ask what is your name, again? But instead, the man just gazed at him, thoughtful, his expression once again impossible to read. He hated when Nigel looked like that. It usually meant nothing good. 

He set the shot glass down deliberately, resting his elbows on his knees. “Is that really what you think of me?” His tone appeared playful on the surface, but his face was very still. It was almost uncanny. A bit like the calm surface of a river hiding a crocodile underneath, Will thought. 

“Yeah,” he said flatly. He nodded at the TV, turning his attention back to the game to avoid Nigel’s stare. “You’re just here because you want to use my TV.”

He could see Nigel watching him out of the corner of his eye. Then he shook his head, chuckling briefly, picking up the shot glass once more and draining it. “You are willfully ignorant, Mister Graham,” he said quietly. 

Will scoffed again, and then they settled back into silence. Nigel took out his phone and was texting with one hand, a furrow forming deeper and deeper in his brow as he went back and forth with someone. Will did his best not to notice, but he reflexively would glance over to check. Winston seemed to notice the tension as well, picking up his head and craning it back to survey Nigel’s face and body language a few times. After the third time he and Winston picked up their heads at the same moment, Will resolved to stop looking. 

Nigel released a long, heavy sigh, then leaned to the side until his back was pressed against Will’s shoulder. He was taller than Will, and heavier, and it was more than slightly uncomfortable, but he didn’t say anything, just lowered his eyebrows and continued gazing at the screen. Nigel tossed his phone to the ground face-down. “Do you want something from the pub?”

“Uh, no thanks,” Will said. 

“It’s free.”

“I don’t think it is, actually.”

“I own the fucking place. So it is,” Nigel said harshly. He drummed his fingers against the couch, then asked suddenly, “Do you have family?”

Will paused, swallowing. “Yeah, my dad. But we don’t talk a lot.”

“Ah. Who do you talk to, then?”

A smile tugged at Will’s mouth as a familiar furry head popped up, resting itself against his leg with a worried look. “Winston, mostly.”

“The dog?” Nigel asked flatly. 

“Yes.”

“Mm. Sad.”

Will rolled his eyes. “And you,” he said, elbowing Nigel in the back in an attempt to get him off. The man didn’t shift, of course. “I talk to you.” Nigel nodded. “What about you? Who do you talk to?” Will asked. 

But Nigel didn’t answer, because cryptic questions were only meant for tenants, apparently (Will thought bitterly). He just tipped his head back further against Will’s arm instead. “It’s been a long week,” he said. He let out another sigh that was heavy with vodka.

“Yeah, I bet.” Will didn’t bet. He didn’t have any idea what made the landlord business hard. Nor did he understand why it kept Nigel so busy that he couldn’t bother to speak to him for three fucking months. He thought he should say all that and more, but instead what came out of his mouth was: “Do you want to talk to me?”

It felt almost pleading, and Nigel’s blunt answer made him regret it immediately. “No,” Nigel said. 

“Okay.” Will started to sit up, but Nigel only leaned more weight against him. He gave in, staying in place on the couch. 

“You’re psychologist?” Nigel asked. His words were slurring a bit, slowed from their usual patter. 

“No, I teach criminal psychology, old man,” Will said. Nigel reached back and slapped his face, not unkindly, barely hard enough to even register as a slap. 

“Good enough,” he said. “You’re a shrink.”

“No, I definitely am not.”

“Tell me what’s wrong with me, Mister Graham,” Nigel said, half-closing his eyes. 

Will grimaced. “You’re very drunk. That’s what’s wrong with you.”

“You are always right. So intelligent. It is incredible,” Nigel said, his lips twitching into a brief smile. “It’s too bad you cannot get out of your own way.”

Will rolled his eyes; he had a feeling where this was going, and sure enough, Nigel continued, “I think you will die a virgin, locked up in this room by yourself, Mister Graham. It keeps me up at night with worry.” He tapped his thumb against his knee. “Ah, that reminds me. What are you doing the Saturday before Christmas? Busy?”

“Yes,” Will said, his voice flat with annoyance. 

Nigel raised an eyebrow, looking back at him. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Even for a Christmas party at my home?”

The thought was oddly tempting. Getting to see Nigel’s home, being invited to something as a genuine guest rather than a last minute tag-along. But he shook his head. “Yep, busy.”

“Hm.” Nigel paused. He rolled off the couch, getting to his feet unsteadily. “Is that a stereo?”

Will glanced at the setup beneath the TV that Nigel was now investigating, rubbing his shoulder where the man had been leaning. “Yeah.”

Nigel flicked it on, spinning the dials until the sound shifted from garbled noise to a sort of jazz pop synth. (Will realized that he didn’t pay enough attention to music to label it. He wondered what the difference was between those three, then dismissed it as inconsequential.)

“I know you are jealous when I leave the clubs with women,” Nigel said. Will stared at him. The man turned, smiling. “But I can teach you how to get the women to like you, too. The party girls, at least. Do you know how you get them to like you?”

“No,” Will said dryly, “but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

“You must dance,” Nigel said. “Not sulk in the corner. Come on.” He turned the music up, then snapped off the light switch, dousing the room in just the dim glow of the TV. Winston tilted his head, shuffling over to Will's bed and flopping beside it, watching them from a distance with a skeptical, vaguely concerned gaze. “Come here. Show me that you know how to dance.”

Will didn’t move. “You’re drunk.”

Nigel walked over to him, tilting his head as he gazed down to study Will’s face. “You say that whenever we are about to have a good time. Have you noticed that?”

“Yes, because your idea of a good time is being drunk.” But he allowed Nigel to pull him to his feet, and closer to the stereo. 

“What if I was a beautiful woman, hm? How would you dance?” Nigel asked, looking down at him. His eyes glittered in the faint light of the television, amused and interested all at once. It was a very intense look. 

“I don't have a strong enough imagination,” Will said flatly. 

Nigel tipped his head back with an irritated groan. “Alright, then I will,” he said. He took Will by the shoulders, turning him automatically so that his back was pressed into Nigel’s chest. “You need contact, but you give them room to move.” He let go. Will didn’t move, staring straight ahead, his arms by his sides. Nigel waved his hands in exasperation. “Normally, the woman is moving. They are not as awkward as you.” He sighed, his breath shifting Will’s curls. “And you run your hands, on the sides, here.” He let his palms slide down Will’s ribcage, ghost-like, barely skimming over his shirt, settling to cradle his waist as his chin rested against the side of Will’s head. “You see?”

“Yep,” Will said tersely. 

“And you kiss them,” Nigel said. “Along here –” And his lips brushed against Will’s neck, burningly hot. Will pulled away sharply as if stung, rubbing at his skin, feeling flushed. 

“Yeah, I’ve seen you do it,” he said. 

Nigel remained in place, dancing, scooping up an abandoned glass of vodka from earlier, humming peacefully to the music. He seemed unbothered by Will’s departure. “It is more fun when the woman is beautiful,” he said. 

Will didn’t know if that was meant as a dig. He swallowed, rubbing at his neck once more before dropping his hand. “Do you want something to eat?” 

Nigel nodded. He draped his arm around Will’s shoulders, an action so casual and practiced that it seemed like he thought it belonged there. He steered him to the kitchen and leaned back against the counter as Will went through the fridge, pulling out a box of leftover pizza from a few nights previous. As Will rummaged through the shelves, he felt Nigel’s hand move over him, reaching across his back to snatch a flyer off the fridge. 

“Faculty Christmas party,” Nigel said, raising an eyebrow. “So this is what has you busy? You’re going to this?”

“Yeah, probably,” Will said. “I don’t know.” He opened the box of pizza, getting a couple plates from a cupboard. The lights were still off, so he kept the fridge open for an extra source of light. “I’d rather not, but it’s good for networking.”

Nigel locked his elbows, leaning back against his hands, the flyer trapped under one palm. “My Christmas party is the same day.”

“Popular day, Saturday before Christmas,” Will said distractedly, splitting up the pizza. 

“You’re skipping my party for this faculty one,” Nigel said – not accusatory, just matter of fact. 

Will shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“You are skipping my party,” Nigel said slowly, “for a mixer with some cheap fruit punch and plastic Christmas trees and boring professors.”

“It’s more my scene,” Will said, prickly. “And I want to get to know them better.”

Nigel tossed the flyer on the counter. “Come to mine instead. This looks awful.”

“No,” Will scoffed, shaking his head.

Nigel looked at him, mildly surprised. “This you have a backbone over? This?”

His response was stony and cold. “I always have a backbone.” 

“Hm,” came the doubtful reply. 

Will shifted his weight, looking back to the pizza. He felt a bit torn – and a bit irritated. Why did he get the distinct sense that Nigel was only becoming insistent on this invitation because Will had other plans? Was he just planning for this to be another joke, with Will as the punchline? Poor, pathetic professor, all alone before Christmas. Come over to my place. 

And it would have worked on you, he thought sourly. That’s what Nigel had wanted this to be, but now he was irritated, wasn’t he? Upset that Will didn’t actually need him, for once. He shook his head. “Well, thanks for the invite, but I’ll be going to the faculty party. Maybe if your thing is still going after I’m done, I can stop by for an appearance.”

“An appearance,” Nigel repeated, a small smile on his lips. “I see.” He glanced back down at the flyer, eyes flicking over the contents as Will resumed making the pizza for the both of them. “So I am your second choice?” That same light, playful tone, with a warning edge to it. 

“Nigel, the faculty party is just a work thing. It’s networking. It’ll run for a couple hours, then I’m free to come to your party a little late. God knows your thing won’t wrap up till morning,” Will snapped. 

Nigel raised an eyebrow. “So I am your second choice,” he repeated. Will didn’t answer. 

They ate the pizza and watched the rest of the game in silence.