An Act of Death [William T. Spears x Reader]

10 Black // White

William drew in a long breath of his cigarette, blowing out a stream of smoke like a great sigh. To be smoking in his apartment went against a lot that the dignified man stood for, but at this very moment, he couldn’t possibly care less. He didn’t care that it was an ugly habit, or that the smoke would seep into his ceiling and belongings and uniform. Caving to a newfound addiction was just another one of his principles he had carelessly broken in the past year.

He’d told himself that he wouldn’t allow his emotions to interfere with his work; he’d told himself that he wouldn’t make excuses for his actions; he’d told himself that he wouldn’t be ensnared by the illogical thing that was love. Yet, from the start, _____ had enveloped him like a sickly-sweet poison. In just a year, she transformed his monochromatic world into a world of vibrant colors, only to rip it away in an instant.

If he could go back to one month ago, even if just for a moment, he would tell her all of these things. But instead, he could only cling to memories. He remembered the way she blushed when he fixed her glasses, the way she fit snug in his arms, and the way her face lit up whenever he mustered the courage to speak his mind. Recalling these moments gave him something of a high. But just as well, whenever he returned to reality, he felt great pain in his chest. A French poem came to mind. ‘Sometimes, only one person is missing, and the whole world seems depopulated.’ 

The clock on the table beside him ticked at the same merciless tempo it always did, and before long, William was smothering the cigarette and preparing for his shift. Operating solely on muscle memory, he followed his usual routine as if mindlessly reading instructions. As he did so, his vision tunneled and his movements felt rigid and unnatural. This blackness was his new state of mind. 

“William... Oi!” called a voice somewhere in the periphery. William ignored it, unlocking the door to his office and stepping inside, hanging his coat on the hook. But when he turned to shut the door behind him, Ronald Knox had wedged himself in the doorway. “We’re drinking with some ladies from Personnel tonight. I won't take 'no' for an answer."

"Then I won’t bother to say it again.” William said, moving to close the door. Knox stubbornly kept it open with his heel. 

“The Looking Glass, 7:00. I’ll cover the tab.” Ronald said, releasing his foot and winking at him. “I overheard that one of the receptionists has a thing for you. She’ll be awfully disappointed if you don’t show.”

William slammed the door behind him, the younger’s persistence irritating. While he was already accustomed to Ronald inviting him to parties on occasion, the invitations had skyrocketed over the last few weeks. William was beginning to believe that Ronald took pity on him, making such unrelenting attempts to get him to go out. There was no allure in drinking with such a noisy crowd or the receptionist that batted her eyes at him every morning. He was content with going home, reading a good novel, and sleeping off the fatigue.

.

“Haha! I knew you’d come!” Ronald said. 

“What?” William ticked.

“Eh?” The other tilted his head to the side in confusion. “The party. That’s why you’re here, right?”

It was in this moment later that evening that William found himself in a predicament. Here he was, outside of the Looking Glass just a few minutes after the time Ronald had given him, but it had nothing to do with his invitation. In truth, he had absentmindedly strayed from his walk home. But which was worse? Admitting this, or humoring the idiot? Conclusively, William adjusted his glasses and followed Ronald into the bar without another word. It wasn’t like he was expected to stay very long. He would simply have a pint, listen to a few of his coworkers’ long-winded stories, and go home early. At least, that was his plan more than a few rounds ago.