Out of Touch

1

It's not particularly uncommon for Will to expect James to arrive in an overstimulated mood- the train clearly not doing wonders for his (reluctant to admit) neurodivergent behaviours and routines. Will doesn't expect much. He doesn't ever expect James to be upset though, and today it became apparent that he was, in fact, upset, judging by the glassy eyes and stuttered breathing that greeted him on Thursday morning.

"You okay, lad?" Will asks- yet he knows the answer.

"Just the train... Not a fan of the train..." James utters, voice barely above a whisper. He pushes the bridge of his glasses further up his nose, eyes fluttering around the room restlessly conveying some internal conflict which Will wasn't bothered enough to ask about.

"Well you're here now, mate. Let's just get ready, yeah?"

Instantly his Northern tone seemed to do wonders for James, who glanced up at the face of the other man who- actually- didn't have such a square head as he used to. Maybe he matured. Will gave a reassuring smile, adjusting his hair.

"You have a mullet," James declared, flopping into the chair next to his friend, "there's not a lot going on there that you have to keep adjusting." He accuses, pointing a finger at Will's face- perhaps too close for comfort, Will thought.

"You copied me."

"You looked good with it." James' voice raises, a seemingly innocent and wide smile gracing his face.

He often did that, raising his voice. Unknowingly too loud for the social setting. Will didn't mind it. It was very James, if that was a valid description. He'd missed him, honestly. Ever since the eboys broke up (which, although he acted like he didn't care, he did miss it) he worried that James would somehow disappear into some form of moral decline and forget that Will even existed. Harsh. He doesn't know why he thought that. He likes to bring James in often, now, to his spin-off channel; earning more views, of course, but mostly to simply see the musician as regularly as he could.

"Have you seen Twitter recently?" James questioned, wholly unspecific and vague.

"Seen Twitter? What do you mean have I seen Twitter- it's Twitter."

"Dumbass," James rolls his eyes, feigning irritation, "people are shipping us."

"Everyone?"

"No. Motherfucker- the entirety of Twitter doesn't even know who we are." James laughs half-heartedly. Will frowns.

"Why do they... 'ship' us."

"I don't know... maybe we just have chemistry." James bats his eyelashes, smiling cutely but Will in fact does not find it cute, he thinks it's quite annoying.

Weirdly, that wasn't the end of it. Sure, he cared about the other lad, but even whilst filming for his sister channel James seemed distant; not himself at all. But when he asked, James would insist that he was fine and take another reluctant sip from his iced coffee. Sure, he cared. But he wasn't going to keep asking.

A month later James was on his way to the office again. Will sat, slouched, scrolling through his phone whilst he waited.

"Your posture will suffer when you're older." He heard Orla call.

"James' posture is worse." He states, not glancing up from his phone yet not finding anything particularly amusing.

"How did I know you'd bring him up?"

"What?" He looks up.

"Nothing."