Out of Touch

3

On Wednesday Will receives a rather cryptic message from James.

I've got a bad feeling about tomorrow Will

He doesn't pay much mind to it as he's submerged in bubbles and beautifully hot water which sprinkles his skin with patches of pink. He hums, dipping lower into the water, the tips of his mullet getting wet on his neck, the damp hairs clinging to his skin. He likes baths. Never has the time to have them, though. His phone his placed back on the counter as he doesn't bother responding.

He hasn't paid much mind to what happened the week before. He doesn't like to... think. Thinking is dangerous. James is a famous overthinker, evident by the nervous fidgeting and anxious stuttering which erupts from his large frame. Such a large man carrying such a large amount of thought. Ironic, Will thinks, considering James insists that he procrastinates the normal amount and it is in fact Will who lacks human emotion.

Not true. Will is very emotional. He just doesn't show it.

When he woke up for the first time in a bleakly cold bed without his girlfriend- now ex- it did hurt. He would be a fool to lie and say that it didn't. The duvet had gripped him like a vice, the raw fabric scratching against him, the pillows weak and flaccid.

Then Basil was gone too. Somehow, that hurt even more.

But James? God, James was relentless. He never shuts up.

Will picks his phone back up, suddenly feeling the urge to reply. He wouldn't want to be rude, even if it is James. He reads the message again, his screen collecting moisture from the steam.

I've got a bad feeling about tomorrow Will

Odd. He replies.

You're still coming right?

James replies within seconds. Needy, Will thinks.

Yes. Of course. Just have a weird feeling.

Will chuckles. 'Of course'. He knows James wouldn't miss their weekly videos, ever.

Don't worry lad, is all he says back. He doesn't feel the need to elaborate. He's always been a bad texter, anyway. James' little typing bubble pops up on his screen briefly, then disappears. Will places his phone back on the counter.

*

James is cackling uncontrollably, and Will can't help but grin nervously. In James' hands is a folded black T-Shirt, and Will feels himself staring anxiously. James slows his laughter and ruffles his waves, "Trust me, Will. You'll love it.", and Will isn't sure how he feels about that. It almost feels like a threat. He takes the shirt, biting his lip, falteringly unfolding it. 'I YAM'.

"What the hell is this, lad?" He squeaks. James' giddy body bounces on the spot as he dives into his backpack, bringing out a similar black shirt. He twists it around. 'He's my sweet potato'. Dear fucking God.

"What the actual fuck." Will shouts, the corners of his eyes creasing in laughter as giggles spew from between his lips. He folds over, weak in the knees. But James looks so happy, and it makes him want to hug the taller man reassuringly. The more time that Will spends laughing, the more James' smile slowly fades into a soft grin, evidently nervous.

"Do I have to wear this?" Will asks, breathing heavily, smiling slightly. James glances at the floor then back up at his face.

"I mean... yeah," He speaks unsurely, as if not wanting to frighten the other man, "please, just for the video, the viewers will love it."