Out of Touch

4

Will can't remember the last time he'd drank with James. It had been a fair while, seeing as they stopped drinking together even before James had decided to go sober. Probably about two years now, actually. Time flies.

When they'd used to drink, it would usually end up with some form of 'smash, marry, pass' or 'would you rather' - classic games and even more amusing when you were drunk. But James used to take a while to be drunk, seeing as he was secretly drowning himself in alcohol most evenings. Will sort of already had an idea what James was doing, but never really knew the full extent to it. The taller lad was always a bit troubled, and Will just always assumed it was due to his childhood which, whilst he insisted it was a pleasant one, the divorce of your parents and the broken aspect of your family would always take a toll, no matter how wealthy or privileged you were. Will wouldn't know.

So it goes without saying that whilst James had a hiccup in his sobriety, Will was alarmed at the fact that he was sitting on the sofa downing some form of alcoholic concoction, grinning at the Newcastle lad with a relaxed smile.

"You feeling okay Jimothy?" Will asks, yet he doesn't know why he bothered if the smile plastered on James' face was any indication.

"So good... So good." James shifts, inching a bit closer to Will and propping his feet up on the coffee table.

Will hums. He's far more sober than James. He only has a faint buzz of folly swirling in his brain as he whirls the homemade cocktail in his glass, watching the vortex of liquid. He feels light and content, but still recognises his thoughts and feelings. He can't say the same for James.

"Will, life has been so hard." James moans, throwing his arms in the air, nearly tipping the contents of his own glass all over the floor. Will jolts a little before settling back down.

"In what way mate?"

James' face contorts into an expression of teenage angst, "Just so many thoughts, feelings. God, I just can't." Will leans forward and places a hand on James' glass, to which the other man grips harder. Will tilts his head and gives the 'teacher' look. James doesn't back down.

"What are you doing?" He questions, somewhat weakly. Will grimaces.

"I think you've had enough. You've been sober for ages, let's not push it, eh?" James' hand doesn't release its grasp, and Will prises it with more force. Their fingers touch and James instantly lets go, startled.

Will discards the glass onto the counter, next to the half-eaten pizza- the box stained with grease and splattered in places with some form of alcohol. James had arrived three hours ago. They'd been casually drinking and eating whilst Fifa ran in the background, yet neither of them had played it. Their conversation had eventually died down until they were simply getting drunk. Will now thinks that that wasn't the best idea.

"Will, I just... There's so much I've been denying for so long."

Will pauses. The daylight trickles through his living room blinds, silhouetting James' figure where he slouches on the upholstery. He actually looks very photogenic. Will takes a deep breath, not always a fan of getting 'deep'.

"What... sort of things?"

"Just... Oh my fuck this sounds so predictable. Just about myself." James blinks widely, exasperated, slapping his hands on his knees and rubbing his palms across the fabric of his jeans frustratedly. His head twists to glare out of the window. Will can't see his face but he assumes it's upset.

Weirdly, he saw this coming. James hasn't been himself for a long, long time, and it would only be a matter of time before he would burst. He didn't expect that time to be now, though.