Secrets (boyxboy)

~Chapter Twenty Three~

Will felt empty. As soon as the door of Parker's apartment slammed shut behind him, all he wanted to do was cry. Maybe he was being dramatic, but he knew he had a right to be upset. He couldn't let Parker continue to keep secrets. He couldn't let everybody keep secrets from him, about his brothers, about Parker, about things that concern him. 

Which is why a week later he was packing an overnight bag. It was Ezra's party at his lake house, and though he invited both Will and Parker he could no longer take the other boy. Instead he invited Violet who was more than happy to come to a lake party. 

"Are you going to tell me why you've done nothing but sulk the entire week?" Violet asked as she watched her best friend place his neatly folded clothes into his suitcase. Gulping, Will just shook his head no and slumped onto his bed, leaning his head on Violet's shoulder. 

"I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me," Will lied. He knew exactly what was wrong with him. He missed Parker. All he wanted to do was be with him and now that he was gone from his life, he didn't know what to do with himself. If he was honest he didn't really remember what he did before Parker, because nothing before him even mattered. All he ever thought about was that boy and though it was his choice to leave, it didn't make it hurt any less. 

"I think you just need to drink," Violet laughed. Will let out a small chuckle. Maybe for once that was the answer. He needed to just have fun, and Ezra's party was for sure a way to do that.

-

Will and Violet were staying in the lake house after the party was over, so when they arrived they headed to their rooms to dump their stuff. Sighing, he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled his phone out of his back pocket to check his messages. Everyday since his argument with Parker he had checked his messages hoping there would be something from the boy, but there was nothing. Not a single text, not a phone call. 

And there had been times he had just read over all of their old texts, smiling at every silly thing Parker would send him. All of the goofy looking photos and videos of him playing a tune he had come up with on his guitar. And almost every morning and every night, he would send Will something, anything. 

But there was nothing anymore. He missed waking up to a good morning message from the boy, and he missed going to sleep knowing Parker cared about him. But obviously that was never true. If Parker really cared he wouldn't have to hide everything from him. 

Will just sat in the room for an hour, looking out the window at the lake. It was already dark outside and the moon was glowing over the calm water. However, when he began to hear loud music and lots of talking coming from below him, he suddenly remembered the reason he was there in the first place. 

Shortly after Violet came into his room, asked Will why he wasn't ready and then forced him to get changed into something nicer. But he didn't want to be there. He wanted to be in Parker's arms, back in the studio while they played guitar together and the boy sang to him with his lovely voice. He wanted to lay with him and trace the outline of all of his tattoos with his fingertips. 

When he finally joined the party goers he attempted to find Violet as he didn't have a clue who anyone else was, and he found her in the kitchen pouring a drink into a cup with his cousin. Finally spotting him, they both smiled and handed him a cup before he even said anything. 

"Drink this, you need it," Violet told him. Not even questioning it, he downed the drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before handing the cup back to her to refill it. Bemused, she refilled his cup and rose an eyebrow. 

"Lets dance," Will grabbed both of their hands and dragged them into the crowd, swaying to the strong bass of the music that was blasting through the speakers. Violet had no idea what had gotten into Will but she loved it. It was like old times, before Will stopped drinking and coming to Jack's parties. He was finally being a bit more like himself, like a Lockwood.