Chapter 16
Nathan
Nathan’s eyes snap open as soon as the sun creeps its way over the horizon, the dawn chorus heralding the new day with a boisterous glee that matches the hope rising in his heart.
No notifications on his phone. Understandable, really; it’s early enough that Will is probably still asleep, given the amount of tequila he put away last night.
He’ll get in touch when he wakes up, hopefully.
The sloppy kisses he pressed so enthusiastically against Nathan’s face have him mostly convinced.
He can’t bring himself to temper his own expectations in case Will wakes up with no memory of having kissed him. The long game looks like it could be far shorter than he could have hoped for, and his heart holds on to the possibility as tightly as it can.
Fizzing excitement morphs into full on butterflies when Will’s message eventually arrives. They agree to meet at a café, Will’s choice; cute French vibes, definitely romantic.
Nathan leaves early, hoping to arrive before Will. When he pushes the glass door open, it’s obvious Will had the same idea.
“Hey.” Nathan yanks his chair out from under the table and sits quickly, eager to be face to face with his former bondmate. “You’re early.”
“So are you.” Will smiles shyly.
He’s wearing black jeans and a soft black hoodie, the embodiment of cosy. Nathan wants to sink into his arms, curl up on a sofa somewhere and cuddle him until the tension on his face melts away. “This place is nice.”
“Yeah. I thought you’d like it. Best patisserie in town.” Will gestures to a sweeping display case, cakes and pastries arranged like jewels beneath pristine glass.
“Oh, wow. Thanks.” Nathan glances around, his gaze returning quickly to Will. “Should we get the menu?”
“I ordered a few things already. Hope that’s alright. As an apology.”
Nathan’s stomach twists. “An apology? For what?”
“For last night. For… drunkenly throwing myself at you. Sometimes I get a little affectionate when I’m drunk.”
The waitress chooses that moment to arrive with black coffee and hot chocolate topped with an excessive amount of whipped cream.
“Thanks.” Nathan waits for her to leave before he turns back to Will. “You have nothing to apologise for. You’re a cute drunk.”
Will looks down at his coffee, hair swinging forward to frame his face. He pulls at the cuffs of his hoodie, hands disappearing into the folds of soft fabric.
A long dormant memory resurfaces. An uncomfortable Will coming out. A few more follow, other times he felt vulnerable enough to try to shrink into his clothes.
“Do you regret it, Will? Kissing me.” Will looks up, eyes sombre. “Just in case you’re wondering, I don’t regret it at all.”
His eyes warm immediately. “I don’t regret it. I just wish I’d waited ’til I was sober. So you’d know it wasn’t the alcohol.”
The waitress returns, this time carrying several tiny plates. She places the first one down in the centre of the table. “Mille feuille with compressed strawberries and tonka bean creme patisserie.”
Nathan barely glances at it, murmuring his thanks and hoping his impatience doesn’t show.
Another plate. “Opera cake made with Italian espresso and dark chocolate from Ecuador.”
Will covers a smile with his hand. Obviously Nathan’s impatience is painfully apparent.
“Rosewater madeleines with Turkish pistachio crumb. Enjoy.”
She finally leaves.
“Sorry. Was I rude?”
Will shakes his head. “Nah. I could just tell you wanted her to dump the plates and go.”
“I’m sure they’re lovely cakes, I don’t need the details. So it wasn’t the alcohol? You…” Nathan stutters to a halt, unable to find a way to ask do you want me that isn’t too direct.
Will takes his fork and slices a small piece from the opera cake. Nathan expects him to pop it into his mouth, but he doesn’t, offering the morsel to Nathan instead. “I thought I’d moved on. But since we found each other again… I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Nathan leans forward, letting Will feed him the bite of opera cake. It’s less sweet than he expects, a more sophisticated treat that’s equal parts rich and bitter. Balanced. More complex than anything he’s experienced before.
“If I hadn’t had too much tequila I would’ve asked you out eventually. Dinner or something. A proper date. Kissed you at the end of a really good night.”
Nathan offers Will a madeleine, holding the light sponge delicately in his fingers. “You did kiss me at the end of a really good night. And I’d love to go out for dinner, whenever you’re free.”
Will smiles, leaning in to take a bite. He makes a soft sound of pleasure in the back of his throat, chewing slowly before he replies. “I’d like that. Soon, okay? And… maybe we can redo the kiss?”
Heat floods Nathan’s cheeks. “After dinner?”
“Whenever you want. Now, even.”
Nathan pops the rest of the madeleine into his mouth, barely noticing the delicate flavour and the crunchy crumb.
He’s imagined kissing Will so many times. Imagined their first reunited kiss a frankly embarrassing number of times. Last night’s version never featured—they were always sober, always hyper aware of the step they were taking—but it hadn’t been bad. A little sloppy, but still heartfelt.
His favourite fantasy has them at the park. On the bench, sitting by the pond, where it all started. Where it all should have started.
A sip of hot chocolate and he’s there again, heart pounding as he leans in and kisses his best friend.
“Nathan? Too much?”
He blinks. “I was just thinking about our first first kiss. I always imagined us getting back together by the pond. A fresh start. You know?”
Will reaches across the table and takes his hand. His touch is gentle, tender, his skin so warm. “So we’re getting back together?”
Nathan flushes again. “I mean… if you want.”
Fingers stroke gently over the back of his hand. “Do you want?”
“Of course. You’re the reason I came back.”
Will lifts his hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against each knuckle. “Let’s finish the cake and go to the park, yeah?”
A grin takes over Nathan’s face like a wave crashing to shore.
They don’t quite linger over the cake, nor do they rush. They feed each other with fork and fingers alike, finding the flavours subtle and complex, textures perfectly balanced.
Will insists on taking care of the bill. Nathan agrees on the condition that he’s allowed to take care of dinner sooner rather than later.
They emerge from the patisserie in a cloud of heady anticipation.
Will laces their fingers together and tugs him down the street. “This way.”
Nathan lets him lead the way, suddenly feeling the dissonance of being a stranger in his hometown. “I feel like I should know how to get to the park from here. Need to get my bearings.”
“It’ll come back to you. If you stay.”
He’s glad Will can’t see his face, blushing for the hundredth time today. “I’m planning on it.”
They turn the corner straight into a protest. A small group of people are assembled outside a municipal building, placards hovering in the air above them as they shout their slogan again and again.
Their voices are hoarse, as if they’ve been chanting for hours.
One of the building’s windows is splashed with vivid red paint, dribbling slowly down the glass like blood from a shallow wound.
A siren sounds in the distance, steadily getting closer.
Nathan’s scalp prickles. He changes their trajectory, skirting the group in a wide arc. “I heard about this. Veterans protesting about post-discharge support.”
“They’ve been on the news.” Will flinches as one of the protestors uses their Gift to uproot one of the saplings planted outside the building, tossing it to the side like a dog discarding a stick. “Nothing this extreme, though.”
Nathan thinks back to what Selene said about the supermarket protest, the tension she described.
The inside information Emily shared, simmering frustration escalating towards violence.
Throwing paint and tearing up trees doesn’t constitute a real threat, but if the protestors are losing their patience…
Training or instinct, it doesn’t matter; Nathan starts surveying the area, making sure there’s an escape route.
The sound of the sirens bounces off the buildings, a clamour of noise coming closer. A couple of protesters glance nervously up the street, blue lights flashing in the shop windows close by. They slink off, leaving the others behind.
Two police vans skid to a halt outside the municipal building, officers in riot gear pouring out of the doors before the vehicles come to a full stop.
Placards shoot through the air towards the police van, tools of protest turned to weapons, thrown with a power honed by years of training.
The officers surge forward, smacking projectiles away with riot shields that crackle with electricity.
The strongly Gifted are hard to engage through force alone, but their nervous systems are as vulnerable as anyone else’s.
Nathan steps subtly in front of Will, ready to protect him. He might not use his Gift, but he’s never stopped training it, a habit long drilled deep.
The officers start to pen the protestors, forcing them into a tight clump. Several bodies hit the ground, the electrified shields doing their work with painful efficacy.
One of the protestors breaks free, running down the street towards Will and Nathan in a dead sprint. Nathan’s heart speeds up, his own nervous system immediately choosing to fight, the instinct to protect roaring through his blood.
Another police van screeches around the corner, disgorging more officers clad in riot gear. Most join their colleagues to manage the group, but two peel off to chase the lone man rushing towards them.
The protestor turns as he runs, gauging his lead with a scant glance. He spins and plants both feet on the pavement, surveying the scene.
A chill flashes down Nathan’s spine.
They’re on a busy street, and while the nearby pedestrians might be hanging back, traffic is still flowing. People shop and work and eat in the cafes and boutiques. And Will. Will is far too close for comfort.
The man takes a deep breath, his gaze settling on a blue car waiting at the traffic lights. Nathan barely has time to feel guilty for the relief that washes over him before the vehicle flies across the pavement, metal screeching with the intensity of the forces dragging it in.
Nathan catches a glimpse of the driver, her mouth gaping open in a scream, drowned out by the cacophony of the car smashing head on into a solid brick wall.
The protester turns and runs, briefly separated from his pursuers by crumpled metal and shattered glass.
Will pushes past him, hurrying towards the ruined vehicle. Nathan follows automatically, heart pounding impossibly faster as his Will scrambles fearlessly close to the wreckage.
“The door’s stuck!” The woman is half screaming, half sobbing, her eyes wild with panic.
Will yanks fruitlessly at the door handle. The mangled metal barely resembles a door, the sill jagged with the ghostly imprint of the protestor’s Gift. He must be a nine or a ten. Nathan’s Gift doesn’t leave gouges like that, not even close.
“We’ve got to get her out!” Will pulls on the handle again, his voice desperate.
Nathan peels Will’s fingers away, crowding him out until he stands safely behind his shoulder.
It’s been so long since he used his Gift outside of training. So long since the last assignment that turned from passive protection to active situation. The power is there within him, as it always is, and it’s all too easy to direct it to action.
He flinches as the metal starts to warp, screeching so sharply it sets his teeth on edge. Sweat beads on the back of his neck, his Gift focused on the edges of the door as he pulls hard, his body screaming as he hits the limit of his power.
The door peels open like a tin can, the metal groaning loudly as he rips it asunder.
Its occupant is sobbing now, blood welling from a cut on her temple.
The crumpled door finally tears free from the chassis, flying off into the wall with the recoil.
Will darts forward, gathering the woman in his arms and pulling her from the wreckage. She cries out, pain or relief or maybe both, her hiccupping sobs speeding up into a panicked flurry.
Will lays her carefully on the ground, arranging her limbs into the recovery position. He crouches down beside her, holding her hand in his as another set of sirens draw closer.
He talks to her softly. Assures her that she’ll be okay in a tone that’s soothing and assured. She calms immediately, tears cut off unnaturally quickly. Her eyes glaze over, muscles relaxing as Will murmurs his reassurances over and over again.
A tendril of recognition creeps over Nathan’s scalp, tingling ominously. A moment later, a tsunami breaks over him, drowning him in horror as realisation flashes through him like lightning.
Will isn’t a Blank at all.
And that type of Gift, Will’s type of Gift– it’s a well-kept secret for a reason.