The night air at the Sky Bar Lounge was warm, filled with low chatter and the clinking of glasses. Sir Will sat at one end of the long dining table, his jacket draped neatly over the chair, posture straight even though the wine in his glass had already softened the edges of his composure. Across from him, several seats down, sat Noah—loud, slightly flushed, and very much caught in his own orbit of friends.
They've barely spoken a word to each other, now and any time in the past, only stolen glances and simple group simple chatter. Sir Will had noticed Noah a few times in the dance scene. And he definitely noticed him earlier tonight well, with such a nice handsome face, boyish and the nonstop chatter coming from where Noah was sitting just a few seats down,and he was so happy chatting away, it was a very pleasant scene to watch, this young and handsome boy, it made this slightly boring event, a little less dim. Sir Will, was always someone who always keeps low and quiet. But when Noah's voice rose above the murmur of the group louder than ever before, it caught his attention for good.
"…she dumped me. After a year of me chasing her, she just—left. For someone else."
Noah's tone wavered, half complaint, half lament, and soon it was clear the whole table could hear his heartbreak. Sir Will's eyes lingered on him for a few seconds longer than necessary. Such a waste of a nice face, he thought dryly. He's straight.
Before he could think too much about it, Sir Will's phone buzzed, a sharp ringtone cutting through the atmosphere. Several pairs of eyes flicked toward him, so he muttered a quick apology and slipped away from the table.
Out by the back near the restrooms, he answered the call. The conversation was short, sharp, and left his expression darkened. By the time he hung up, tension sat heavy on his shoulders. He reached for the pack in his pocket, lighting a cigarette with a practiced flick. Smoke curled up into the dim light as he exhaled, his voice quiet against the hum of the city below.
"How nice it must be," he murmured to himself, "to vent everything out loud."
"I didn't know you were the type to smoke."
Sir Will stiffened, turning slightly. Noah had just stepped out from the restroom, surprise etched across his flushed face.
"Not really the type," Sir Will replied, slipping his mask of indifference back on. He offered the pack loosely. "Want one?"
Noah shook his head. "Nah, don't smoke."
There was a beat of silence before Sir Will said, almost too casually, "It's too bad about your girlfriend."
Noah blinked, then let out a humorless laugh. "Were you eavesdropping?"
"Well, I didn't have much choice," Sir Will drawled, a curl tugging at his lip. "You were loud enough for the next restaurant to hear."
Noah winced, leaning lazily against the wall before propping an arm over Sir Will's shoulder, the alcohol making him bolder. "Well, yeah. Guess I can't control myself when I'm drunk. If your crush dated you then dumped you for another man, you'd be like me too." His words slurred just slightly, but the pain behind them was clear.
Sir Will scoffed, smoke slipping past his lips. "There are plenty of fish in the sea. You'll find someone better… maybe."
"Ughh. Well this fisherman's retired," Noah muttered. "The fish I want doesn't want me."
"Then date the fisherman."
The words left Sir Will's mouth before he could stop them, hanging between them heavier than the smoke. Noah stared.
"…Bro. Are you drunk?" he asked, squinting, unsure if Sir Will was implying something—or just suggesting he get used to his right hand.
Feeling awkward, Sir Will leaned into the bit, trying to act tipsier than he really was. He deliberately wobbled, then "tripped" as he stubbed his cigarette with his foot. "I don't think I'm that drunk," he said, voice playful in a way that startled even himself.
But fate had other plans. He stumbled again—this time for real—and landed squarely on his backside.
"Shit."
His light-wash jeans bore the mark of dirt, right at the bum. Noah burst into laughter, crouching to help him up.
"Look at this," Noah teased, fingers brushing at the smudge on Will's jeans without hesitation. "You've got dirt on your ass. Real classy."
Sir Will's heart jolted at the casual touch, at Noah's laughter ringing so close. For someone usually so composed, the rush of fluster caught him off guard. He forced himself to straighten, tugging his jacket back into place.
"Thanks," he said shortly, perhaps too quickly. "I should go."
And before Noah could reply, Sir Will hailed a taxi outside, letting the night air cool his cheeks as he sank into the seat. But no cool would come, not really.
Later, as he lay in bed, drifting between wakefulness and sleep, the memory of Noah's laugh, his arm slung over his shoulder, the careless way he'd wiped dirt from his jeans—they replayed over and over, uninvited.
By the time dreams took him, it wasn't the work call or the cigarette smoke haunting his mind. It was Noah. A dream of 2 fishermen.