⠀⠀Will was tired. He was tired of waiting for someone to call, no one would, no one cared. He was tired of only talking to the cashiers at the corner liquor store and 7-Eleven, knowing they didn’t even want to talk and only did out of polite obligation. He was tired of sitting up at night on the couch, not even bothering to go to bed because he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He was tired of sitting in the same mess he continued to make, cigarette butts, empty bottles and cans, what few dishes there were. He was just tired, that’s all. Nothing was wrong, he was just tired.
⠀⠀He knew better, he knew there was something wrong. But knowing and admitting were two different things, and he wasn’t ready to admit it yet. But what he could admit is that his apartment was a mess, and that he could fix.
⠀⠀It took something close to twenty minutes, but he was standing and just staring at the mess around him. Some broken glass littered around the cooler he used as a table, a layer of ash thinly and seemingly over everything.
⠀⠀He shook his head and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. He was frustrated, and panicky, and god did he wish in the moment he could peel off his skin. He lowered his hands after a few moments, feeling something like tears brimming in his eyes but not caring, not like anyone was around to see, not that they’d care if they were there.
⠀⠀”Get yourself together, Will.” He scolded himself, pulling at his hair for a moment, daring himself to crumble back on the couch. Instead, he took a deep breath and gave a final tug on his hair before he dropped his hands to his sides. “You’re a piece of shit.” He didn’t even know how loud he was as he said it, just knew his voice was laced with more anger than it really ever has been recently. Angrier at himself than he could ever be at Heather, or hell even Johnny and Tunny, for leaving. They were lucky, they could leave him, he was stuck with the miserably company that he was.
⠀⠀”A stupid piece of shit, it doesn’t fucking matter what you do anymore. Who do you have to please, Willow?” He stomped his foot like some toddler. Some stupid, stupid toddler. “No one.” He answered, falling back into the indent he had made on the couch. “Fucking no one, they’ve all left you, because you’re a sad sack of shit.”
⠀⠀He reached over for the beer can closest to him on the cooler, shaking it slightly. “Fucking empty!” He threw it across the room, grabbed another and then another, going through the same process with each one in reach. All empty.
⠀⠀He shoved everything off the cooler. Bottles, cans, remains of cigarettes, the suggestion of an ash tray. A bottle broke, he heard the sharp sound of it. Some cans rolled under the couch. The ash just covered everything more. His goal wasn’t to make a greater mess, he just needed a fucking drink. Pulling the cooler open he just about screamed at it being empty.
⠀⠀All fucking empty.
⠀⠀Fifteen minutes later he found himself in the kitchen, running the sink water and filling one side. He had to /do/ something. So he did. Slowly but surely he washed silverware, starting small in case he couldn’t complete the task.
⠀⠀Last time he was this bad, he had them. And they were /here/. They found his place (despite his wishes) and once they were here set to work on cleaning up. It was easier to do that than to talk about what was wrong, although the three of them were all rather distracted cleaners, every chance they got they pulled some trick on each other.
⠀⠀“We do /not/ need three people to do the dishes, I can easily do it alone.” Tunny says firmly, but Will couldn’t help but smile, he’d like to see him tell them no.
⠀⠀“But we want to help!” Johnny pouted, or, the most convincing pout he could pull off while trying to suppress giggles.
⠀⠀Will had moved to stand behind Tunny, who hadn’t paid much attention to this, and grabbed the hose from the side of the sink (which Tunny, mistakenly, left the water running). Two seconds later Will was spraying the back of Tunny’s head and Johnny had doubled over laughing.
⠀⠀He laughed at the memory, a good genuine one. Tunny had ended up tackling him and spraying him back before they set to doing the dishes assembly line style. The laugh turned bitter as he shook his head, because now... now he was alone to do them, and that was /fine/. He could do this, not like he had a choice. They didn’t even care about him anymore and he knew that, if they did they’d at /least/ call, Johnny would still write. But they didn’t try to, they didn’t care. So why should Will try with anything? Why should he /care/ about anything. It didn’t fucking matter if he was just going to be alone.
⠀⠀He worked through the dishes though, shifted through them all and made proper progress with them. Tunny had said it was best to leave them for last, to clean everything else and gather dishes as you go, then wash them. But Tunny wasn’t here. And what did Tunny ever know anyway? Not a goddamn thing. He’d do the tasks in whatever order he pleased, Tunny’s plans didn’t fucking matter.
⠀⠀He drained the water in the sink, sighing as he watched cigarette butts clog the drain. He grabbed them all, threw them out, did that three times over before he got them all. So maybe he washed his shit in ash water, what’d it matter? Not like anyone else was going to use them.
⠀⠀He finishes, put everything away, then fell into the same imprint in the couch. He did something, now he could go back to falling into whatever this was. At least it had him, that was a comfort. If no one else had him, this miserable exhaustion did, and that’s something. He had something.