In April

APRIL, 2010

Drew gently takes the cello from the corner where it’s been resting against the wall, carries it with him and carefully sits down on the kitchen chair, dragged out in front of the closed window. The cello is dusty and dirty, sitting untouched for so many months, but he leans the neck against his shoulder and takes a deep breath, letting his head fall.

God, he doesn’t want to do this.

The bow is already tightened and rosined, but it’s probably too tight. He’s never done it before. He poises it, lets it sit above the strings in the air for a second, not ready to make a noise with it just yet. Last noise it made was when William played it. Changing that now changes it forever.

Drew doesn’t press his fingers down on the strings. Just leaves them open and slowly places the bow on the rightmost string, the one that makes the lowest sound. He doesn’t even know the names of them, and the bow makes an uncomfortable scratchy noise as it bounces a bit in the contact, so unlike what he’s used to hearing this cello sound like. But he drags the bow across, bringing himself to press harder and bring out a sound more like it’s supposed to before moving on to the next string.

It doesn’t sound right. It’s probably out of tune. And he’s probably playing it wrong, even without using the neck.

But it is music. And it’s Will’s music. And this way Drew can still hear it.

FEBRUARY, 2010

“Would you like to talk about it?”

Drew sits in his armchair and clenches his fist, draws his face blank and looks out the window. The rain gently beating against the glass is something. Better than the cold silence on the Tuesdays and Thursdays when the weather’s nice out. Used to be it was just Thursdays, Drew’s appointments. But ever since-

Ever since, it seemed better to come in a second day. Even if it was just to sit there and not answer the same question. Over and over.

“Time doesn’t actually heal all wounds, Drew. Not by itself. And I’m worried that if you wait until you feel ready to talk, you’ll be waiting a long time.”

“I can’t-” his voice breaks and he dips his chin in to his chest, clears his throat. Takes a deep breath in through his nose and starts over. “I can’t stop-” he closes his eyes and tilts his head, steels himself, “thinking about his body.”

“You’re a doctor, Drew. You’ve handled dead bodies before.”

“Yes, I know, I-” Drew feels his throat tightening but keeps going anyway. “But not his.”

“Do you visit his grave?”

“Yes.” Drew brings his head up in a curt nod, looking at Jess for the first time since she asked that stupid question. “Doesn’t help.” He stares at her with a grim smile, “I- talk to him, I tell him about how-” he clenches and flexes his hand, looks out the window into the rain, “how angry I am? About how bloody stupid he is.”

“This will pass, Drew. It’s part of the process of-”

“I don’t want it to pass. I know what comes next and if we’re just- being totally honest here, I don’t really think I can cope with it.” He smooths out the lines in his trousers with his fingertips, wants Jess to say something next, but she doesn’t. He takes another breath in and looks down, examines the creases and ripples in the fabric. “I still expect to see him. When I come home. I… walk in the door, look around, and when he’s not there, I think he must be in the bedroom, or in town. And then I remember.

“And what I keep-” Drew feels his throat constrict again, closes his eyes tight and tilts his head, pushes out a breath. “I keep thinking about how I’m the only person, in the entire world, who does that for him.” He faces her. “I am… literally, the only person he had. No family, god knows no friends. Just me. And now he’s gone.”

“Is that what’s weighing most on you right now? Mourning alone?”

“No, no, it’s not-” Drew shakes his head and brings a hand up to his forehead. “It’s not about me, it’s not about… needing a support group or someone who ‘understands what I’m going through.’ It’s that… he existed. And he changed my life, he- he saved my life. He was bright, and he was beautiful. He was… the most important person and now he’s gone. And once I’m gone too, there will be nothing left. Like he never even happened.”

Jess writes something down in her notepad and takes a moment to gaze at Drew. “Are you thinking about going, Drew?”

Drew just stares at her before looking down at his hands again.

DECEMBER, 2009

“Will? Can you hear me? William, I need you to open your eyes, just talk to me, all right?”

Drew’s got his fingers jutted in under Will’s jaw, trying to find his pulse, his other hand checking his eyes. Will’s black hair is damp with sweat and pressed to his forehead, his skin is cold. Drew can’t find a pulse. He pulls his phone from his pocket and dials 999, puts it on speaker and tosses it to the floor as he runs to the kitchen and grabs his kit from the cupboard.

“Will, I need you to wake up.” Drew’s voice is level and calm only because of his training, only because this isn’t the first time he’s done this.

The operator answers as Drew injects naloxone into Will’s arm, keeps asking Drew questions through the chest compressions. God, he’s not waking up. He’s not waking up.

Drew pulls away from Will’s mouth and goes back to compressions. “I don’t know how long it’s been. I’ve been here two minutes, he was like this when I came in.”

Drew keeps his elbows locked and pushes down, over and over in rhythm. He should be awake by now. It’s not the first time Drew’s seen Will without a heartbeat, but he should be awake by now. This wasn’t supposed to happen again.

He should be awake by now.

“No, he should be awake by now.”

Someone’s gloved hand pulls Drew away as they lift Will onto the stretcher.

“No, you don’t understand, please.” Drew reaches for him, his hand making it to his arm before someone’s pulling him away again. They’re saying things to him, he knows it, thinks it in the back of his mind, but he can’t hear it. “Please, you have to- oh, Jesus, no. Please let me help him.”

“You tried. Hey, just take a breath. You did everything you could.”

There are sets of hands on him, on his shoulders, on his arms, softly keeping him back as they start to carry Will down the stairs. “Please, just please let me, he’s my- he’s my-”

“He was gone before you got here.”

AUGUST, 2009

“We should get a dog.”

Drew blearily drags his eyes up from his phone and stares at the wall, processes for a second before making a face at Will. “We should definitely not get a dog.”

“What?” Will lowers his laptop screen from where he’s sitting in his armchair opposite Drew, the blanched white light from the screen casting shadows over his offended features in the otherwise dark room. “Why not?”

“We live in a flat. In London. And we’re broke.”

“We could make it work.”

“Tell you what.” Drew turns on the flashlight on his phone and sets it on the arm of his chair, facing it up so they can both see each other. “You wake up, every day before 1pm for a month, and we’ll get a dog.”

Will squints his eyes. “An entire month?”

Drew laughs. “Yes, an entire month, consecutively. Dogs need routine and stability and exercise-”

“Okay, so you walk it in the morning and I’ll walk it in the evening.”

“I’m busy, working, I can’t! Why don’t you just get a cat?”

William brings his laptop screen back up again. “Why don’t you get a cat.”

MARCH, 2009

“Are you just going to keep ignoring me, then?”

William does. At the small, round table in what goes for a living and dining room, typing away at his laptop with the afternoon sun coming in behind him.

“Just gonna stay sat there all day?” Drew stands with his hands on the back of his own armchair, watching William expectantly for an answer from across the room. “Acting like a child?”

More typing.

“Fine, have it your way.” He pulls his own laptop out of his messenger bag and drops down into his chair by the fireplace, opens up the screen and starts typing.

The clicking of keys from both their keyboards is almost comical, the longer it goes on, and eventually, William has to stop and look over.

“Are you writing about it?”

“Writing about what.”

Will huffs and lets his wrists fall to the table. “Are you writing about the fight. For your therapist.”

“I don’t write for my therapist, I write for me.”

“Whatever.” William goes back to his own computer, and Drew is determined to not be the one to break the silence.

Which isn’t hard when he actually is writing in his journal anyway. It’s not for Jess, but she did start him on it. Said you don’t have to be a writer to write, to get your feelings expressed in some kind of emotionally healthy capacity. Plus it makes it easier for him to get his thoughts in order for a session, if it’s been a bad week. He doesn’t really talk about William with her, but that doesn’t mean it’s not what he writes about most of the time.

Will is being an absolute prick right now. He’s still upset at me for the fight, and I think more than that night we’re both upset the other hasn’t apologised yet. I’m not going to, though. He can carry on with this as long as he likes.

“I’m sorry.”

Drew stops typing the next paragraph and looks up from his laptop, lowering the screen. “What?”

“I’m not going to say it ag-” Will cuts himself off and takes a breath. Looks up from his laptop to Drew. “I’m sorry. I said some things the other night I shouldn’t have and… you were right. I’m sorry.”

Well. That’s a surprise.

Drew CTRL-A’s and deletes, closes his laptop and gets up to stand behind Will, wrapping his arms around his shoulders.

“We can come up with a plan,” Will places his hand on Drew’s arm, “some kind of system, if you’d like. And I promise to be honest with you.”

“I love you, Will. And you know I forgive you.”

“What’s the point in making me apologise, then?”

Drew hums and looks up. “It’s nice to hear once in a while.”

“Don’t you have something you want to say, then?”

“Nope, not really.”

Will laughs. “Why did I expect anything different.”

MARCH, 2009

“It’s none of your business, Drew.”

“None of my business? You’re my boyfriend, we live together for Christ’s sake.”

“What, and that means you automatically have control over my life and what I do-”

“No, William, of course not, but there are some things I do have a say in and definitely things - really big, important things - you shouldn’t be keeping secret from me.”

“It has nothing to do with you.”

“It has everything to do with me! Jesus, what the hell are you talking about, Will?”

“It’s just a small stash, it’s not like it’s a problem! I have it in total control-”

“Jesus fucking Christ-”

“And it bears absolutely zero consequence on you or your life-”

“You are my life! You can’t keep saying that, like it has nothing to do with me. I mean, do you even hear yourself? Ex-addicts don’t get to say things like that, all right? Were you ever even really clean? Because I thought we’d been through this, I thought we were done.”

“We didn’t do anything, Drew, and this isn’t your problem. It’s not even really a problem-”

“William, we share problems together. That’s what- that’s what being in a relationship for seven years and living with each other is about. And if you didn’t think this was a problem then why have you been lying about it this whole time?”

“Because I knew you’d do this. And I haven’t lied to you, Drew, I just don’t feel the same moral obligation you do to keep each other involved in every minute detail of our lives.”

“This is not some minute detail, Will. And I really wish you would stop saying that it is, because it’s starting to sound like you believe your own story. Look, you’re not the one who’s had to call an ambulance twice, or drive to A&E, or spend a combined amount of- of weeks helping the most important person in your life get through hell.

“So, fine. Do whatever you want with your life. But stop lying to me. And stop acting like it’s not going to be me at your funeral when you lose your control.”

JANUARY, 2008

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this.” Will sits down on the bench outside the ice and brings his skate up to lace it tighter. It’s already been re-laced twice. This is a stalling tactic.

“You can take as long you like, William. We paid to stay till close and I was promised that we’d do anything I wanted after I passed.”

“You know that I was talking about sexual favours.”

Drew laughs but tries to clap a hand over his mouth in time. “Keep your voice down, would you? There are kids here.”

“Oh, sod off.”

Drew smiles, open and excited, and looks out at the rink of people skating. He rocks back on his blades and stretches his arms out. “I haven’t been here in, what… five? Six years?”

Will looks back at him and gives something of a wince as he tightens the knot of the laces. He switches his feet to redo the other set of ties, but Drew leans forward and grabs his arm, hoisting him up to his feet.

“All right, time to go.”

“Hey- you said I could take as long as I wanted!”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“I have to redo my other skate.”

“No, you don’t.” Drew opens the gate to the rink and steps onto the ice, holds his hand out for William, who just kind of- grimaces for a second, before taking it.

He’s… bad at it. Yeah, that’s the only word there is for it. He’s really, really bad.

Drew’s skating backwards, Will’s hands in his as Drew slowly pulls him along with him.

Will’s not moving independently at all, just standing as still as possible with his face frozen like he’s concentrating his hardest. “I literally have no idea how you’re doing this.”

Drew grins and starts zigzagging his skating pattern. “It’s just practise. Nicole and I used to do this all the time when we were kids.”

“You haven’t spoken about Nicole in a while - how is she?” Will seems like he’s genuinely asking, but his eyes are locked onto Drew’s feet now and there’s worry making its way onto his face.

“Oh, she’s… just Nicole being Nicole, you know?”

“That bad, hmm?”

Drew smiles and lets go of William’s hands.

“What, no! Drew, Drew. Drew. Come back.”

Drew laughs and skates back to Will, coming in at his side and holding his hand.

“I really don’t want to fall. Don’t do that again. Please.”

Drew smiles and slows his pace. “All right.”

DECEMBER, 2007

Drew groans and lets his head fall into his open book with a thud. “I am so. Done.” He turns his head so his cheek is resting flat against the pages and sees Will smile without looking up from his laptop, still typing away and sitting cross-legged in his armchair.

“Want some coffee?”

“Love some.”

Will keeps typing - long enough for it to get awkward - before pulling the screen down and looking at Drew, who’s still part of an open-faced sandwich with his head and textbook. “That was a suggestion, not an offer.”

Drew scoffs out a laugh that makes the pages of the other books on the table ruffle. He sits back up, stretching his arms out over his head. “Oh, god.” He stands up - his body creaking more than the crappy dining chair in their student hall - and putters over to the kitchenette to put on some coffee. “You know,” he calls back over his shoulder, “you could do something helpful and play some music. Set that classical, studious vibe.”

Will sighs and keeps typing, and it’s just a couple seconds before cello music comes through his laptop speakers.

Drew doesn’t turn around as he keeps working on what he’s doing. “That is so not what I meant.”

“I’m not your hired cellist, Drew. Take me or leave me.”

“Seriously, though, William. I’ve got two weeks left and so much to do.”

Will stops typing and leans his head back against the top of his chair, turns to look at Drew looking at him.

“It’d be a big help,” Drew says, almost as a plea.

“Fine,” Will groans, tossing his laptop closed unceremoniously on the empty seat behind him.

“Love you, darling, thank you.”

Will grabs the cello from the corner of the room and drags it along the floor behind him, pulling a dining chair out from the table where Drew’s studies are at. “You know, you should just learn it yourself. I’d teach you.”

Drew laughs as he pours the coffee into his mug.

“You have a surgeon’s hands.” Will finishes rosining the length of his bow before putting the cap back on. He tosses it onto his bed across the room, and it bounces off onto the floor. “I’d reckon you’d be quite good at it.”

“Yeah, not yet, I don’t,” Drew sighs. “Besides, I don’t need to be any good. That’s what I’ve got you for.” He presses a kiss into Will’s hair and sits down back at his spot, setting his mug down to the side.

“Fine. But no more favors after you pass. I’m sick of being helpful.”

“If. If I pass.”

“You’ll pass.”

Drew groans and flips through the unread sections of his book. “What’s even the point, though.”

“You become a doctor.”

“Yeah, hardly seems like enough, does it?”

“When you graduate, I will do,” Will lowers his bow and looks over the neck of the cello to Drew, “whatever you want me to.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

OCTOBER, 2003

“Hey, hey. Let’s get you into bed. Come on, up we go.” Drew gets a grip on Will’s arm and pulls him to his feet, lets him lean into his body and gets his arm slung over his shoulders as he walks him to the door.

Soon as it opens, the sounds of the party come through clear again - the music and laughing and constant chatter accentuated by random rounds of cheers and glass shattering. Drew slowly guides William down the stairs, navigating them through the crowd of wasted first years with as little contact as possible.

Getting outside is literally a breath of fresh air, and it doesn’t take long for the house to become a distant noise in the background.

“Just a couple more streets down.”

“Drew, I-”

Drew stops walking and adjusts his grip on William’s wrist over his shoulder. “You okay? Do you think you’re gonna be sick?”

“No, I… maybe.”

“Do you wanna sit down?”

“No.” Will shakes his head. “Let’s just go home. Just had too much to drink, that’s all.” His voice is slurred and mumbled.

Drew laughs a little, his breath condensing in the night air. “Yeah, I don’t need you to tell me. Didn’t take you for the partying type.”

Will starts taking less and less of his own weight as they keep walking, his head dipping forward before snapping back up in what’s starting to become a pattern. Drew’s just starting to think he might be totally out for the night when he finally says something, small and quiet.

“Why are you helping me?”

Drew looks down at him. “What do you mean? You’re my friend, that’s why.”

“You don’t have to, Drew.”

“I’m not because I have to, Will. Let’s get you home.”

JULY, 2003

The night air is warm against Drew’s face, and the grass is prickling at the back of his neck. He pulls his shirt collar up and shifts a bit on the ground, situating himself better.

“Getting comfortable?” Will tilts his head a bit towards Drew, but doesn’t take his eyes off the sky.

Drew looks at him, back up at the stars, then props him himself up on his elbow and tries to smooth out the grass. “I should be studying. I should be sleeping.”

“Relax, Drew.”

“Yeah, it’d be easier to if it wasn’t so bloody uncomfortable. Why are we out here again?”

Will sighs and sits up, pulls his hoodie off and hands it over to Drew.

Drew takes it, folds it neatly to place under his head as a makeshift pillow. “Thanks.” He might feel more embarrassed for putting up the fuss if it didn’t make so much of a difference to have.

Will doesn’t say anything. Just lays back down and keeps looking up, so Drew does the same.

It is nice out - warm and still and quiet, except for the gentle shaking of the breeze filtering in through the trees between them and the school.

“What are you thinking about?” Will finally asks.

“School. Bed. Tomorrow morning.”

Will hums and brings his arms up, cradling his head in his hands.

“What about you?”

“Stars. Infinity.”

“Infinity?”

“How rare it is to exist. Beautiful, even. There's an infinity of things and people that have never existed - that never will exist. Every tiny detail, every split-second decision, every life choice had to be made exactly the way it was for you to be here right now with me. The world as we know it is just one big coincidence in a sea of infinite possibilities.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in coincidence.”

Drew watches the corners of William’s lips turn down in a smile. “Perhaps it was made for this, then.”

“What, all of creation just for breaking curfew in the name of summer romance?” Drew smiles with raised eyebrows and turns his head to Will.

“Art was made to be looked at. Music was made to be listened to. Maybe the universe was made to be witnessed.”

Drew blinks and stares at him for a second before looking back at the sky. Christ, he’s glad he met him.

Will moves closer and points up at the sky. “See that star? If it were to dissipate right now - vanish into nothing - we wouldn’t know it for another four years.”

“Why not?”

“Because its light wouldn’t have reached Earth yet. Light years away, traveling at the speed of light, and it would still take over four years to reach us. At another point in the universe, farther away, it would take even longer. Without anything to obstruct it, light carries on endlessly, Drew. In the vast infinity of the universe, if you were in the right place you could see light from something that had died millions of years ago.”

Drew looks away from William and up to the sky. “So I suppose nothing really ever dies, then.”

“Not when it leaves something behind, no, Drew. I don’t suppose anything does.”