Will leaves the pub as early as he's able to, but it's still well into early in the morning when she pulls up to Marlena's apartment. The porch light is on, moths fluttering around it. He just sits there for a moment, listening to the sounds of wildlife, the teasing whisper of a slight breeze.
This is the place of his early years. Maybe where his heart's been lying dormant, all this time. Though he'd built a good life in Salem, it's this place he came to when he was at his happiest, or saddest. It's here he thought of his deepest feelings and kept his biggest secrets.
He'd let himself dream once--those childish dreams of falling in love, and someone to love him, of building a home with kids and lazy Sunday mornings. Even when he came out of the closet, he'd never stopped wanting it.
Why did he stop?
It was that sweaty summer afternoon, Will can't deny it. That hot, lazy day when he'd caught the first boy he was head over heels in love with fucking Kristen DiMera on a blanket by the river.
The river that was his, the boy that was his. The stepmother that was his.
It had completely shattered his life into pieces, Will thinks now. The time before it happened, when he was still young and naive, when it still felt like the sky was the limit. And then after, where there's only aspiration, perseverance, and an unbreakable vow to never let himself believe again.
The boy doesn't even matter anymore, he knows that now. Will can't even conjure up his face in his mind. Kristen doesn't even matter, not at the heart of it. But the moment itself definitely does.
Without it, who knows how differently his life could've gone? But really, he and whoever the guy was would've broken up soon enough anyway. But maybe it would've had a sweeter ending, and he'd be able to look back on his first love more fondly.
But that crystal clear memory of betrayal literally made him into the man he is now. He'd finally learned then what it would've taken him years otherwise to understand. That a gay man such as himself was smarter, and safer, to be in the driver's seat. Men would come and go, and enjoying them is great.
It's loving them that's suicide.
Suicide? Will shakes his head as he climbs out of the car. A little overdramatic, isn't it? Heartbreak can't kill you.
But it's what killed him.
Will all but hears the voice in his head. It wasn't a knife wound, or the pond that had killed Thomas Horton.
He'd died from a broken heart.
Will lets himself into the house and immediately sees the light from Marlena's room. He steps into the doorway, cocking his head. Marlena is sitting on her bead, book open in her lap.
"What're you doing up so late?"
"Waiting for you. Didn't think you'd be back for another hour."
"Business was light enough to let me go."
Marlena pats the bed in invitation. "You were worried about me, but you shouldn't be."
"I thought you said worrying was your job." Will lays down on top of the sheets head on the curve of her arm. "Now it's mine. I'm sorry she hurt you."
"That's just her job. And she's damn good at it." Marlena strokes Will's hair. "I have you, though. I have my darling Will."
"I was wondering what it was like having to raise me with John after Kristen bailed."
"You were nothing but a delight for us both."
"Made me think about how the Horton/DiMeras brought your dad back to their place when he was a baby. You still remember him, don't you?"
"Very well. You're a lot like him. You've seen his pictures, and you're named after him, so you already know that."
"He ever say how the DiMera mansion should've been his?"
"Not once. He was happy, Will. Maybe even happier than he would've been in that mansion, under different circumstances. He had a thing for baking too, which he passed onto me. He was an amazing storyteller. Sometimes when he was visiting, he'd make up stories like they actually happened. If he wasn't so adamant on being a surgeon, he would've been an incredible writer."
"But he had to have thought of his parents and the Horton/DiMeras. Happy or not, he had to think of them."
"I'm sure he did. He took flowers to his father's grave. Every year on his birthday."
"He did? You never told me that."
"Said he owed him his life--his own, his children, grandchildren. Even left flowers for Adelaide Horton and Gino DiMera. Though he never said a prayer for them. And there was something else he did, on his birthday every year until he died. He'd toss flowers into the river, and said a prayer."
"For his mom?"
"He never said, but I'd think so."
"You think that's where Alice is? The river?"
"So they say."
Will raises his head. "I'm not asking they. I'm asking you."
"I know sometimes I'm walking along the river and feel an unfathomable sadness. And sometimes I think, old souls grasp at second chances. And keep grabbing until they get it right. What're you grabbing for?"
Will lays his head down again, closing his eyes. "I thought I found it. Now I don't know anymore. He really loves me, Grandma."
"I know he does."
"If I admit to loving him back, it changes everything."
Marlena smiles, leaning over to turn off the light. "It always does." she murmurs, continuing to stroke Will's hair. "It always does."
