[ Will's dreams since he arrived have been comparatively calm, a fact he's still yet to make peace with. Instead of his mansion, always bothered through with clients he can't seem to get rid of no matter how rude he is; or his townhouse in England, even more overrun with distant family and guests, especially in the aftermath of the deaths; or even compared to the dull hum of the full ship that he (at least nominally) has such an expansive section of to himself; the dreams take place somewhere...sleepy. Quiet, ringed in fog and the damp silence of an ancient forest he doesn't recognize. It's more pines than Will's ever seen all at once, the sort of evergreens that only grow in the places where they're most needed - in places that spend half the year so cold that the rest of the trees are bare.
There, in the dreams, Will has the strangest sensation: one of not being alone.
For the first time in his life...he's sometimes eager to sleep, on this ship.
Which makes the nights when his insomnia is still acting up all the more annoying. Will's not happy when he tosses aside his sheets and stiffly changes out of his pajamas. Slacks go on - fit for being at home in, not for walking about around strangers, but it's the middle of the night and Will would rather offend than be spoken to by anyone he might come across - suspenders, a shirt. He doesn't bother with any kind of tie before he drags a jacket on over all of it.
He remembers how cold it is, above deck. But the wind and the scent of the ocean relaxes him, and he's hoping it will help him sleep.
At the very least, being that cold for that long might make his bed seem more appealing, once he finally tries again.
Will's mostly correct in his assumption that no one will be around. He arrives under the stars and, in the minimal light of a few gas lamps and the moon, there's the dim confirmation that it's just him in this section. He walks with an angry pace at first, one that slows down as he feels himself unwind.
He's nearly reached some sort of peace when he hears the sound. Will freezes mid-step as if caught, slowly putting his foot down as he continues to listen. It happens again and this time he doesn't move until the third call. They're random; Will doesn't think it's on purpose. If he didn't know any better, he'd say it's not words at all, in fact it sounds almost like someone's just crying to themselves, up here in the dark, someone with a plan similar to Will's but whose evening is going a hell of a lot worse--
And then Will gets to come face to face with the singular surprise of seeing who, exactly, is managing to have a worse evening than himself. ]
--Peter. [ On a short burst of surprised air. Will comes forward immediately but stops short of reaching a hand onto his shoulder. He pauses, crouching down so that he's closer to him, and has to consciously overcome his hesitation. It's not fear of Peter, who is scratching at the deck like an animal and making sounds that are just to the left of human-- but it's fear of overstepping and the rejection that will chase it.
Will touches his shoulder, and he speaks loudly, with a boldness only born of some familiarity with how hard nightmares can be to get dragged out of: ] Peter.
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There, in the dreams, Will has the strangest sensation: one of not being alone.
For the first time in his life...he's sometimes eager to sleep, on this ship.
Which makes the nights when his insomnia is still acting up all the more annoying. Will's not happy when he tosses aside his sheets and stiffly changes out of his pajamas. Slacks go on - fit for being at home in, not for walking about around strangers, but it's the middle of the night and Will would rather offend than be spoken to by anyone he might come across - suspenders, a shirt. He doesn't bother with any kind of tie before he drags a jacket on over all of it.
He remembers how cold it is, above deck. But the wind and the scent of the ocean relaxes him, and he's hoping it will help him sleep.
At the very least, being that cold for that long might make his bed seem more appealing, once he finally tries again.
Will's mostly correct in his assumption that no one will be around. He arrives under the stars and, in the minimal light of a few gas lamps and the moon, there's the dim confirmation that it's just him in this section. He walks with an angry pace at first, one that slows down as he feels himself unwind.
He's nearly reached some sort of peace when he hears the sound. Will freezes mid-step as if caught, slowly putting his foot down as he continues to listen. It happens again and this time he doesn't move until the third call. They're random; Will doesn't think it's on purpose. If he didn't know any better, he'd say it's not words at all, in fact it sounds almost like someone's just crying to themselves, up here in the dark, someone with a plan similar to Will's but whose evening is going a hell of a lot worse--
And then Will gets to come face to face with the singular surprise of seeing who, exactly, is managing to have a worse evening than himself. ]
--Peter. [ On a short burst of surprised air. Will comes forward immediately but stops short of reaching a hand onto his shoulder. He pauses, crouching down so that he's closer to him, and has to consciously overcome his hesitation. It's not fear of Peter, who is scratching at the deck like an animal and making sounds that are just to the left of human-- but it's fear of overstepping and the rejection that will chase it.
Will touches his shoulder, and he speaks loudly, with a boldness only born of some familiarity with how hard nightmares can be to get dragged out of: ] Peter.