Chapter Text
When Ren McCormack first stepped onto the grassy plains of Bomont, he never would have thought of staying past highschool. In fact, when he first went off to his college out-of-state, he hadn’t desired to come back. But he couldn’t help but feel a sense of longing when he recalled the late nights out with his friends, even knowing how much trouble they would all be in when they arrived back home.
He found himself humming a tune as he packed his belongings in his tiny suitcase, elated to see everyone he had missed so dearly throughout the past three years of his life. But there was one person who he was trying to push into the back of his mind: Willard Hewitt.
He didn’t visit Bomont very frequently, but when he did, he would stay with Willard. They had known each other since Ren first bumped him, right after he had moved to the small town. Over the years, he called him his best friend, but spending so much time away had sparked the realization that Ren had caught feelings for him. He didn’t know when it began, but it must have started somewhere along the way, Ren presumed. He didn't know how to approach Willard like this, so he just landed on not telling him.
Arriving in Bomont was filled with a familiar simplicity. He had his music blasting on high, but just quiet enough to avoid getting pulled over. He drove through the town, memories flooding his mind with every building he passed. His stomach fluttered the closer he got to Willard’s place, and before he knew it, he was being spoken to by the one and only.
“I’d recognize that music-filled yellow beetle anywhere.”
It was just enough to make Ren stir in his seat, wishing he could be closer.
Ren let out a quiet laugh, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than normal as he rolled the window down.
“Still judging my music taste, Hewitt?” he shot back, aiming for a relaxed composure, even as his pulse picked up at just the sight of him. Same easy stance, same crooked grin, like no time had passed at all.
“Always. Welcome back Ren!"
The man smiled and hopped out of the car, running around the back of it. He nearly wrapped his arms around the other man but caught himself and awkwardly stuck his hand out.
“A handshake? You’re just about as formal as a toucan on a sunny day,” Willard commented. Ren gave him a confused look, laughing to simultaneously conceal his reddening face after being called out. Despite the seemingly uncomfortable feeling, Willard passionately shook Ren’s hand as though it was the most casual thing in the world– which it should have been. Willard slips off his signature hat and runs a hand through his curls, like its second nature. Ren tries not to stare but ends up failing. When their eyes meet, it hits a little harder than expected. He's the first to look away.
Willard suggests he settles in, so Ren grabs his bag and follows him into the barn he resides in. The air inside smelled like hay and sun-warmed wood, exactly the way Ren remembered. Willard kept talking– something about fixing up the place, about town gossip- but only caught pieces, too focused on the sound of his voice and how easily it filled the space between them. He set his bag down by the wall, glancing around like he needed to ground himself in anything other than the feeling building in his chest. It would’ve been so simple to fall back in their old rhythm, to pretend nothing changed, but Ren could already tell that wasn’t going to happen. And as Willard flashed him another easy smile, Ren realized that staying away might’ve been easier than whatever this was going to become.
Willard nudged his shoulder like he always used to, casual and unthinking, but it sent a jolt straight through Ren's chest. “You gonna just stand there or are you actually gonna help me move this stuff?” He teased, already dragging a crate across the floor. Ren shook himself out of it and stepped forward, grateful for something to do with his hands. They worked side by side in a rhythm that felt both familiar and entirely new, brushing past each other in the tight space more often than necessary. Every accidental touch lingered a second too long, at least for Ren, and he hated how obvious it probably was.
At one point, Willard laughed- loud and bright– and Ren couldn’t stop the smile that pulled at his lips in response. “Man, you really haven't changed,” Willard says, glancing over at him with something softer in his expression. Ren swallowed, ducking his head as he adjusted his grip on the crate. “Yeah,” he muttered, though even he didn't believe it. Because standing there, in that barn, with Willard just a step away, everything felt different, and Ren wasn't sure how much longer he could pretend otherwise.
Soon enough, Ren began to sweat through his t-shirt. He sighed, and feeling gross, he walked to his bag sitting on the side of the barn, taking out a white tank top. The man slipped off his shirt, unaware that Willard was staring at his bare back as he reached for his fresh top. He pulled it on, the fabric rubbing against his damp skin and clinging to his chest, making it appear tighter than usual. Ren turned around, catching Will’s eyes.
“Is that a new shirt?”
Ren gave an awkward chuckle, “Nah, I’ve had it for a couple years.”
“Well, it makes you look sexier than socks on a rooster,” Willard responded, staring at his best friend’s concealed chest in awe.
The man in question flushed, not sure how to respond. He stared at the curly haired boy for another few seconds before he was saved by the other’s words.
“Hey, man, I’ve gotta wash my car. Wanna join? I have a pressure washer, ‘makes the job easier.”
And that’s how Ren– unbeknownst to him– entered a one-man wet t-shirt contest.
Willard gave Ren the washer, grabbing himself a washcloth.
“Nothing about this town has changed since you’ve left,” the taller one commented.
“Nothing? Not even you?” he questioned, simply searching for something to say.
Willard laughed. “Maybe just a little,” he winked.
Ren couldn’t help but laugh as well, the confidence of the other becoming infectious as he reddened once again. “Oh yeah? How’s that?”
He sat in thought for a moment. “I’m older.”
Ren turned the pressure washer towards Willard, spraying his feet. He jumped as the water splashed on his shoes, easily startling him. “Older doesn’t always mean wiser,” Ren remarked.
Some of the water bounced onto Willard’s shirt, putting another idea in his head. “That’s another thing that hasn’t changed. Bomont still doesn’t have a wet t-shirt contest.”
The Boston boy scoffed, “Of course you’d like that.”
“Hey, man, don’t knock it ‘till you try it.”
The two boys laughed in unison at the cowboy’s words. They washed the car in silence for a couple minutes after that before Ren cut through the quiet. “We can always have our own,” Ren mentioned, heart beating faintly.
“Our own what?”
“Wet t-shirt contest.”
Willard stared at the other for a couple moments before he was sprayed in the chest by the power washer. The water soaked into his shirt, Willard backing up before charging at Ren. He went against the forceful pressure, grabbing the edge of the device and wrestling for it. He managed to turn the tide, switching the direction of the heavy liquid so it immersed itself into Ren’s thin tank top. His abs were visible soon after the water hit him, making Willard pause for a moment, pointing the washer towards the ground.
Ren stared in confusion for a moment before smugly replying, “I think I won.”
Willard turned off the power, threw the pressure washer on the ground, tackling Ren into a playful brawl. He pinned him against the ground, turning them over. He expected them to keep going, but Ren just stared at the man below him.
There were drops of water dripping down from Ren’s hair and onto Willard’s face and chest. It made both of their hearts skip a beat.
The boy on top swallows, not daring to break eye contact, as he looks at Willard, who is reddening by the second.
“Uhm... sorry,” Ren stammers, scooping himself off the ground.
“That's alright,” Willard stares for a moment more, before his friend reaches a hand down to pull him up.
The rest of the day passed as difficultly as the early portions did, with Ren continuously having to regroup himself whenever Willard so much as looked his way. He laid on his mattress, not bothering to unpack any of his few belongings. He buried his face into his pillow, immediately wishing he didn’t when he noticed it smelled faintly of Willard. Of course it did– it was Willard’s.
Right. He wasn’t far from Willard. If he wanted to, he could get up, walk over to him and confess all of his feelings. He would tell him about why he was acting so weird, and Willard would cup Ren’s cheeks and kiss him before he could finish his sentence.
And with a thought so comforting yet terrifying, it sent Ren off to sleep.