Archive of Our Own ^beta

1 💌

Noah sends the first letter. (Well, technically, Will wrote the first letter, delivered through several sets of hands into Noah’s confused grasp.)

Noah sends the first cross-country letter. (Well, technically, it’s a package. Sent via media mail. The slowest, cheapest option that will deliver this beaten up, underlined, dog-eared paperback—and the folded letter tucked into the front cover—to Will’s front porch in LA.)

Noah sends the first package. (But first he sends a text message from New York to San Francisco, which leads to a text message from SF to another number in NYC. And then the messages ricochet back and Noah has Will’s address. He wonders if Charlie will mention it to Will. Noah could have asked Will himself, of course, but he didn’t want Will to be waiting for it. Didn’t want the weight of something physical arriving to hang over their conversations for the days or weeks that the book—and the letter it contains—takes to arrive.)

Noah sends the first book to Will on his lunch break one day and then he tries to forget about it.

2 💌

I won’t ask how you got my address, but I do have two questions for you:
Are we starting a book club or a relationship? I’m worried I need to find a gaggle of wine-moms to invite over. 
Do you really dog-ear the pages of your books? Bookmarks are right there. 
In all seriousness, thank you for the copy of Less. As you guessed, I had read it before...

Noah is surprised when the package arrives in his mailbox, bent and a bit squished, despite the priority envelope. Even though they talk most days, Will hadn’t mentioned the package, or the letter, with all of Noah’s earnest thoughts spilled across the page. 

Will’s letter spans several tightly written pages. He’s clearly reread the book Noah sent, his replies to Noah’s thoughts filled with small details and throughlines that could only come from close reading. Will’s comments about the book he’s sent in return pique Noah’s interest, even though it isn’t something he would normally pick up on his own. 

Will sets the book aside for a moment as he reaches the last page of the letter. He finds himself grinning as he reads an account of Will’s most recent hookup—with one of his regulars, a friend from the gym. There’s more detail here than what Noah usually gets. He’s used to brief references in text messages or the reddening of Will’s ears during a FaceTime call. Now he has drawn-out prose about how this other man got Will off, twice in one night. 

Noah’s left thinking about taking his time with Will next time he sees him, whenever that is. 

3 💌

Noah sends the third package, and still doesn’t mention anything to Will when they talk. This conversation lives on and in between the pages they’re sending from one coast to the other. A slower echo of the lives they quickly communicate via text, across time zones and varied work schedules. Their letters become a place to stretch and reflect. 

I want to say I’m out of practice when it comes to writing letters, but really I’ve had no practice at all. The instant gratification of AIM, texts, and even email is all I know. I laughed when you said that time works differently on the island, agreed it was crazy, but it’s true. Does time work differently in letters too?

He includes a book, because he feels like he needs to, feels like there’s no reason to send only his own words through the mail. It’s something he’s read recently, and he does think Will will enjoy it, but it isn’t the main reason for his package. 

He spends (too much?) time considering if he should answer Will’s hookup story with one of his own. He knows what his decision will be, but he agonizes over it anyway. Should he tell Will about his recent hookup with the white guy who lives around the corner? Noah can’t remember his name—that probably doesn’t make for a good story. And, well, if he goes out on Saturday night in search of the perfect hookup to tell Will about, that part doesn’t need to make it into his letter.

Noah signs off with the most vulnerable question yet. Should we set a date to meet up? I’ve been thinking about you.

4 💌

Will sends a book, seemingly just as invested in keeping up the pretense for their letters, even if the book of poetry is short—

I know everyone is always concerned with the hairpin turn, but I’m more interested in our bright red days on Fire Island. Will you tell me we’ll never get used to it?

—and the letter is longer than ever.

His latest story is about an evening with a coworker, and Noah recognizes this name from their conversations. A quick after-work drink, a chance to complain about the city’s housing policy to someone who gets it, turned into another way to let off steam. 

I do not have the talent of conversing easily with people I’ve never met before. How do you manage it? Is it years of practice or an innate talent? Does the newness ever start to feel old? I tend to favor repeat performances.

Noah’s happy that Will has his group of steady lovers. He’s curious to meet them—well, maybe not all of them at once, but it would be nice to meet the coworker or the friend of the friend.

And Will answers Noah’s question, even if he isn’t willing to be quite as vulnerable. Howie and Charlie seemed to enjoy their recent weekend in San Francisco. Would you like to come enjoy the sunshine in LA?

5 💌

Noah reads the book of poems cover to cover in one sitting. The sun sets and the room darkens around him as he reads about the Jeffs. 

Maybe we should plan a road trip. I don’t have a place to stay on Fire Island next summer—how would you feel about a road trip instead? You can pick the destination and the music. I just want to roll down the windows and turn up the volume.

Noah is feeling sentimental when he picks out the next book, thinking about repeat performances and drawn-out intimacy. He grabs the copy of Runaway off his night stand—the first book they ever talked about. He knows Will will remember. He carefully tucks the letter inside before walking to the post office.

I can’t take more than one day off until January. 6 hours feels like such a long flight for a weekend. What’s your schedule like? Could you make it out to New York? I want to take my time with you.

+1 💌

This letter is shorter than all the others.

Dear Vacation Boyfriend,
Can I drag you back to the real world? I looked up the midpoint between New York and LA, but Nebraska didn’t seem particularly interesting. Meet me in Chicago?
–Will

An old fashioned paper ticket falls out when Noah opens the book. He doesn’t even know how you get one of those anymore. The book is the New York Times 36 Hours guidebook. Noah can feel the promise of future weekends spread out across the country and the calendar.

Their time in Chicago starts slow: a long embrace and a single kiss in the airport terminal before they follow the signs for the L. They sit with their thighs pressed together as the train rumbles into the city. Will pulls out his book and Noah rests his head on Will’s shoulder, the difference in their home time zones feeling particularly evident. Noah opens his eyes to skim a few sentences. They both stay quiet. There’s been plenty of communication over the past few months, but the physical closeness is what was missing. 

They get to their hotel room and Noah barely has a chance to take in the view of the river spread out below them before Will’s arms are circling his waist from behind. He presses against Noah, front to back, from their shoulders all the way down to their knees. Noah spins in Will’s embrace, pressing in closer for a kiss. Every movement and noise is tinged with more urgency now that they’re alone. Will drops to his knees, forcing Noah to brace himself against the floor to ceiling windows. 

After he comes, Noah looks down at where his hands are still tangled in Will’s hair, tugs him up for a rough kiss, and quips, “I expected you to be the type to shower the airplane off before having sex.”

“You’re right, we should shower,” is the only vocal reply he gets as Will grabs his hand to lead him to the bathroom. 

They get in bed, after, side by side in their underwear. Noah opens his book first and snuggles into Will’s side. 

When they wake up, they have the kind of sex Noah promised Howie he would find: missionary, vanilla sex with the man of his dreams. Noah wasn’t looking for this, but he’s glad he found it.

They continue to ignore the guidebook. 

They have brunch in the hotel restaurant, the table crowded with coffee, mimosas, omelets, potatoes, and their books. Ignoring the slight chill in the air, they pack a blanket and head north to Lincoln Park. Their only plan is to read and enjoy the sunshine. 

Noah stretches after finishing a chapter of his book. “You didn’t bring a plug, did you?”

“No.” Will’s mouth quirks in amusement at the non sequitur. “Should I have?” 

Noah sighs in mock annoyance. “I’ll have to be better prepared next time.” He returns to his book.

Noah seems ready to let it go, but Will keeps thinking about it. Twenty minutes later, he’s got directions to the nearest sex shop pulled up on his phone and they’re packing up their blanket and other belongings. 

When they finally return to the hotel several hours later, they’ve gained more than just an unmarked bag with a shiny silver toy in it. Colin, a man that Will watched Noah effortlessly pick up in a bar in Boystown, follows them up to their room. 

Will finds that he likes it, this mixture of the familiar and the new. It’s comfortable and exciting at the same time, like a good adaptation of a beloved book, where they get the characterization just right but shake up the plot a bit. Maybe that’s too sappy for the spontaneous threesome they’re having, both 1500 miles from home, in opposite directions. But Will thinks back to the moment when Noah asked him what he wanted, when they looked at the older couple beside them and slow danced on the dock.

Maybe this is exactly what he wanted—what he continues to want.